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POPULAR NOVELS BY FERGUS HUME

Author of "The Mystery of a Hansom Cab," etc

In Crown 8vo. pictorial cloth. Price 6s. each.

THE RED WINDOW

Second Impression

"For a skilfully conceived plot, succession of stirring incidents and series of surprises, not one of Mr. Fergus Hume's books is surpassed by 'The Red Window.' ... Is the best book of the kind issued this season."--Newcastle Daily Journal.

THE YELLOW HOLLY

Third Edition

"A story of thrilling interest."--To-Day.

"An exciting detective story."--Academy.

A COIN OF EDWARD VII.

Third Edition

"A clever detective story. The book holds one spellbound to the end."--Yorkshire Herald.

THE CRIME OF THE CRYSTAL

Third Edition

"Mr. Fergus Hume once more shows his skill in weaving an intricate plot which holds the reader enthralled until the last line. If this book were judged upon its merits it should obtain a popularity even greater than 'The Mystery of a Hansom Cab.'"--Court Circular.

THE PAGAN'S CUP

Third Edition

"For the lover of mystery the author of the 'Mystery of a Hansom Cab' has prepared a feast in his new book. The story is beyond doubt enthralling, and will in every case be read at a sitting."--Glasgow Herald.

THE RED-HEADED MAN

Third Edition

"Is perhaps the best piece of work that Mr. Fergus Hume has given us since he wrote 'The Mystery of a Hansom Cab.' The plot is very ingenious. Devoid of suspicion of padding, brightly and smoothly written, Mr. Fergus Hume's latest tale contains not a single dull chapter."--World.

"A highly ingenious and well-constructed tale."--Scotsman.

SHYLOCK OF THE RIVER

Fifth Edition

"Quite the most brilliant detective story Mr. Hume has given us since he made such a remarkable hit in 'The Mystery of a Hansom Cab.'"--Literary World.

THE MASQUERADE MYSTERY

Third Edition

"Is as good as, if not better than, 'The Mystery of a Hansom Cab.' ... It is an excellent story."--World.

In Crown 8vo, Cloth, 2s. 6d. Cheap Edition

A MARRIAGE MYSTERY

"Is ingeniously put together.... Mr. Hume's new book is good of its kind."--Athenæum.

"The plot is very clever and well worked out."--Vanity Fair.

London: DIGBY, LONG & Co., 18 Bouverie Street, Fleet St., E.C.

"Well, sail in. We're ready for the play."

THE

MANDARIN'S FAN

BY

FERGUS HUME

AUTHOR OF
"THE MYSTERY OF A HAMSOM CAB," ETC.

SECOND EDITION

LONDON
DIGBY, LONG & CO.
18 BOUVERIE STREET, FLEET STREET, E.C.
1905

THE MANDARIN'S FAN

THE MANDARIN'S FAN

[CHAPTER I]

The Advertisement

One July evening in the first year of the present century, two gentlemen were seated on the terrace of the mansion, known as Royabay. A small rose-wood table was placed between the deep arm-chairs, and thereon appeared wine, coffee, and a box of cigars. The young host smoked a briar and sipped coffee, but his guest, very wisely, devoted himself to superlative port and a fragrant cigar. Major Tidman was a battered old soldier of fortune, who appreciated good quarters and made the most of civilised luxuries, when other people paid for them. He had done full justice to a dinner admirably cooked and served, while Ainsleigh, the master of the feast had merely trifled with his food. Now, the wary Tidman gave himself up to the perfect enjoyment of wine, cigar and the quiet evening, while his host restlessly changed his position a dozen times in ten minutes and gloomed misanthropically at the beautiful surroundings.

And these were very beautiful. From the moss-grown terrace shallow steps descended to smooth lawns and rainbow-hued flower-beds, and solemn pines girdled the open space, wherein the house was set. And under the radiance of a saffron coloured sky, stood the house, grey with centuries of wind and weather, bleaching sun and drenching rains. With its Tudor battlements, casements, diamond-paned and low oriel windows, half obliterated escutcheons; its drapery of green ivy, and heavy iron-clamped doors, it looked venerable, picturesque and peaceful. Tennyson sang in the Palace of Art of just such a quiet "English home the haunt of ancient peace."

On the left, the circle of trees receded to reveal the majestic ruins of an abbey, which had supplied the stones used to construct the mansion. Built by the weak but pious Henry III., the Norman-French name Boyabbaye (King's Abbey) still designated the house of the courtier who had obtained the monastery from another Henry, less pious, and more prone to destroy than to build. The country folk had corrupted the name to Royabay, and its significance was almost lost. But the owner of this fair domain knew its meaning, and loved the ancient place, which had been in the Ainsleigh family for over three hundred years. And he loved it the more, as there was a possibility of its passing away from him altogether.

Rupert was the last of the old line, poor in relations, and poorer still in money. Till the reign of George the first the Ainsleighs had been rich and famous: but from the time of the Hanovarian advent their fortunes declined. Charles Ainsleigh had thrown in his lot with the unlucky Stewarts, and paid for his loyalty so largely as to cripple those who succeeded him. Augustus, the Regency buck, wasted still further the diminished property he inherited, and a Victorian Ainsleigh proved to be just such another spendthrift. Followed this wastrel, Gilbert more thrifty, who strove, but vainly, to restore the waning fortunes of his race. His son Markham, endeavouring to acquire wealth for the same purpose, went to the far East. But he died in China,--murdered according to family tradition,--and on hearing the news, his widow sickened and died, leaving an only child to battle with the ancestral curse. For a curse there was, as dire as that which over-shadowed the House of Atreus, and the superstitious believed,--and with much reason,--that young Rupert as one of the Ainsleighs, had to bear the burden of the terrible anathema.

Major Tidman knew all these things very well, but being modern and sceptical and grossly material, he discredited such occult influence. Expressing his scornful surprise, that Rupert should trouble his head about such fantasies, he delivered his opinion in the loud free dictatorial speech, which was characteristic of the bluff soldier. "Bunkum," said the Major sipping his wine with relish, "because an old monk driven to his last fortifications, curses those who burnt him, you believe that his jabber has an effect on the Ainsleighs."

"They have been very unlucky since," said Rupert gloomily.

"Not a bit of it--not a bit. The curse of Abbot Raoul, didn't begin to work,--if work it did, which I for one don't believe,--until many a long day after this place came to your family. I was born in this neighbourhood sixty and more years ago," added the Major, "and I know the history of your family. The Ainsleighs were lucky enough till Anne's reign."

"Till the first George's reign," corrected the young man, "so far as money goes, that is. But not one of them died in his bed."

"Plenty have died in their beds since."

"But have lost all their money," retorted Rupert.

"It's better to lose money than life," said Tidman evasively.

"I'm not so certain of that Major. But you should talk with Mrs. Pettley about Abbot Raoul's curse. She believes in it."

"And you Ainsleigh?"

Rupert shrugged his shoulders. "We certainly seem to be most unlucky," said he, declining to commit himself to an opinion.

"Want of brains," snapped the Major, who was one of those men who have a reason for everything, "your people wasted their money, and refused to soil their hands with trade. Such pig-headedness brings about misfortune, without the aid of a silly old fool's curse."

"I don't think Abbot Raoul was a fool," protested the host mildly, "on the contrary, he is said to have been a learned and clever man. Aymas Ainsleigh, received the abbey from Henry VIII., and burnt Abbot Raoul in his own cloisters," he nodded towards the ruins, "you can see the blackened square of grass yonder, as a proof of the curse. Herbage will not grow there, and never will, till the curse be lifted."

"Huh," said the Major with supreme contempt, "any chance of that?"

Rupert smiled. "A chance that will never occur I fear. The curse, or prophecy, or whatever you like to call it----"

"I call it rubbish," interpolated the sceptic.

"Well doubting Thomas, it runs like this,--rude enough verse as you will see, but you can't expect a doomed man to be particular as to literary style," and Rupert recited slowly:--

"My curse from the tyrants will never depart,
For a sword in the hands of the angel flashes:
Till Ainsleigh, poor, weds the poor maid of his heart,
And gold be brought forth from the holy ashes."

"I spare you the ancient pronunciation Major." Tidman filled another glass with wine, and laughed scornfully. "I expect the old monk made up the second line to rhyme with ashes," he said expanding his broad chest. "I've heard that rubbishy poetry before. But haven't the Ainsleighs always married poor girls?"

"Some did, but then they had money. It must be a poor Ainsleigh to wed a poor girl to fulfil the third line. My father and grandfather were both poor, but they married rich brides."

"And what became of the cash?"

"It went--I don't know how--but it went."

"Gold turns to dry leaves in the hands of fools," said Tidman sagely, "there's some sense in the old fairy tales. But the fourth line? how can you get gold from ashes?"

Young Ainsleigh rose and began to pace the terrace. "I'm sure I don't know," he said, "that's the curse. If I marry Miss Rayner, I certainly fulfil the third line. She is poor and I am a pauper. Perhaps when the enigma of the third line is solved by such a marriage the fourth line will be made clear."

"I shouldn't hang on to that poetry if I were you, Ainsleigh. Let some one else solve the third line, and the fourth also if he likes. My advice to you is to marry a dollar heiress."

Rupert looked savage. "I love Miss Rayner, and I marry her, or no one."

Tidman selected another cigar carefully. "I think you are wrong," said he decisively, "you have only a small income it's true, but you have this grand old place, a fine old name, and you ain't bad-looking. I guess Miss Jonathan of N'Yr'k would just jump at you."

"I love Olivia Rayner," repeated Ainsleigh doggedly.

"But the obstacles my dear Don Quixote," argued the Major lighting the cigar, "you are poor and she, at the most, will inherit only a few hundreds a year from that aunt of hers. And that mass of granite Miss Wharf, don't like you, nor does her companion, the Pewsey cat."

"Why do you call her a cat--the harmless creature."

"Because she is a cat," said Tidman sturdily, "she'd scratch if she got a chance for all her velvet paws. But she hates you as old Miss Wharf does. Then there's Lady Jabe--"

"Oh heavens," said Rupert and made a wry face.

"You may well say that. She's a bullying Amazon of uncertain age. But she'll do her best to catch Olivia for her nephew Chris Walker."

"Oh he's a nice enough fellow," said Rupert still pacing the terrace. "I've got nothing to say against him, except that he'd better keep out of my way. And after all Olivia would never marry a clerk in a tea merchant's firm."

"But he's nephew to Lady Jabe."

"What of that. She's only the widow of a knight and hasn't a penny to leave him. Why should she want him to marry Olivia?"

"Because Miss Wharf will leave Olivia five hundred a year. Lady Jabe will then live on the young couple. And see here Ainsleigh, if you marry Olivia with that income, you won't be taking to wife the poor girl mentioned in the curse."

"Oh hang the curse," said Rupert crossly.

"By all means," said Tidman serenely, "you didn't bring me here to talk of that did you?"

"No. I want to ask your advice?"

"I've given it--unasked. Marry a dollar-heiress, and let old Jabe make Olivia her niece-in-law. By doing so you will be released from your pecuniary difficulties, and will also escape the hatred of Miss Wharf and that Pewsey cat, who both hate you."

"I wonder why they do?"

"Hum," said Tidman discreetly. He knew pretty well why Miss Wharf hated his host, but he was too wise to speak, "something to do with a love affair."

