"A great deal. Mrs. Bolstreath, I have to confide in you in order to save Lillian from death--from a death like her father suffered." Mrs. Bolstreath screamed. "Oh, what is it, what is it?"
"You must be silent about what I tell you."
"Of course I shall. I can keep a secret. But tell me, tell me," she panted. "If you don't keep the secret all our lives are in jeopardy. There is no time to be lost. I must follow Lillian to Curberry's house at once. Listen, Mrs. Bolstreath, and remember every word I say is important." Then Dan hastily related much that he knew, though not more than was absolutely necessary. However, he told enough to make Mrs. Bolstreath almost crazy with terror. "Keep your head and my confidence," said Halliday sharply, "we must beat these demons at their own game. Get ready and come with me to Blackheath; on the way I can explain."
"You think Lillian is safe?" implored Mrs. Bolstreath, preparing to leave the room and assume her out-of-door things. "Yes. Yet, if Curberry is connected with the gang and thinks she is hunting for Penn's confession, he may--but it won't bear thinking of. We must go to Lillian at once. You will work with me to save Lillian?"
"With all my heart and soul and body," cried the chaperon wildly. "Then get ready and come with me at once," said Dan imperiously.
CHAPTER XIV
[A BUSY AFTERNOON]
Lord Curberry was something of a student and a great deal of a man-about-town, so his residence at Blackheath was an ideal one for an individual who blended such opposite qualities. His pleasant Georgian mansion of mellow red brick stood sufficiently far from London to secure privacy for study, and yet was sufficiently near to enable its owner to reach Piccadilly, Bond Street, the clubs and the theatres, easily when he felt so disposed. The chief seat of the family, indeed, was situated in Somersetshire, but Curberry, not possessing a sporting nature, rarely went to live in the country. The Blackheath estate was not large, consisting only of a few acres of woodland, surrounded by a lofty stone wall; but this wall and the trees of the park so sequestered the house that its seclusion suggested a situation in the very wildest parts of England. In every way, therefore, this compact place suited Lord Curberry and he lived there for the greater part of the year. When Dan and Mrs. Bolstreath arrived they found that the house had been thrown open to the public, so to speak. That is, there was a crowd at the entrance-gates, many people in the grounds, and not a few in the very mansion itself. There was not much difficulty in guessing that Marcus Penn's death had drawn a morbid multitude into the neighborhood wherein he had come to his untimely end. Moreover, the inquest was to be held in the house, and the public desired ardently to hear if the verdict would be "Suicide!"
"Murder!" or merely "Accident!" In any case, sensational developments were expected, since the death of the secretary was both violent and unexpected. As a barrister, Curberry assisted the law in every possible way and had permitted the inquest to take place in the house instead of ordering the body of the unfortunate man to be removed to the nearest mortuary. Every one commented on his kindness in this respect, and approved of his consideration. For the time being Curberry was more popular than he had ever been before. As Dan walked up the short avenue and noted the disorganization of the establishment, he made a significant remark to the agitated chaperon. "I don't think that Curberry will have much time to give to Lillian. All the better, isn't it?"
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," said Mrs. Bolstreath, much flustered. "Well, Penn must have concealed his confession somewhere about the house, so if Lillian wishes to find it, she must get rid of Curberry somehow." "But wouldn't it be wise of her to tell him and ask him to assist in the search?" suggested the lady. "No. If Penn wished Curberry to see his confession, he would have given it to him for delivery to Lillian. He doesn't want Curberry to see what he has written. H'm," Dan reflected that he had used the present tense, "I forgot that the poor chap is dead."