Jarman, having settled his plans, went off, and Frank found himself in sole possession of the house. Miss Cork waited on him assiduously, and he noticed that she was not so eccentric as usual. As yet he had not tried the experiment of letting her see the photograph of Balkis, which was his true reason for obtaining it from Mildred. Frank did not believe Miss Cork's story of the lost child, and was certain that her emotion at the mention of the name was due to some other and less respectable cause. It might be that she knew Balkis herself, and as Balkis knew Berry--according to Natty's slip of the tongue--Miss Cork might be able to throw some light on the mystery of the black woman's connection with Starth. Frank determined to place the photograph where Miss Cork could see it, and then when she was moved to terror or surprise by the sight of the face, to insist on an explanation. What she said might not lead to the detection of the true assassin, but it might reveal something about Berry likely to show why he was conspiring against the life and liberty of an innocent man. But this again was all theory, as was Jarman's belief that the tattoo mark of the Scarlet Bat was at the bottom of Berry's rascalities. Still, if Frank wished to win clear of his difficulties, it behoved him to try in all directions, on the chance of finding a clue to the mystery.
Frank therefore displayed the photograph of the big negress in a prominent position, for the startling of Miss Cork, and then took his way to Rose Cottage. He knew, that, seeing he loved Mildred, he ought not to go, in spite of the unsuspicious Jarman's direct wish. But Lancaster, loyal as he wished to act towards his friend, could not help drinking in the sweet poison. By this time he was convinced that Mildred liked him more than a little, and he gave himself a kind of delicious pain in watching this fruit which he could never hope to pluck. He thought that when she knew his real name her liking would vanish, to be replaced with loathing for the assassin of her brother, as she must surely think Lancaster to be. Then she could marry Jarman, and be happy. Frank argued in this way. All the same, he knew that he was giving way to weakness in trusting himself in her sweet presence. This feeling was so strong on him, when he approached the cottage, that he was minded to retreat, and make some excuse for not calling again. What made him change his mind was the sight of Darrel in the garden. But that Frank was in love and knew that Darrel was a suitor for Mildred's hand, a timely thought of his danger would have made him retreat. As it was, he went boldly forward, trusting in the perfection of his disguise. It had not been pierced by Denham, so it was unlikely he would be unmasked by so slow-thinking a man as Darrel. And it made the young man furiously jealous to think that Darrel should persecute Mildred with his attentions. He tried to think that in coming between he was actuated by friendship for Jarman, but, in his own passionate heart, he knew well that it was a personal resentment. Mrs. Perth had brought her everlasting knitting into the garden, and was seated in a cane chair under the elm. Near her was Mildred, looking in Frank's helpless eyes more beautiful than ever. And to make him the more jealous, Mildred was winding a ball of red wool for Mrs. Perth from a skein held by Darrel. The Rhodesian was, as usual, big and sullen, and appeared much too gigantic for the little garden. It was a modern picture of Hercules and Omphale; and Frank, realising his own helplessness, raged inwardly, as he was smilingly welcomed by Mrs. Perth. Mildred, after a nod, cast down her eyes with a flush on her face, and attended assiduously to her work. Hercules scowled.
"I'm so glad to see you," said Mrs. Perth in her precise voice. "Do you know Mr. Darrel?"
Naturally Frank said that he had not the pleasure, and was introduced at once. Darrel lifted his heavy eyes with a grunt, and paid no further attention to the secretary. But he was quite as jealous as Frank; and Mildred, the cause of this feeling in both breasts, became aware that the weather was thundery. However, she chatted brightly, and divided her attentions equally, being helped by Mrs. Perth. That good lady never suspected what was going on under her nose.
"Your cold is better," said Mrs. Perth, when Frank was seated.
As a matter of fact it was, as Eustace had left off giving Frank the means to hoarsen his voice after the departure of Denham. "It is better," said Frank, almost in his usual tones. "Jarman has been doctoring me. I'll soon be well."
Darrel pricked up his ears and looked at the dark young man. "Have I ever met you before?" he asked.
Frank kept his countenance, although he felt that he was in an awkward position. "I think not," he said coldly.
While Darrel's lazy eyes strayed over him slowly, Mrs. Perth put in a brisk word. "Mr. O'Neil comes from Ireland," she said. "Have you ever been in Ireland, Mr. Darrel?"
"No," he responded, still eyeing Lancaster, who sustained his scrutiny unmoved. "I should never have taken Mr. O'Neil for an Irishman."