"What's that got to do with me?"

"Ask me another," replied Major Tidman vulgarly, for he was not going to tell a fiery young man like Rupert, that Markham Ainsleigh, Rupert's father, was mixed up in the romance, "and I wish you would sit down," he went on irritably "you're walking like a cat on hot bricks. What's the matter with you?"

"What's the matter," echoed Ainsleigh returning to the arm-chair.

"I asked you here to tell you."

"Wait till I have another glass. Now fire ahead." But Rupert did not accept the invitation immediately. He looked at the lovely scene spread out before him, and up to the sky which was now of a pale primrose colour. There was a poetic vein in young Ainsleigh, but troubles from his earliest childhood had stultified it considerably. Ever since he left college had he battled to keep the old place, but now, it seemed as if all his trouble had been in vain. He explained his circumstances to the Major, and that astute warrior listened to a long tale of mortgages threatened to be foreclosed, of the sale of old and valuable furniture, and of the disposal of family jewels. "But this last mortgage will finish me," said Rupert in conclusion. "I can't raise the money to pay it off. Miss Wharf will foreclose, and then all the creditors will come down on me. The deluge will come in spite of all I can do."

Major Tidman stared. "Do you mean to say that Miss Wharf"--

"She holds the mortgage."

"And she hates you," said Tidman, his eyes bulging, "huh! This is a nice kettle of fish."

Rupert threw himself back in the deep chair with an angry look. He was a tall finely built young man of twenty-five, of Saxon fairness, with clear blue eyes and a skin tanned by an out-door life. In spite of his poverty and perhaps because of it, he was accurately dressed by a crack London tailor, and looked singularly handsome in his well-fitting evening suit. Pulling his well-trimmed fair moustache, he eyed the tips of his neat, patent leather shoes gloomily, and waited to hear what the Major had to say.

That warrior ruminated, and puffed himself out like the frog in the fable. Tidman was thickset and stout, bald-headed and plethoric. He had a long grey moustache which he tugged at viciously, and on the whole looked a comfortable old gentleman, peaceful enough when let alone. But his face was that of a fighter and his grey eyes were hot and angry. All over the world had the Major fought, and his rank had been gained in South America. With enough to live on, he had returned to the cot where he was born, and was passing his declining days very, pleasantly. Having known Rupert for many years and Rupert's father before him, he usually gave his advice when it was asked for, and knew more about the young man's affairs than anyone else did. But the extent of the ruin, as revealed by the late explanation, amazed him. "What's to be done?" he asked.

"That's what I wish you to suggest," said Rupert grimly, "things are coming to a climax, and perhaps when the last Ainsleigh is driven from home, Abbot Raoul will rest quiet in his grave. His ghost walks you know. Ask Mrs. Pettley. She's seen it, or him."

"Stuff-stuff-stuff," grumbled the Major staring, "let the ghost and the curse and all that rubbish alone. What's to be done?"

"Well," said the young man meditatively, "either I must sell up, and clear out to seek my fortune, leaving Olivia to marry young Walker, or--"

"Or what?" asked Tidman seeing Rupert hesitating.

For answer Ainsleigh took a pocket-book from the lower ledge of the table and produced therefrom a slip of printed paper.

"I cut that out of 'The Daily Telegraph,'" said he handing it to the Major, "what do you make of it?"

Tidman mounted a gold pince-nez and read aloud, as follows:--

"The jade fan of Mandarin Lo-Keong, with the four and half beads and the yellow cord. Wealth and long life to the holder, who gives it to Hwei, but death and the doom of the god Kwang-ho to that one who refuses. Address Kan-su at the Joss-house of the Five Thousand Blessings, 43 Perry Street, Whitechapel."

"A mixture of the Far East and the Near West, isn't it?" asked Rupert, when the Major laid down the slip and stared.

"Lo-Keong," said Tidman searching his memory, "wasn't that the man your father knew?"

"The same. That is why I cut out the slip, and why I asked you to see me. You remember my father's expedition to China?"

"Of course. He went there twenty years ago when you were five years of age. I was home at the time--it was just before I went to fight in that Janjalla Republic war in South America. I wanted your father to come with me and see if he couldn't make money: but he was bent on China."

"Well," said Rupert, "I understood he knew of a gold-mine there."

"Yes, on the Hwei River," Major Tidman snatched the slip of print and read the lines again, "and here's the name, Hwei--that's strange."

"But what's stranger still," said Rupert, bending forward "is, that I looked up some papers of my father and learn that the Hwei River is in the Kan-su province."

"Address Kan-su," murmured Tidman staring harder than ever. "Yes. It seems as though this had something to do with your father."

"It must have something to do with him," insisted Rupert, "my father found that gold-mine near the Hwei River in the Kan-su province, and Lo-Keong was the Boxer leader who protected my father from the enmity of the Chinese. I believe he sent my father's papers to England--at least so Dr. Forge says."

"Forge," cried Tidman rising, "quite so. He was with your father. Why not see him, and ask questions."

"I'll do so. Perhaps he may tell me something about this fan."

"What if he does?"

"I might find it."

"And if you do?" asked the Major, his eyes protruding.

Rupert sprang to his feet and took up the slip. "Wealth and long life to the holder who gives it to Hwei," he read: then replaced the slip in his pocket-book, "why shouldn't I find that fan and get enough money to pay off Miss Wharf and others and keep Royabay."

"But it's such a mad idea?"

"I don't see it. If it hadn't to do with my father it would be," said Ainsleigh lighting his pipe, "but my father knew Lo-Keong, and by the names Hwei and Kan-su, it seems as though the locality of the gold-mine had something to do with the matter. I'll see old Forge and try to find this fan."

"Oh," said Tidman, a light breaking on him, "you think Lo-Keong may have given the fan to your father?"

"Yes, and Forge may know what luggage and papers were sent home, at the time my father died--"

"Was murdered you mean."

"We can't be sure of that," said Rupert his face flushing, "but I'll find that out, and get hold of the fan also. It's my chance to make money, and I believe Providence has opened this way to me."

[CHAPTER II]

Dr. Forge

Royabay was distant five miles from Marport, a rising watering place on the Essex coast. In fact so large was the town, and so many the visitors, that it might be said to be quite risen, though the inhabitants insisted that it had not yet attained the height it yet would reach. But be this as it may, Marport was popular and fashionable, and many retired gentlepeople lived in spacious houses along the cliffs and in the suburbs. The ancient town, which lay in a hollow, was left to holiday trippers, and these came in shoals during the summer months. There was the usual pier, the Kursaal, the theatre, many bathing machines and many boarding houses--in fact the usual sort of things which go to make up a popular watering-place. And the town had been in existence--the new part at all events--for only fifteen years. Like Jonah's gourd it had sprung up in a night: but it certainly showed no signs of withering. In fact its attractions increased yearly.

Major Tidman was a wise man, and had not travelled over the world with his eyes shut. He had seen colonial towns spring up and fade away, and knew how the value of land increases. Thus, when he returned to his own country with a certain sum of money, he expended the same in buying land, and in building thereon. This policy produced a lot of money, with which the Major bought more land and more houses. Now, he possessed an avenue of desirable villa residences in the suburbs which brought him in a good income, and which, by reason of their situation, were never empty. The Major did not live here himself. He was a bachelor and fond of company: therefore he took up his quarters in the Bristol Hotel, the most fashionable in Marport. As he had shares in the company which built it, he managed to obtain his rooms at a comparatively moderate rate. Here he lived all the year round, save when he took a trip to the Continent, and, as the Bristol was always full of people, the Major did not lack company. As he was a good-humoured little man, with plenty of small talk and a fund of out-of-the-way information, he soon became immensely popular. In this way the crafty Major had all the comforts of home and the delights of society without bearing the burden of an establishment of his own. His sole attendant was a weather-beaten one-eyed man, who acted as his valet, and who knew how to hold his tongue.

Sometimes the Major would walk up town and inspect his property with great pride. It was balm to his proud heart to walk up and down the spacious avenue, and survey the red brick villas smiling amidst trim gardens. Tidman's birth was humble,--his father had been a small tenant farmer of the Ainsleighs,--and he had started life without even the proverbial shilling. For many years he was absent from his native land, and returned to find fortune waiting for him on the door step. To be sure he brought a nest-egg home with him. Nevertheless, but for his astuteness in buying land and in building he would not have acquired such a good income. So the Major had some cause for self congratulation, when he paced up and down Tidman's Avenue.

Two days after his dinner with Rupert Ainsleigh, the Major spick and span as usual,--he always looked as though he had stepped out of a bandbox,--was strutting up the Avenue. Half way along he came face to face with a withered little woman, who looked like the bad fairy of the old nursery tales. She wore a poke bonnet, a black dress and, strange to say, a scarlet shawl. Her age might have been about fifty-five, but she looked even older. With her dress picked up, and holding a flower in her hand, she came mincing along smiling at the world with a puckered face and out of a pair of very black and brilliant eyes. She looked a quaint old-fashioned gentlewoman of the sort likely to possess a good income, for it seemed that no pauper would have dared to dress in so shabby and old-fashioned a manner. Consequently it was strange that the gallant Major should have showed a disposition to turn tail when he set eyes on her. She might indeed have been the veritable witch she looked, so pale turned Major Tidman's ruddy face. But the old dame was not going to let him escape in this way.

"Oh good morning," she said in a sharp voice like a saw, "how well you are looking dear Major Tidman--really so very well. I never saw you look younger. The rose in your button-hole is not more blooming. How do you keep your youth so? I remember you"--

But the Major cut her short. He had enough of flattering words which he guessed she did not mean, and didn't want her to remember anything, for he knew her memory extended disagreeably to the time when he had been a poor and humble nobody. "I'm in a hurry Miss Pewsey," he said twirling his stick, "good-morning ma'am--morning."

"If you're going to see Dr. Forge," said Miss Pewsey, her black eyes glittering like jet. "I've just come from his house. He is engaged."

"I can wait I suppose, Miss Pewsey," said Tidman bristling, "that is, supposing I am calling on the doctor."

"Then you really are: not on account of your health I'm sure. I do hope you aren't ill, dear Major. We all look forward to you shining at the ball, which is to take place at the Hotel Bristol."

"I may be there, Miss Pewsey. I may be there,--in fact," the Major flourished his stick again, "I am one of the stewards."

Miss Pewsey clapped together a pair of small claws encased in shabby cotton gloves. "There," she cried in a shriller voice than ever, "I knew it. I said so to my Sophia. Of course you know I always call dear Miss Wharf my Sophia; we have been friends for years--oh yes, for years. We grew on one stem and--"

"You'll excuse me, ma'am--"

"Oh yes--I know you are so busy. But I was saying, that you can give me a ticket for my nephew, Mr. Burgh--"

"The tickets are for sale at the hotel," said Tidman gruffly.

"Yes, but my poor nephew is poor. He also has come from foreign parts Major as you did, and just as poor. You must give him a ticket--oh really you must." Miss Pewsey spoke with an emphasis on every other word, and between her teeth as though she was trying to prevent the speech escaping too rapidly. "Now, Major," she coaxed.

"I'll see, ma'am--I'll see."

"Oh. I knew you would." She clasped her hands again, "come and see my Sophia--dear Miss Wharf, and then you can give Clarence--that's my nephew's name, sweet isn't it?--you can give him the ticket. But don't bring him," added Miss Pewsey jerking her old head backward in the direction of Dr. Forge's residence, "he's there."

"Who is there, ma'am?" demanded the Major with a start.

"Why that horrid Mr. Ainsleigh and--"

Miss Pewsey got no further. The Major uttered something naughty under his breath, and taking off his hat with a flourish, bowed his way along the road, pursued by the shrill injunctions of the lady not to forget the ticket.

Tidman walked more rapidly and less jauntily than usual, and stopped at Dr. Forge's gate to wipe his red face, which had now assumed its normal colour.

"By George," said the old soldier, "that woman will marry me, if I don't take care. She ain't safe--she shouldn't be allowed out. Pewsey--a cat--a cat--I always said so. Lavinia Pewsey cat, to Benjamin Tidman gentleman. Not if I know it--ugh--ugh," and he walked up the steps to ring the bell. While waiting, his thoughts went from Miss Pewsey to Rupert. "I thought he had gone to town about that fan business," said the Major fretting, "what's he doing calling on Forge without telling me," and Tidman seemed very much annoyed that Rupert should have taken such a liberty.

True enough, he found young Ainsleigh sitting with Dr. Forge. The doctor was a tall lean man with sad eyes, and a stiff manner. He was dressed in a loose white flannel suit, in a most unprofessional way. But everyone knew that Forge had money and did not practise, save when the fancy took him. With his watchful grey eyes and sad face and lantern jaws, Forge was not a prepossessing object or a medical attendant to be desired. Also his hands had a claw-like look, which, added to his thin hooked nose, made him look like a hawk. He spoke very little though, and what he did say was to the point: but he was not popular like the Major. A greater contrast than this mummy and handsome young Ainsleigh, can scarcely be imagined.

The Major came puffing into the room and looked around. It was a small apartment furnished with Chinese curiosities. Rice-paper painted in the conventional Chinese fashion adorned the walls: a many-tasseled lantern gay with colour, dangled from the roof, and in each corner of the room a fat mandarin squatted on a pedestal. The furniture was of bamboo, and straw matting covered the floor. A bookcase filled with medical volumes looked somewhat out of place in this eastern room, as did the doctor's writing table, a large one covered with papers and books, and strange looking Chinese scrips. The room was as queer as its owner, and the atmosphere had that indescribable eastern smell, which the Major remembered to have sniffed up at Canton under disagreeable circumstances. Perhaps it was the revival of an unpleasant memory that made him sit down so suddenly, or it might have been the cold grey stony eyes of Forge.

"Well Major," said Rupert who looked handsome and gay in flannels, and who seemed to have lost his melancholy looks, "who would have thought of seeing you here?"

"I came to ask Forge to keep the exterior of his house a little more tidy," said the Major with dignity, "the steps have not been cleaned this morning, and there is straw in the garden, while the shrubs and flowers are dying for want of water."

Forge shrugged his thin shoulders, and nodded towards some egg-shell china cups and a quaint looking tea-pot. But he did not speak.

"No," replied the Major to the silent invitation. "I never drink tea in the afternoon--"

"Or at any time," said Forge in a melancholy way. "I know you of old. Ainsleigh, take another cup."

"Not in the Chinese fashion," said Rupert smiling, "you drink it too hot for my taste and I like milk and sugar. But now I've told you about the fan, I'll leave you to chat with Tidman."

"The fan," said Tidman sitting up as straight as his stoutness would let him, "ah yes--I forgot about that. Well?"

"Well," echoed Rupert lighting a cigarette, "I called at the joss house in Perry Street Whitechapel, and a nice sort of den it is. A Chinaman, heard my explanation about my father's connection with Lo-Keong, and then told me that the fan had been stolen from that gentleman, who is now a Mandarin."

"Lo-Keong was well on the way to the highest post when I saw him last," said Forge preparing a roll of tobacco, "he was much in favour at the court."

"But I thought he was a Boxer," said Tidman, "and surely----"

"Oh he gave up the Boxers, and curried favour with the Dowager Empress. That was seven years ago, when I was last in China. I met you there Tidman."

Again the disagreeable recollection of Canton crossed the Major's memory, and he nodded. "What about the fan?" he asked Rupert again.

"It's of great value," said Ainsleigh, "at least this Chinaman told me so. Lo-Keong is now a Mandarin, and is high in favour with the Dowager Empress--"

"And consequently is hated by the Emperor," murmured Forge.

"I don't know, doctor, I'm not up in Chinese politics. However, the fan was lost by Lo-Keong some years ago, and being a sacred fan, he wants it back. This Chinaman Tung-Yu--"

"Oh," said the Major, "then you didn't see Hwei or Kan-su?"

"Those are names of a river and a province," said the doctor.

"I know," snapped Tidman, "but they were in the advertisement."

"Tung-yu explained that they were used only for the purpose of advertisement," said Rupert, "but to make a long story short, I told him that I had seen the fan--"

"You saw the fan," asked Tidman directing a side look at Forge.

"A dream--a dream," said the doctor.

"No," insisted the young man. "I feel sure I have seen that fan, I can't think where. Perhaps it is amongst my father's effects sent from China by Lo-Keong years ago----"

"Twenty years ago," said Dr. Forge, "and Lo-Keong would hardly send his own fan. I remember the things coming. I came home immediately before. A Chinaman brought your father's papers and luggage to Royabay. He left them with your mother and went away."

"Were you not with my father when he died?" asked Rupert, "I always understood you were."

"No. I was at Pekin at the time. Your father and I were working the mine together, and I went about some imperial concessions. While there I heard that your father was dead."

"Was he murdered?" asked Rupert earnestly.

"I really can't say, Lo-Keong said that he died of dysentery, but he was always a liar. He wouldn't be so high in favour with the Court if he wasn't. Lying is a fine art in the Far East, and--"

"Yes--Yes," said Tidman impatiently, "but what has all this to do with the fan?"

"I think it's all of a piece myself," said Rupert, "and I intend to get to the bottom of it. I have seen that fan somewhere--but I can't think--I can't," he reflected and shook his head, "no. But I have seen it doctor, so its no use your shrugging your shoulders. I want to find it and get that five thousand pounds."

"What?" cried the Major leaping up on his stout little legs.

"Lo-Keong is willing to give five thousand pounds for the return of his fan," said Ainsleigh, who had walked to the door, "and I intend to earn it."

"Against my advice," said Forge looking up oddly.

Rupert laughed. "Oh you are afraid," he said smiling.

"Of you, not of myself. I know what the Chinese are, and have studied the race for years. I know how to deal with them; but you will get into trouble if you meddle with this fan business."

"And so I say," cried Tidman emphatically.

"Why, what do you know of the Chinese, Major?" asked Rupert.

"More than I like to think of," said the little man wiping his bald head. "I went out to China for a trip seven years ago and met with an adventure in Canton--ugh!"

"What sort of an adventure?"

"Ugh!" grunted the Major again, "don't talk about it. It makes me cold to think of it. The Chinese are demons. Forge got me out of the trouble and I left China never to set foot in it again I hope. Ainsleigh, if you want that curse of yours to be realised, meddle with the fan. But if you want to keep your life and your skin, leave the matter alone."

"I'm going to get that five thousand pounds," said Rupert, obstinately, "as soon as I can recollect where I saw that fan. The memory will come back to me. I am sure it will. Doctor you won't help me."

"No," said Forge decisively. "I advise you to leave the matter alone."

"In that case I must search it out myself. Good-day," and Ainsleigh strolled out of the room, light-heartedly enough, as he whistled a gay tune. Major Tidman looked grimly at the closed door, and then still more grimly at the doctor, who was paring his nails.

"Our young friend is ambitious," he said.

Forge laughed gently. "You can hardly blame him. He wants to marry Miss Rayner and save his ancestral home, so I am quite sure he will search for the fan."

"He won't find it then," said the Major petulantly.

"Won't he?" questioned Forge sweetly, "well, perhaps not. By the way you want to see me Major. Mrs. Bressy tells me you called at least twice yesterday."

"Yes. She didn't know when you would be back."

"I never tell her. I like to take the old lady unawares. She is a Dickens' character, with a fondness for drink, and for taking things which don't belong to her. I always go away and come back unexpectedly. Yesterday I was in Paris. Now I am at Marport. Well?"

The Major had contained himself with difficulty all this time, and had grown very red in the face. The colour changed to a lively purple, as he burst out. "See here Forge what's the use of talking to me in this way. You have that fan."

"Have I," said Forge smiling gently.

"Yes. You know well enough that the very fan--the jade fan with the five beads, was the cause of my getting into trouble in Canton. You got me out of the trouble and you asked me to give you the fan, when I thanked you."

"And you refused," said Forge still smiling.

"Well I did at first," said Tidman sulkily. "I risked my life over the beastly thing, and--"

Forge raised a thin hand. "Spare yourself the recital. I know."

"Well then," went on Tidman excitedly. "You asked again for it when you came home, and I gave it to you. Ainsleigh is quite right. He did see the fan. I showed it to him one day before you arrived. I see he has forgotten, but any stray thought may revive his memory. I don't want him to have the fan."

"Why not?" asked Forge shutting his knife with a click.

"Because I want the five thousand pounds for myself. I'm not so well off as people think, and I want"--

"You forget," said Forge gently, "you gave me the fan."

"And have you got it?"

"I have," he nodded towards a cabinet of Chinese work adorned with quaint figures, "it's in there."

"Give it to me back."

"No. I think I'll keep it."

"What do you want to do with it?" asked Tidman angrily.

Forge rose and looked stern, "I want to keep it from Lo-Keong," he said savagely, "there's some secret connected with that fan. I can't understand what the secret is or what the fan has to do with it: but it means life and death to this Mandarin. He'd give ten thousand,--twenty thousand to get that fan back. But he shan't."

"Oh," groaned the Major, "why did I give it to you. To think that such a lot of money should go begging. If I had only known what the fan was worth."

"You knew nothing about it save as a curiosity."

"How do you know," demanded the Major.

Forge who had turned towards the cabinet wheeled round and looked more like a hawk than ever as he pounced on the stout man. "What do you know?" and he clawed Tidman's plump shoulders.

"Let me go confound you," blustered the Major, "what do you mean by assaulting a gentleman"--

"A gentleman." Forge suddenly released the Major and laughed softly, "does Benjamin Tidman, old Farmer Tidman's son call himself so. Why I remember you--"

"Yes I know you do, and so does that infernal Pewsey cat."

Forge suddenly became attentive. "Miss Pewsey if you please. She is my friend. I may--" Forge halted and swallowed something. "I may even marry her some day."

"What," shouted Tidman backing to the wall, "that old--old--"

"Gently my good Benjamin, gently."

"But--but you're not a marrying man."

"We never know what we are till we die," said Forge turning again towards the black cabinet, "but you needn't mention what I have said. If you do," Forge snarled like an angry cat and shot one glance from his gray eyes that made Tidman shiver: then he resumed his gentle tone. "About this fan. I'll make a bargain with you."

"What's that?" asked the Major avariciously.

"I'll show you the fan, and if you can guess it's secret, I'll let you give it to this Tung-yu or Hwei or Kan-su or whatever he likes to call himself."

"But you don't want Lo-Keong to have the fan," said the Major doubtfully.

Forge opened the cabinet slowly. "So long as I learn the secret he can have the fan. I want to ruin him. He's a devil and--ah--" he started back. "The fan--the fan--"

"What is it?" asked Tidman, craning over Forge's shoulder at an empty drawer, "where is the fan?"

"Lost," cried Forge furiously, and looked like a dangerous grey rat.

"Five thousand pounds gone," moaned the Major.

"My life you fool--my life," cried the doctor, "it is at stake."

[CHAPTER III]

Miss Wharf at Home

The best houses in Marport were situated on the Cliffs. They stood a considerable way back and had small plots of ground before them cultivated or not, according to the taste of those who owned them. Some of these gardens were brilliant with flowers, others had nothing but shrubs in them, presenting rather a sombre appearance, and a few were bare sun-burnt grass plots, with no adornment whatsoever. A broad road divided the gardens from the grassy undulations of the cliffs, and along this thoroughfare, rolled carriages, bicycles, and motor-cars all day during the season. Then came the grass on the cliff-tops which stretched for a long distance, and which was dotted with shelters for nervous invalids. At one end there was a round band-stand where red-coated musicians played lively airs from the latest musical comedy. Round the stand were rows of chairs hired out at twopence an afternoon, and indeed, all over the lawns, seats of various kinds were scattered. At the end of the grass, the cliffs sloped gradually and were intersected with winding paths, which led downward to the asphalt Esplanade which ran along the water's edge, when the tide was high, and beside evil-smelling mud when the tide was out. And on what was known as the beach--a somewhat gritty strand,--were many bathing machines. Such was the general appearance of Marport which the Essex people looked on as a kind of Brighton, only much better.

Miss Sophia Wharf owned a cosy little house at the far end of the cliffs, and just at the point where Marport begins to melt into the country. It was a modern house comfortably furnished and brilliant with electric lights. The garden in front of it was well taken care of, there were scarlet and white shades to the windows and flower boxes filled with blossoms on the sills. Everyone who passed remarked on the beauty of the house, and Miss Wharf was always pleased when she heard them envy her possessions. She liked to possess a Naboth's Vineyard of her own, and appreciated it the more, when others would have liked to take it. She had an income of one thousand a year and therefore could live very comfortably. The house (Ivy Lodge was it's highly original name) was her own, bought in the days when Marport was nothing but a fishing village. She knew everyone in the neighbourhood, was a staunch friend to the vicar who was high church and quite after her own heart in the use of banners, incense, candles and side-altars, and on the whole was one of the leading ladies of the place. She had the reputation of being charitable, but this was owing to Miss Pewsey who constantly trumpeted the bestowal of any stray shilling being by her patroness.

Miss Wharf was a lady of good family, but had quarrelled with her relatives. She was a tall, cold, blonde woman who had once been handsome and still retained a certain portion of good looks, in spite of her forty and more years. She lived with her niece Olivia the child of a sister long since dead, and with Miss Pewsey, to whom she gave a home as a companion. But Miss Wharf well knew, that Lavinia Pewsey was worth her weight in gold owing to the way she praised up her good, kind, devoted, loving, sweet, friend. The adjectives are Miss Pewsey's own, but some people said that Sophia Wharf did not deserve to have them attached to her. The lady had her enemies, and these openly declared, as the Major had done, that she was a mass of granite. Other people, less prejudiced, urged that Miss Wharf looked after Olivia, who was a penniless orphan. To which the grumblers retorted that Miss Wharf liked someone to vent her temper on, and that the poor girl, being too pretty, did duty as a whipping boy. This was possibly true, for Olivia and her aunt did not get on well together. In her own way the girl looked as cold as Miss Wharf, but this coldness was merely a mask to hide a warm and loving nature, while Miss Wharf was an ice-berg through and through. However, on the whole, Sophia Wharf was well liked, and took care to make the most of her looks and her moderate income and her reputation as a charitable lady. And Miss Pewsey was the show-woman who displayed her patroness's points to their best advantage.

The drawing-room of Ivy Lodge was a flimsy, pretty, feminine, room, furnished in a gim-crack fashion, of the high art style. The floor was waxed, and covered with Persian praying mats, the chairs were gilt and had spindle legs the settee was Empire, the piano was encased in green wood and adorned with much brass, the sofa was Louis Quinze and covered with brocade, and there were many tables of rose-wood, dainty and light, heaped high with useless nick-knacks.

The walls of pale green were adorned with water-colour pictures, and many mirrors draped with Liberty silk. Everywhere were large bowls of flowers, miniatures of Miss Wharf at various times of her life, curiosities from China and Japan and the near East, and all sorts of odds and ends which Miss Wharf had collected on her travels. Not that she had been to the East, for the evidences of civilisation in those lands came from Dr. Forge and Major Tidman, but Miss Wharf had explored Germany, Switzerland and Italy and consequently had brought home cuckoo-clocks, quaint carvings, pictures of the Madonna, Etruscan idols and such like things with which every tourist loads himself or herself. The result was, that the drawing-room looked like a curiosity shop, but it was considered to be one of the prettiest drawing-rooms in Essex.

Miss Wharf looked too large and too substantial for the frail furniture of the room. She had a double chin and was certainly very stout. Very wisely she had a special arm-chair placed in the window--from which she could see all that was going on,--and here she sat working most of the day. She was great on doing fancy articles for bazaars, and silk ties for such gentlemen as she admired, for Miss Wharf, old maid as she was, liked male society. The Major was her great admirer, so was young Walker, Lady Jabe's nephew. Sophia was not very sure of this last gentleman, as she shrewdly suspected--prompted by Miss Pewsey--that he admired Olivia. Rupert also admired Olivia and wanted to marry her, a proceeding which Miss Wharf objected to. Miss Pewsey supported her in this, for both women were envious of the youth which had passed from them for ever. But Miss Wharf had also another reason, which Miss Pewsey knew, but of which Olivia was ignorant. Hitherto Sophia had kept it from the girl but this afternoon in a fit of rage she let it out. The explosion did not come at once, for Lady Jabe was in the room drinking tea, and Miss Pewsey was flitting about, filling odd vases with flowers. Olivia sat on the settee very straight and very cold, looking dark and handsome, and altogether too splendid a woman for her aunt to tolerate.

"Can't you do something?" said Miss Wharf turning her jealous eyes on the girl. "I should think you must be tired, twiddling your thumbs all day."

"I'll do whatever you wish me to do," said Olivia coldly.

"Then help Lavinia with the flowers."

Olivia rose to do so, but Miss Pewsey refused her assistance in a shrill speech spoken as usual between her teeth and with an emphasis on every other word.

"Oh no dear, dear, Sophia," cried Miss Pewsey, "I have just finished, and I may say that my eye for colour is better than Olivia's--you don't mind my saying so, darling," she added to the girl.

"Not at all," replied Miss Rayner who detested the sycophant. "I never give the matter a thought."

"You should think," said Lady Jabe joining in heavily. She was a tall masculine-looking woman with grey hair and bushy grey eyebrows, and with an expression of face that suggested she should have worn a wig and sat on the bench. She dressed in rather a manly way, and far too young for her fifty years. On the present occasion she wore a yachting-cap, a shirt with a stand-up, all round, collar and a neat bow; a leather belt and a bicycling skirt of blue serge. Her boots and shoes were of tanned brown leather, and she carried a bamboo cane instead of a sunshade. No one could have been more gentlemanly. "You should think," added she once more, "for instance you should think of marriage."

Miss Wharf drew herself up in her cold way. "I fancy that Olivia, few brains as she has, is yet wise enough not to think of marriage at twenty."

"It would not be much good if I did," said Olivia calmly. "I have no money, and young men want a rich wife."

"Not all," said Lady Jabe, "there's Chris----"

"Chris is out of the question," said Miss Rayner quickly.

"And pray why is he?" asked Sophia in arms at once. She never liked Olivia to have an opinion of her own.

"Because I don't love him."

"But Chris loves you," said Lady Jabe, "and really he's getting a very good salary in that Tea-merchant's office. Chris, as you are aware, Olivia, is foreign corresponding clerk to Kum-gum Li & Co. He knows Chinese," finished Lady Jabe, with tremendous emphasis.

"Oh," Miss Pewsey threw up her claws, "how delicious to be made love to in Chinese. I must really ask Mr. Walker what is the Chinese for 'I love you.'"

"Olivia prefers to hear it in English," said Miss Wharf, spitefully.

"Quite so, aunt," retorted her niece, her colour rising, "but don't you think we might change the subject. It really isn't very interesting."

"But indeed I think it is," said Lady Jabe smartly, "I come here to plead the cause of poor Chris. His heart is breaking. Your aunt is willing to----"

"But I am not," said Miss Rayner quickly, "so please let us say no more about the matter. Mr. Walker can marry Lotty Dean."

"But she's a grocer's daughter," said Lady Jabe, who was herself the widow of an oil-merchant, "and remember my title."

"Lotty isn't going to marry you, Lady Jabe."

"Nor Chris, if I can help it," said the other grimly.

Miss Wharf was just about to crush Olivia with a particularly disagreeable remark, when the door opened and two gentlemen entered. One was Christopher Walker, a slim, boyish-looking young fellow, in that callow stage of manhood which sees beauty in every woman. The other, who followed, was Miss Pewsey's nephew.

There was nothing immature about him, although he was but twenty eight years of age. Clarence Burgh was tall, thin, dark and had the appearance of a swashbuckler as he swaggered into the room. His black eyes snapped with an unholy light and his speech smacked too much of the Lands at the Back of Beyond, where he had passed the most part of his life. He was an expert rider, and daily rode a bucking squealing, kicking stallion up and down the road, or took long gallops into the country to reduce the fire of the unruly beast. Burgh was bad all through, daring, free, bold, and had a good deal of the untamed savage about him; but he was emphatically a man, and it was this virile atmosphere about him, which caused his withered aunt to adore him. And indeed Miss Wharf admired him also, as did many of the women in Marport. Clarence looked like a buccaneer who would carry a woman off, and knock her down if she objected to his love-making. Women like that sort of dominating lord of the world, and accordingly Mr. Burgh had nothing to complain of, so far as feminine admiration went, during his sojourn in Marport. But he had set his affections on Olivia, and hitherto she had shrunk from him. All the same, brute as he was, she admired him more than she did effeminate Chris Walker, who smacked of the city and of a feather-bed-four-meals-a-day existence.

"Oh," squeaked Miss Pewsey, flying to the hero and clasping him round the neck, "how very, very sweet of you to come."

"Hadn't anything else to do," said Clarence gracefully, casting himself into a chair. All his movements were graceful like those of a panther. "How are you Miss Wharf--Miss Rayner--Lady Jabe. I guess you all look like a garden of spring flowers this day."

"But flowers we may not pluck," sighed Chris prettily.

Burgh looked at him with contempt. "I reckon a man can pick what he has a mind to," said he drily, and then shifted his gaze to see how Olivia took this speech. To his secret annoyance, she did not let on, she heard him.

"Will you have some tea, Mr. Burgh," asked Miss Wharf.

"Thanks. It seems to be the sort of thing one must drink here."

"You drank it in China didn't you?" asked Lady Jabe.

Burgh turned quickly. "Who told you I had been in China?" he asked.

"My nephew Chris. He heard you talking Chinese to someone."

The dark young man looked distinctly annoyed. "When was that?" he asked Chris.

"Two weeks ago," replied the other, "you were standing at the corner of the Mansion House talking to a Chinaman. I only caught a word or two in passing."

"And I guess you didn't understand," said Clarence derisively.

"There you are wrong. I am in a Chinese firm, and know the language. As a matter of fact I write their foreign letters for them."

"The deuce you do," murmured Burgh looking rather disturbed; but he said no more on the subject, and merely enquired if the ladies were prepared for the ball at the Bristol which was to take place in six days. "I hear it's going to be a bully affair."

"Oh charming--charming," said Miss Pewsey. "Major Tidman is one of the stewards. I asked him for a ticket for you Clarence dear."

"I'll go, if Miss Rayner will dance with me."

"I don't know that I am going myself," said Olivia quietly.

"Nonsense," said her aunt sharply, "of course you are going. Everyone is going--the best ball of the season."

"Even poor little me," said Miss Pewsey, with her elderly head on one side.

"Huh," said the irreverent Clarence, "ain't you past hoppin' aunt?"

"I can look on and admire the younger generation dear."

"It will be a splendid ball," prattled Chris sipping his tea and devouring very crumbly cake, "the Glorious Golfers are going to spend a lot of money in decorating the rooms. I met Mr. Ainsleigh. He is going--a rare thing for him. He goes nowhere as a rule."

Miss Wharf glanced sharply at her niece, but beyond a faint flush, she could detect no sign of emotion. "People who are as poor as young Ainsleigh, can't afford to go out," she said deliberately. "I think the wisest thing that young man could do, would be to marry a rich girl," and she again looked at Olivia.

"He is certainly very handsome," said Lady Jabe pensively, "very much like his mother. She was a fine-looking woman, one of the Vanes of Heathersham."

"I remember her," said Miss Wharf, her colour rising, "and I never thought she was good-looking myself."

"Not to compare to you dear," said the sycophant.

But this time Miss Pewsey made a mistake. The remark did not seem to please Miss Wharf. "I don't care for comparisons," she said sharply, "its bad taste to make them. I like Mr. Ainsleigh, but I don't approve of his idling."

"He has never been brought up to do anything," said Lady Jabe.

"Then he ought to turn his hands to making money in some way. That place is mortgaged and at any time may be sold. Then he won't have a roof over his head."

"I have never met Ainsleigh," said Burgh musingly, "I guess I'd like to have a jaw along o' him. Wasn't his father murdered in China?"

Miss Wharf became suddenly pale. "It is said that he was, but I don't believe it."

"Then he's alive," said Clarence pertinaciously, and looking at her.

"No. He's dead, but he died of dysentery, according to Dr. Forge who was with him when he died--somewhere in the north I believe."

Burgh evidently stored this in his memory and looked keenly at the woman whose bosom rose and fell and whose colour came and went under his steady gaze. Miss Pewsey saw that the persistent look was annoying her patroness, and touched her nephew's arm gently. The touch recalled Burgh to his senses and he looked away. This time his eyes rested on Olivia. Her colour was high and apparently she had been listening with interest to the conversation. "Huh," thought the swashbuckler, "and it was about young Ainsleigh," and he stored this in his memory also.

To make a sensation, which he dearly loved to do, Chris Walker announced that he would bring a distinguished visitor to the ball of the Glorious Golfers. "He's a Chinaman," said he pompously, "and was mixed up in the Boxer rebellion."

None of the ladies seemed impressed, as none of them knew anything about the Boxers, or their rebellion. But Burgh looked up. "Who is he anyhow?" he demanded, compressing his lips.

"A Chinese gentleman called Tung-yu."

"What a very extraordinary name," said Miss Pewsey, and suddenly began to take a deep interest in matters Chinese. While she chatted with Chris who was willing to afford her all information. Burgh folded his arms and leaned back apparently thinking deeply. His face was not pleasant to behold. Olivia saw the evil look and shivered. Then she rose and was about to steal from the room, when her aunt called to her sharply. "Don't go Olivia I want to speak with you."

"And I want to take my usual walk," said Lady Jabe rising and settling her collar, "Chris?"

A tap on the shoulder brought the slim young man to his feet, and giving his arm to his masculine aunt the two departed. Burgh rose also. "I guess I'll make tracks also?" he said smartly. "Walker, you and I can have a yarn together, later."

Miss Pewsey followed her nephew to the door.

"Do you wish to ask young Mr. Walker more about Tung-yu?" she asked.

Clarence wheeled round quickly. "What do you know of him aunt?"

"It's such a strange name," simpered Miss Pewsey, looking very innocent, "and I am interested in China. You were out there a long time Clarence."

"Amongst other places, yes. I hung round a bit."

"Then you must tell me all about the natives," said Miss Pewsey, "I want to know of their robes and their fans and--"

"Fans," said Burgh starting: but Miss Pewsey with an artificial laugh flitted back into the room, leaving him uneasy and non-plussed. He walked away frowning darkly.

Olivia would have walked away also frowning, as she was indignant at the way in which her aunt had spoken of Rupert. But Miss Wharf gave her no chance of leaving the room or the house. Olivia had never seen her aunt so pale or upset. She looked as white as chalk, and controlled her emotion with difficulty. Lavinia Pewsey glanced at the two, guessed there was about to be a row, and glided away. She always kept out of trouble.

"Now," said Miss Wharf when they were alone, "I want an explanation."

[CHAPTER IV]

Rupert's Secret

Olivia was astonished to see the emotion of her aunt, for, as a rule Miss Wharf was cold and self-contained. The two had never got on well together, and the elder woman was undeniably jealous of the youth and superior good looks of the younger. But as Olivia owed bed and board to her aunt, she always behaved as well as possible to one who was very trying in many ways. It is only just to say, that Miss Pewsey made matters much worse by tale-bearing, and probably had she been out of the house, Miss Wharf and her niece might have got on better. But they could never have been congenial companions. The difference between their natures was too great.

"Yes," said Miss Wharf throwing herself back in her seat, and feeling irritated by the silence of Olivia. "I want an explanation."

"What about?" asked the girl seating herself opposite and folding her hands, which, Miss Wharf noticed with bitterness, were more slender and delicate that her own.

"You know well enough."

"If it's about Rupert"--

"There," snapped the aunt, "I knew you would guess. Yes it is about young Ainsleigh, and how dare you call him Rupert?"

"Because I love him," said Olivia firmly, and looked directly into the cold blue eyes of her aunt.

"Then you must put this love out of your head. You shall never marry him--never--never--never."

"If I choose, and I do choose," said Olivia calmly, but with a fine colour. "I shall certainly marry him. I am of age--"

"Yes, and a pauper."

"Rupert would not marry me for my money."

"He is wise; for you have none."

"It is kind of you to speak to me in this way," said Olivia, "to remind me of obligations. I am aware that my parents died poor and left me a penniless orphan. I am aware that you took me in and educated me and--"

"And acted like a mother to you," said Miss Wharf vehemently.

"No. You never acted like a mother. With you, I have had a most unhappy life."

"Olivia," the elder woman started furiously from her chair, "how dare you say that. Have I grudged you clothes or food. Did I not send you to a first-class school and--"

"So far as material things are concerned you have done everything Aunt Sophia, and I thank you for what you have done--"

"A fine way you have of showing it," scoffed Miss Wharf.

"But a mother you have never been," went on Olivia calmly, "you have never given me a kind word; you speak to me before visitors as you should not do: you make me slave for you and run messages and talk of me to others as though I were a servant. What love have you ever shown me?" demanded Olivia, starting up in her turn, and also becoming excited. "I long for love. My heart yearns for it. I would like to be a daughter to you, but always you have kept me at arm's length. Aunt Sophia let me go. I can earn my bread as a governess, or as a typist. It will be better for us both."

"No," said Aunt Sophia, looking as hard as stone.

"I shall not let you go. If you have any gratitude in you, you will remain and help me to manage the house."

"You have Miss Pewsey."

"She is not a relative, you are."

"And so you treat me worse than you do her. Well, Aunt Sophia, I am not ungrateful though you seem to think I am. I shall stop with you. I only ask for a little more consideration."

"I give you every consideration. As for love, I cannot give it to you or to anyone. I gave all the love my nature was capable of feeling to Markham Ainsleigh, and he rejected my love. Yes, you may look astonished, but it was this man's father who broke my heart."

"And that is why you don't want Rupert to marry me."

"That is the reason," said Miss Wharf sitting down and growing more her calm stony self. "I was almost engaged to Markham Ainsleigh: but he saw Violet Vane and fell in love with her. He left me and made her his wife. Can you wonder that I hate the son of the woman who stole my love away from me?"

"Rupert is the son of the man you loved----"

"And of the man who cheated me. Look at my lonely life, at my starved heart. I hate the Ainsleighs--there's only one left but I hate him. And when I heard Markham was murdered in China I was glad--yes, very glad."

"What an unforgiving nature you have."

"I have every right to be unforgiving. Markham ruined my life. And do you think I'll let you marry Rupert--the son of that woman. No! Marry him, and I leave what money I have to Miss Pewsey."

"You can if you like, Aunt Sophia. I don't want your money."

"Reflect," said Miss Wharf violently. "I have a thousand a year. Half of that goes to a distant relative, and the remainder you shall have if you will give this man up. Five hundred a year is not to be thrown away."

"I cannot give Rupert up," said Olivia firmly.

"Think girl," pleaded Miss Wharf, her face becoming red and wrinkled with the violence of her passion, "there are other men who love you. Young Walker would make you a good husband, and Lady Jabe is most anxious for the match."

"I like Chris," said Olivia, "and I have known him all my life. But I can't marry him. I want a master when I marry."

"Then take Clarence Burgh," said Miss Wharf, "he will be your master."

"No. He's a brute."

"He's a man--much more of a man than Rupert Ainsleigh."

"I deny that," said Olivia fiercely.

"He is. Clarence has been all over the world. He has fought everywhere--"

"So has Major Tidman. Do you advise me to marry him?"

"He would make you a better husband than Rupert, old as he is. That young Ainsleigh is a dreamer. He is on the point of losing his estates, yet he sits at Royabay doing nothing."

"He intends to do something, and save the estates."

"Never. He is not the sort of man to work. Olivia if you will take Chris Walker, or Clarence Burgh for your husband I shall leave you five hundred a year. If you refuse I give you nothing."

"I prefer nothing--and Rupert."

"Then you shall not have him. I'll ruin him first."

Olivia started. "You can't ruin him. You talk wildly."

"Oh do I," sneered Miss Wharf, "that shows you know little of me or of my business. Listen. I bought up a mortgage on the Royabay estate. It cost me money which I could ill afford to pay away. But I bought it so as to ruin the son of that woman Vane who took Markham from me. I always intended to buy the estate, or at least to drive Rupert from the place, but if you will give him up, I shall forego my revenge. Now what do you say?"

"Nothing," faltered Olivia, who had turned very pale. "I don't know what to say."

"Will you give the man up."

"I won't see him, if that will please you."

"No. It doesn't please me. You must give him up, and engage yourself to Mr. Walker or to Mr. Burgh."

"I cannot--I cannot--" said poor Olivia.

Miss Wharf stamped her foot and bit her lip. "You are as obstinate as your mother was before you," she said savagely. "I shall give you one month to make up your mind, and that is very generous of me. If you surrender Rupert and choose one of the other two, I will not foreclose the mortgage and will leave you five hundred a year."

"When can you foreclose?" asked Olivia anxiously.

"By the end of the year. So it rests with you, if Rupert Ainsleigh leaves his home in six months or keeps it. Now you can go."

Olivia Rayner was not a girl who would stand dictation. But for some reason or another she meekly bowed her head and went out, leaving Miss Wharf to calm down over her needle-work.

The girl went to her own room, and lay down to think over the situation. What she thought or what plan she conceived, it is difficult to say; but she came down to dinner quite composed. Her aunt looked at her sharply, and Miss Pewsey with suspicion, but neither of them made any remark bearing on the storm. On the contrary Miss Wharf chatted about the ball and talked of her dress and even advised Olivia about her costume. "You will look very well in white," said Miss Wharf.

"But not so lovely as my Sophia in pale blue," said Miss Pewsey with her usual emphasis. "I know you will be the belle of the ball darling Sophia."

"I have been the belle of several balls in my time," said Miss Wharf good-humouredly.

"And will be still," purred Miss Pewsey like the cat she was, "my dear nephew, said you were a rattling fine woman."

"It sounds like one of Mr. Burgh's speeches," said Olivia with great contempt. She knew that the buccaneer loved her, and therefore disliked him the more.

"Oh Olivia how can you," cried the little old maid, throwing up her hands, "when poor, dear, darling, Clarence worships the ground you walk on. He's got money too, and wants a wife!"

"Let him marry Lotty Dean then."

"That retired grocer's daughter," cried Miss Pewsey, drawing herself up, "no indeed. I may be poor, but I am of gentle blood Olivia. The Pewsey's have been in Essex for generations. My papa was rich and could afford to send me to a fashionable school when I met my own Sophia. But poor sweet papa lost his money and then--oh dear me." Miss Pewsey squeezed out a tear. "What sad times I have had."

"You're all right now, Lavinia," said Miss Wharf stolidly, eating fruit and sipping port wine.

"Yes dearest Sophia, thanks to your large and generous heart. I have no one in the world but you and Clarence. He is the son of my only sister, and has travelled--"

"In China," said Olivia.

Miss Pewsey narrowed her eyes and looked as though about to scratch.

"In China, of course. But why do you make that remark, Olivia?"

The girl shrugged her shoulders. "I observed that Mr. Burgh has not very pleasant recollections of China," she said deliberately, "he was not pleased to find that Mr. Walker could talk the language, and he was uncomfortable when the name Tung-yu was mentioned."

Miss Pewsey bit her lip. "Do you know anything of Tung-yu?"

"No. Why should I. All I know, is that Chris Walker says he will bring the man down here for the ball."

The little old maid looked hard at the girl, but Olivia bore her scrutiny composedly. She wondered why Miss Pewsey stared so hard, and laid such emphasis on the Chinese name, but the matter slipped from her mind when she retired to her room. She would have wondered still more had she known that Miss Pewsey came up the stairs and listened at the door of the bed-room.

Olivia had arranged to meet Rupert near the band-stand, as their meetings were secret because of Miss Wharf's dislike. Certainly the young man had come to the house, and Miss Wharf had received him with cold dignity: but when he showed a marked preference for Olivia's company, she gave him to understand that she did not approve. Henceforth Rupert stopped away from Ivy Lodge, and met Olivia at intervals near the band-stand. So Olivia, putting on a dark dress and a veil, slipped out of the house, and took her way along the brilliantly lighted front. She had often gone before and always had left her aunt and Miss Pewsey sitting in the drawing-room, Miss Wharf working and the companion reading the newspaper. Miss Wharf never by any chance looked at a newspaper herself, but left it to Miss Pewsey to cull the choice news for her delectation.

So Olivia, feeling quite safe, stepped lightly along to where the crowd gathered round the stand. It was a perfect night and very warm, therefore many people were seated in the chairs and strolling across the grass. Olivia went to a certain corner, and, as she expected, found her lover. He was not in evening-dress, but for the sake of the meeting had assumed a dark serge suit. As she advanced, he recognised her and came forward taking off his hat. Then he gave her his arm and the two strolled to the far end of the green where they sat down under the fence which was round the flag-staff. There, removed from everyone, they could talk in moderately loud tones.

"My darling," said Rupert, possessing himself of Olivia's hand. "I thought you would not come. You were late."

"I could not get away before. Miss Pewsey watches me like a cat does a mouse, and with the same disposition to pounce, I expect."

"She's a detestable woman," said Rupert angrily, "why can't she leave you alone?"

"I don't know. Rupert, she wants me to marry her nephew."

"What, that bounder who rides so furiously," cried Rupert fiercely, "you don't mean to say that he dares----"

"Not in words, but he looks--oh," Olivia shivered, "you know the sort of look a man like that, gives you."

"I'll twist his neck if he insults you."

"Then Miss Pewsey would complain to my aunt and I should get into trouble. Oh, Rupert," she said softly, "I am so afraid."

"Of that man. Nonsense."

"No--of everything. I can keep Mr. Burgh off--"

"Who is he?" asked Rupert jealously.

"Miss Pewsey's nephew. I can manage him, bold as he is. But it is you I am afraid of. Listen," and Olivia told the young man what she had learned from Miss Wharf that afternoon. "She can ruin you," said the poor girl, almost crying, "and she will if she learns the truth."

Rupert pressed the hand he held. "Why not tell her the truth," he said. "I'm willing to face poverty if you are."

"Rupert, are you mad? If Aunt Sophia learned that we were married--hark, what was that?" and Olivia rose, and nervously peered into the shadows, "I thought I heard a noise."

"It's nothing. Only some rats in the long grass within the fence. No one's about. They're all over at the band. But about our marriage, Olivia. Miss Wharf must learn sooner or later."

"Yes. But you know I asked you to keep it quiet that I might not have trouble with her. It was selfish of me, for it would have been braver of me to have faced her anger and then have told all the world that we were married at that Registry Office. But I'm glad now I didn't. She would have ruined you."

"She can't do anything till the end of the year."

"But why didn't you tell me she held this mortgage?"

"Well, I thought that before the end of the year I might manage to pay it and the other mortgages off. Then we could announce that we were married, and live at Royabay on what small income I have."

"I don't mind about the income," said Mrs. Ainsleigh, for that Olivia secretly was. "I'd live on a shilling a day with you, darling. But aunt threatens if I marry you to cut me out of her will. She would do so at once if she knew the truth, and leave the money to Miss Pewsey."

"Let her. I daresay that old maid has schemed for it. She's a wicked old woman that and worthy of her bounder of a nephew. Never mind about the money or the mortgage. Let us announce the marriage. I don't like the position you occupy. It is not fit that my wife should be exposed to the attentions of a cad like this Burgh."

"Wait till the end of the year," said Olivia feverishly, "then you may be able to get money, to put things straight. It is best to keep the matter quiet now. Oh how I wish we had money Rupert."

"I may be able to make it out of the fan?"

"What fan?" asked Olivia looking at him.

Rupert laughed. "I forgot you don't know." He took the slip of paper from his pocket-book and lighting a match he read the description of the fan. "I went up to the place," he continued dropping the lucifer, "and saw a Chinaman, Tung-yu--"

"What," said Olivia starting, "why that is the man Mr. Walker is going to bring to the ball. He's a clerk in the firm of Kum-gum-Li and Company."

"That's strange. I thought he was the keeper of the Joss house in Perry Street, Whitechapel. Humph! Does Walker know of the fan?"

"I don't know. But he knows this Tung-yu, and I think, so does Mr. Burgh. He seemed much annoyed when he heard the name."

"What about?"

"I can't say. And Rupert. Mr. Burgh speaks Chinese--"

"He must be very clever then for I hear it is a most awful language to get hold of. Was Burgh ever in China?"

"Yes. He brought the fan from that place?"

"Fan." Rupert turned round sharply, "what fan?"

"The one you talk about," said Olivia innocently.

"I recognised it at once from the description you read just now."

"Are you sure," said Rupert much excited, for he never expected to hear of the missing fan from Olivia of all people.

"Quite sure--positive. The fan is painted green on one side and the sticks on the other are overlaid with thin jade, so I suppose it gets its name from the mineral. Then it has a cord of yellow silk with four beads and half a bead, and----"

"It is the same. Where did Burgh get it?"

"I don't know. He says he brought it from China, and offered it to me. I refused it----"

"I should think so," said Ainsleigh fuming, "well?"

"Then he gave it to my aunt."

"And has Miss Wharf got it now?"

"I think so, but I have not seen it lately. I expect if she has, she will use it at the ball."

"And Tung-yu who advertises, is coming to the ball," mused Rupert, "there doesn't seem much chance for me. I expect your aunt will make the money after all."

"It won't be much. Who would give a large sum for that fan?"

"Tung-yu will. He is ready to give five thousand pounds."

"Oh," said Olivia with real regret, "and I refused it."

"I'm glad you did," cried Rupert angrily, "I would rather everything went than that you should accept presents from that bounder. Well I fear my chance is gone Olivia. I'm ruined."

"Dearest I will face the ruin with you," and in the shadows they kissed.

[CHAPTER V]

Concerning the Fan

Rupert returned to Royabay in rather a melancholy frame of mind. He found himself in a very difficult situation, and there did not seem to be any chance of his extricating himself therefrom, now that Miss Wharf possessed the fan. It was strange that she should have received it from Clarence Burgh, and Rupert wondered how that dashing young gentleman became its owner. However, there was little use speculating on this. Miss Wharf had the fan, and probably she would keep it, unless the large sum of money offered by Tung-yu tempted her to do business. Ainsleigh wondered also, if the old maid had read the papers, and if she had seen the advertisement.

"But what does it matter to me," said Rupert, as he turned up the avenue. "I won't get the money, and Miss Wharf will see me hanged first before she will let me make such a sum. While I am poor, she holds me in her clutches, and thinks by means of that mortgage to prevent my marriage with Olivia. What would she say if she knew that we were already married. I was wrong to consent to keep the affair secret, even though Olivia wished it. In any case Miss Wharf can do nothing, till the end of the year, and the truth is bound to come to her ears sooner or later. Then she will strike and spare not. I believe that's the motto of the Wharfs, and it fits her spiteful temper excellently."

Then Rupert went on to reflect on what Olivia had told him of Aunt Sophia's romance with Markham Ainsleigh. The young man had never heard of it before, as he knew little of his father, who had gone to China, a few years after his heir was born. In fact Markham only waited till there was a male Ainsleigh to carry on the succession and to inherit what remained of the estates, and then steamed to the Far East to seek fortune. But fortune had proved unkind and the poor man had died--whether of dysentery or by violence, it is difficult to say. Some people said one thing and some another, but even Rupert did not know the truth. Dr. Forge, who had worked the mine in the Kan-su province along with Markham, knew the absolute truth, and he ascribed the death to dysentery, so Rupert, for the time being at all events, was willing to accept this explanation. He had no reason to doubt the loyalty of Theophilus Forge who had been a college chum of his father's.

Thinking in this way and considering whether it would not be advisable to proclaim his marriage so as to release his wife from the odious attentions of Clarence Burgh, the young man arrived at the house. He was met in the hall by Mrs. Petley, who announced that Major Tidman was waiting to see her young master. Rupert nodded in an absent-minded way and was going to the library where the Major was kicking his heels, when Mrs. Petley caught him by the arm. "It's walking again," said Mrs. Petley, whose fat face was pale, "and say what you like Master Rupert, trouble is coming."

She was a stout old dame with a red face suggestive of drink, a most unfair thing to be said of her as she drank nothing stronger than gin and water, one tumbler a night before retiring. But Mrs. Petley had been a cook in her early days; later on she assumed the position Rupert's nurse, and finally, having married Petley the butler, she became housekeeper of Royabay. She was a common vulgar old woman, but loyal to the core, and adored Rupert. When he had to dismiss the greater part of his servants he retained John Petley, and John Petley's wife, who continued to serve him faithfully and always hoped for better days. Mrs. Petley, being intensely superstitious, was always influenced by the appearance of Abbot Raoul whose walking was supposed to predict bad luck to the Ainsleighs. If the ghost did not appear Mrs. Petley was happy, but when it did she always prognosticated evil. And it must be admitted that Rupert usually had more trouble with his creditors when Abbot Raoul did visit his old haunts. He seemed to be a most malignant spirit. But Rupert as an educated man, was not going to admit occult influence.

"Nonsense Mrs. Petley," said he, shaking her off, "so far as trouble is concerned, Abbot Raoul might remain visible for ever. Am I ever out of trouble?"

"No, that you ain't, worse luck. But this walking means something extra special as I said to John."

"Where did you see the old beast, I mean Abbot Raoul of course."

Mrs. Petley started. "Hush deary," she whispered looking round in a fearful manner, "don't speak evil of speerits. It may be round, and you might anger it. I saw it in the cloisters."

"Near the place?" asked Rupert.

"Aye, standing on the black square where its mortal body was burnt poor soul. It was pinting to a tree."

"To what tree--there are plenty in the cloisters."

"To the copper beech, as you might say Master Rupert. And angry enough he looked. I nearly fainted."

"You should be used to the ghost by this time Mrs. Petley."

"Ghosts is things custom won't help you with," said Mrs. Petley mysteriously, "they freeze your blood every time. Just as I was thinking of a good scream and a faint, it vanished."

"Into thin air like the witches in Macbeth," said Rupert lightly. "Well it doesn't need Abbot Raoul to come and tell me trouble is near. I'm likely to have a good deal by the end of the year."

"Oh Master Rupert what is it?" gasped the old woman.

"Nothing I can tell you at present," said Ainsleigh carelessly, "I have a good mind to seek Abbot Raoul myself and see if he can't help me; but I'm not psychic as you are Mrs. Petley. I see nothing."

"And a good thing too," said the ex-cook solemnly, "if I spoke to you it would be to make matters worse, though worse they can't be."

"Oh yes they can," said Rupert grimly. "I may have to leave--"

"Never," cried Mrs. Petley smiting her fat hands together. "Royabay can never do without an Ainsleigh within its walls."

"It will have to content itself with Abbot Raoul, and I hope he'll jolly well frighten the creditors."

"Drat them," said Mrs. Petley vigorously, "but Master Rupert why did it pint to the copper beech."

"I can't say. Ask it when next you see it. But I must go to Major Tidman. He'll be angry if I keep him."

Mrs. Petley tossed her head and snorted. "The idear of old Farmer Tidman's son, being angry with the likes of you Master Rupert. I mind him when he was a brat of a lad and--"

"Yes--yes--but I must go," said Ainsleigh rather impatiently and left Mrs. Petley talking to the air.

Major Tidman, whose ears must have burnt at the thoughts, which occupied Mrs. Petley's brain was seated in the most comfortable arm-chair he could find, and smoked a good cigar. He had a bottle of port and a glass before him, and apparently had made himself at home while waiting.

"Hope you don't mind my making free with the wine-list," said Tidman, who looked rather uneasy, as he rose. "I've waited two hours."

"What about?" said Rupert, throwing his cap down and sinking wearily into a near chair, "anything wrong?"

"I am," said the Major, "all wrong my dear boy. You see in me a beast and a false friend."

"Indeed. How do you make that out?"

"I have been concealing things from you," said the Major ruefully, "and all to make money. I'm really getting avaricious, Ainsleigh," added the Major desperately, "and it's spoiling my character."

"Well," said Rupert filling his pipe, and wondering what this out-burst meant, "Byron says that avarice is a fine old gentlemanly vice. If you have only that fault to blame yourself for, you are very lucky."

"But I should have told you about the fan."

Rupert blew out the match he had just lighted and sat up. "What's that about the fan?" he asked sharply.

"I know something about it," said Tidman fortifying his courage with a glass of wine, "and I should have spoken the other evening after dinner when you read that advertisement. But I thought I'd get the fan myself and secure the five thousand pounds--though to be sure I didn't know what that Tung-yu would pay for it at the time."

"No," said Rupert drily, "I told you that later. Well, Major, you haven't treated me quite on the square, but I forgive you. I expect neither of us will make money out of that fan."

"No," said Tidman still more ruefully. "Forge has lost it."

Rupert looked puzzled. "Forge? What do you mean?

"Oh, this is part of my confession of trickery," said the Major rubbing his bald head. "You see Ainsleigh, I held my tongue when you read out about the fan, but I knew where it was all the time."

"And where was it?" asked the young man staring.

"Forge has it--or rather Forge had it," said the Major, and he related his interview with the doctor when Rupert had departed. "So you see," added the Major sadly "I'm punished for my wrong-doing. I'm very sorry, as I like you, Ainsleigh, and after all I'd be glad to see you make the money, though I'm not so well off myself as people think, and five thousand pounds would help me a lot. However, I hope you will think I have made amends for my momentary lapse from squareness by thus confessing."

"Oh that's all right Tidman, But treat me openly for the future. How did you know that Forge had had the fan?"

Rupert did not tell what he had heard from Olivia for the moment. He first wished to hear all that the Major had to say. Tidman had certainly acted wrongly, as he should not have taken advantage of Rupert's confidence, but now he apparently wished to behave properly and Ainsleigh put the Major's temporary deceit out of his mind.

"I gave Forge the fan," blurted out the Major.

"The deuce you did," said Ainsleigh looking puzzled. "And where did you get it?"

"In Canton seven years ago," confessed Tidman, "I was travelling there for my health, and I had an adventure."

"What was that?"

But Tidman did not seem inclined to speak out. "I'll tell you on another occasion," he said with a shudder, "it was not a very pleasant adventure, and Forge, who was in Canton at the time, got me out of it. I stuck to the fan though."

"Oh, so the fan was the cause of the adventure?"

"Partly," admitted Tidman reluctantly. "I'll tell you later as I say," he wiped his forehead, "I can't tell you now, it's too awful. I got the fan though and Forge took a fancy to it. He asked me for it in Canton and I refused. He asked again in England and I gave it to him. He's had it all these seven years, locked up in that black japan cabinet with the gold figures--"

"I know. Its in that Chinese room of his. Well?"

"After you went away the other day I asked him to give me the fan back, as I wanted to get the money from Tung-yu. Forge refused, as he said the fan has something to do with a secret--"

"Whose secret?"

"Lo-Keong's secret. He is the real owner of the fan you know. Forge seems to hate Lo-Keong, and said the fan would get him into trouble."

"But how--how?" asked Ainsleigh impatiently.

The Major wiped his face again, "I don't know--I can't say. But Forge said there was a secret connected with the fan--"

"You said that before," cried Rupert becoming exasperated.

"I don't know what I am saying, and that's the truth," stammered Tidman becoming hotter and redder, "but Forge said if I found the secret he would give me the fan. He then opened the cabinet and found that the fan was gone."

"What did he say?"

"He turned as white as a sheet, and said that his life was at stake."

Rupert rose to pace the room. The mystery of the fan piqued him, "I wonder what he meant by that?" he asked himself.

"Something horrid if it has to do with the Chinese," said the Major, "you have no idea what brutes they are. But Forge thought that Mrs. Bressy, the old woman who looks after him, might have sneaked the fan, as she is fond of taking things and pawning them. But she swore she had never set eyes on it."

"Wasn't the cabinet locked?"

"Yes. That's the strange part, and Forge has the key on his watch-chain. The lock wasn't broken, and no other key would fit it, so how it was opened, is a mystery. But the fan's gone."

"Quite so," said Rupert, facing the Major sharply, "and Miss Wharf has the very fan you speak of."

Tidman fell back in his chair and gasped till he was purple in the face. "Wh--a--a--t," he drawled out. "Sophia Wharf?"

"Yes. Olivia told me, when I explained how I wished to find the fan and make money. It seems that young Burgh----"

"A detestable young cad," snapped Tidman.

"I agree with you. He dares to admire my--to admire Olivia," said Rupert nearly letting his secret slip out, "and, to gain her good graces, he offered her this fan. She refused, and he then presented it to Miss Wharf, who took it and who has it now."

"Oh," groaned the Major, "and it's worth five thousand. What luck some people have."

Rupert shrugged his shoulders. "The luck will not come our way," he replied carelessly, "and to tell you the truth I don't much care. I expect Miss Wharf will sell the fan to Tung-yu."

"But she doesn't know about his wishing to buy it?"

"She may have seen the advertisement, and you know Tung-yu is coming to the ball at the Bristol."

Major Tidman rose like a jack-in-the-box. "Who says so?" he asked.

"Young Walker. Tung-yu is not the keeper of the Whitechapel Joss-house as I thought. He is a clerk in the firm of Kum-gum-Li."

"Chris Walker also works for them," interpolated the Major.

"Certainly, and he is bringing Tung-yu to the ball. I don't know why, and I don't much care," added Ainsleigh somewhat crossly. "I am about tired of this fan business. What will you do?"

Major Tidman buttoned his coat. "I'm going straight to Forge," he said, "and I shall tell him that young Burgh had the fan. I know how he got it."

"Do you, indeed," said Rupert yawning.

"Yes. Miss Pewsey stole it from the cabinet."

"Nonsense. Why should she do that?"

"Because she's always about Forge's house. He told me that he might marry her--ugh," the Major sneered, "fancy marrying that old cat."

"Different people have different tastes," said Ainsleigh coolly, "but if Forge is going to marry Miss Pewsey all the more reason she should not steal the fan."

"But she did," insisted the Major. "I'm sure she stole it and gave it to that scamp of a nephew so that he might gain Miss Rayner's goodwill. You see, Miss Pewsey would like to see Burgh married to Olivia, as she--Miss Pewsey I mean--could then finger the five hundred a year Miss Wharf will leave her niece."

"He had better be certain that Olivia will inherit the money first," said Rupert grimly, thinking of the secret marriage, "and Miss Pewsey hates Olivia."

"She hates everyone," said Tidman shrugging his plump shoulders, "but she hasn't a penny to bless herself with, and when Miss Wharf dies she will be cast on the world. Even five hundred a year is a consideration to her, and if her nephew can secure that by marrying Olivia, why, all the better for Miss Pewsey."

But Rupert shook his head. "If Miss Pewsey had that scheme in her head, she would be more friendly with Olivia," he said, "and she can set her mind at rest: Burgh will not marry Olivia."

"He's a dangerous rival Ainsleigh."

"Pooh. I can manage that young man and half a dozen like him. You don't think I'd give up the girl I love, to anyone, Tidman."

"No," said the Major, looking at the frank brave face of his host, "but Burgh is unscrupulous, and will make mischief. However, perhaps Forge will deal with him for this fan business. When Forge learns that Miss Pewsey has stolen his fan, he won't marry her. I'll have the satisfaction of spoiling her plans at all events."

"She seems to have a great many plans according to you," yawned Ainsleigh, "but frankly I think you have found a mare's nest. I don't believe anything will come of the matter. It's moonshine."

Tidman marched to the door. "We'll see," said he determinedly. "I believe trouble is coming to you through young Burgh," and he departed.

Rupert left alone lighted his pipe and thought of Mrs. Petley's fancy concerning the ghost. "If this is the trouble," said he to himself. "I don't mind. Burgh won't get Olivia unless over my dead body. As to this fan--pah!"

But he little knew what disasters the fan would bring to him. Abbot Raoul's ghost was not walking for nothing.

[CHAPTER VI]

Burgh's Story

Next morning Major Tidman was seated in his well-furnished room in the Bristol Hotel. From the window he commanded a fine view of the mouth of the Thames, of the pier, and of the picturesque lower town. But the view did not gain the attention of the Major, worthy as it was of his notice. He seated himself at the table which was spread for breakfast, and proceeded to make a good meal. Perhaps he did not eat so well as usual for the Major was worried, as was evident from the cross expression of his face. On the previous night he had gone to see Forge, and had told him how Miss Wharf became possessed of the fan. The doctor had listened to him quietly, but had refrained from making any observation, even when Tidman reminded him of his remark, as to his life being at stake. The interview had on the whole been unsatisfactory, and Tidman was not at all pleased. He wished to learn the truth about the fan.

"There's some secret connected with it," muttered the Major, while he devoured buttered eggs rapidly, "and that secret means a lot of money. Five thousand pounds is worth having. I could buy that plot of waste land near the church and build an hotel there. I believe it would pay. Then there's Forge's life, which, as he says, hangs on the fan, though in what way I can't find out. If I got the fan, I might be able to get something out of him. I would make Forge and Tung-yu bid against one another, and perhaps I'd get even more than is offered. Ainsleigh can't say anything against me now, as I am acting quite square and above board. He's got no enterprise," thought the little man with some scorn, "or he'd get Olivia to take the fan from her aunt and make the money out of it. But if he won't, I will, so I'll see Miss Wharf to-day and try what I can do. I daresay I'd get it from her for a five pound note--that is if she hasn't seen the advertisement. She's keen after money, too--as keen as I am. Humph," added Tidman, filling himself a second cup of coffee. "I wonder why Tung-yu was such a fool as to tell Ainsleigh he was willing to give five thousand. Anyone, not knowing the value of the fan, would get it cheap. There's a mystery about it, and the mystery means money. I must get to the bottom of the affair. Forge is no good, as he is holding his tongue: even when I told him that Miss Pewsey stole it, he did not seem to mind. But he'll never marry her after this, so I've spoilt her chance of marriage, the cat. Though why Forge should marry an old fiend who is eighty, if she's an hour, I can't make out. But Forge was always secretive," ended the Major in disgust, and reached for the paté-de-foi-gras.

His meal was interrupted by a smart young waiter, who intimated that a lady and gentleman wished to see the Major. Tidman was rather surprised at a call being paid at ten o'clock in the morning: but he was still more surprised, when at the heels of the waiter appeared Miss Pewsey and Dr. Forge. The latter looked much his usual self, hungry, dismal, and like a bird of prey: but Miss Pewsey had a colour in her cheeks and a fire in her black eyes, which made her look younger. It seemed that her errand was not a peaceful one.

"To what am I indebted--?" began the courtly Major, when the little old maid cut him short with vinegary politeness.

"Indebted," she said, standing very straight and stiff, and quite ignoring the chair placed for her. "Oh, indeed,--how very polite we are. Judas!" she snapped out the word with flaming eyes. "Oh, Judas!"

"Really, Miss Pewsey----"

"You'd like to see me in the dock would you?" cried Miss Pewsey tossing her head and trembling with wrath, "I'm a thief am I--oh you military fat Judas."

"Did you come here to insult me?" asked Tidman growing purple.

"If you put it in that way I did," sniffed the lady, "and also to ask plainly, what you meant by stating to my promised husband here, that I stole a fan from his cabinet?"

Tidman changed from purple to scarlet. He had not reckoned on the doctor speaking to Miss Pewsey, and he turned a look of reproach on his friend. The doctor immediately took up the challenge, "I see you think I have been too free with my tongue," said he deliberately, "it is not my custom as you know. But I told you Major that I was engaged to Miss Pewsey, and I thought it only right that she should know the aspersions you have cast on her character."

"A character," cried the lady, "which has stood the test of years and which stands deservedly high. I am a Pewsey of Essex," she added as though the whole county belonged to her, "and never before have I been accused of thieving--Judas," she shot out the name again, and the Major quailed. He saw that he was in the wrong, owing to Forge's betrayal, and had to make the best of it.

"I am extremely sorry," he said apologetically, "quite a mistake."

"Oh, indeed. A jury will give their opinion on that," sniffed the maiden.

"No! No I beg of you----"

"The damages will be laid at five thousand pounds."

"The price of the fan," said Tidman starting.

"What do you mean by that?" asked Miss Pewsey, her eyes glittering.

"I mean, just nothing."

"Oh yes, you do. Make a clean breast of it Benjamin Tidman. Oh, to think that the son of a farmer, who was almost a labourer, should dare to speak evil of a Pewsey of Essex. But the law--the law," said the irate lady shaking a thin finger, "and five thousand pounds."

"Get it out of the fan."

"Is it worth that?" asked Forge coldly.

"You heard what young Ainsleigh said," answered Tidman as coldly.

"Yes I remember; but we have not come about the price, but about your libel on this lady."

"I apologise," said Tidman, seeing nothing else was to be done.

"Apology isn't money," snapped Miss Pewsey.

"Oh, if you want money, again I refer you to the fan."

The Major was getting angry. He didn't very much care if Miss Pewsey did bring an action at the moment, though with saner thoughts he would have been horrified at the idea. "I apologise," said he again, "but I was misled by Dr. Forge."

"How were you misled by me?" demanded Forge impassively.

"You said you had the fan in your cabinet, and that it had been stolen. Mrs. Bressy swore she did not take it, and I thought--"

"That I was the thief," cried Miss Pewsey shrilly, "oh how clever of you--how very, very clever. You thought that I got the key from the watch-chain of Dr. Forge where he always carries it, to open the cabinet and steal a fan, I knew nothing about it. I never even knew of the existence of the fan--there Judas," snapped the lady once more.

"Then I was mistaken, and Dr. Forge was mistaken also."

"I confess that I did make a mistake," said the doctor with a sad face, "but that does not excuse your libelling the lady I hope to call my wife. My memory is not so good as it was, and I fear that the drugs I take to induce sleep have impaired what memory I have left. I suffer from neuralgia," added the doctor turning to Miss Pewsey, "and in China I contracted the habit of opium smoking, so--"

"Marriage will put that right," said the lady patting his hand. "I do not expect a perfect husband--"

"I never knew you expected a husband at all," said Tidman injudiciously.

"Ho," cried Miss Pewsey drawing herself up. She had been standing all the time, "another libel. I call Dr. Forge to witness it."

"I really think Tidman you'd better hold your tongue," said the doctor gently, "but I must explain, that I quite forgot that I had parted with the fan. Yes. I received it from you, seven years ago when I brought you home after that adventure in Canton. Two years later I returned to China, to see Lo-Keong on business, and I took the fan with me. He received it."

"No," said the Major shaking his bald head, "I can't believe that, Forge. You declared that you hated Lo-Keong and that the fan would harm you and him also."

"I do hate the man," cried Forge looking more like a bird of prey than ever, "but I got a concession about a gold mine, by giving back the fan. I wanted the money more than Lo-Keong's life. As to my own life, it was in danger from the enemies of the Mandarin, who want the fan to ruin him. That was why I spoke as I did. Are you satisfied?"

"Not quite," said Tidman who was puzzled, "how did the fan come to England again?"

"My nephew Mr. Burgh will tell you that," said Miss Pewsey, "when he has administered the beating I have asked him to inflict."

"Beating," shouted the Major snatching a knife from the breakfast table, "let that young whelp dare to hint such a thing, and I'll kick him round Marport."

"Clarence is not the man to be kicked."

"Nor am I the man to be beaten, I have apologised and that is quite enough. If you are not satisfied Miss Pewsey, you can bring your action and I'll defend it. Beating indeed," snorted Tidman, "I'd like to see anyone who would dare to lay a hand on me," and he looked very fierce as he spoke.

"Very good," said Miss Pewsey in a stately manner, "if you will tell me all about the fan, I shall ask Clarence to spare you the beating."

"Clarence can go to--" the Major mentioned a place which made Miss Pewsey shriek and clap her fingers to her ears. "I am not the least afraid of that cad and bounder--that--that----"

"Libel again Major Tidman."

"Pooh--Pooh," said Forge rising, "let us go Lavinia."

"Not till I hear about the fan. For the sake of my dear Sophia who has the fan, I want to hear."

"All I know, is, that the fan was advertised for----"

"I saw the advertisement," said Miss Pewsey, "but I said nothing to dear Sophia, although I recognized the fan from the description in the newspaper. She never looks at the papers, and trusts to me to tell her the news."

"So you kept from her a piece of news out of which she could make five thousand pounds."

"Really and truly," said Miss Pewsey clutching her bag convulsively and with glittering eyes, "who says so--who pays it--who--?"

"One question at a time," interrupted Tidman, now quite master of himself. "Tung-yu, the man Ainsleigh saw at the Joss House in Perry Street Whitechapel, offered five thousand pounds for the return of the fan. Ainsleigh saw the advertisement and--"

"I know how he came to inquire about the fan," said Miss Pewsey, "Dr. Forge told me, but I did not know the amount offered."

"Will you tell Miss Wharf now."

"No," said Miss Pewsey very decisively, "nor will any one else. My Sophia's health is delicate and if she had a shock like that inflicted on her, she would die."

"What the offer of five thousand pounds--"

"The chance of being killed," said Miss Pewsey, "but I will leave my nephew Mr. Burgh to explain that Major Tidman. I accept your apology for thinking me a--but no," cried the lady, "I can't bring myself to pronounce the nasty word. I am a Pewsey of Essex. All is said in that, I think. Good morning, Major. My abstinence from bringing an action lies in the fact, that you will refrain from unsettling my Sophia's mind by telling about the fan. Good-morning. My Theophilus will we not go?"

Before the Major could recover from the bewilderment into which he was thrown by this torrent of words, Miss Pewsey taking the arm of the melancholy doctor had left the room. When alone Tidman scratched his chin and swore. "There's something in this," he soliloquised. "I believe the old woman wants to get the money herself. By George, I'll keep my eyes on her," and the Major shook his fist at the door, through which the fairy form of Miss Pewsey had just vanished.

Later in the day Tidman dressed to perfection, walked up the town twirling his stick, and beaming on every pretty woman he came across. The stout old boy was not at all appalled by the threat of Miss Pewsey regarding her buccaneering nephew's attentions. When he saw the gentleman in question bearing down on him, he simply stopped and grasped his stick more firmly. If there was to be a fight, the Major resolved to have the first blow. But Burgh did not seem ready to make a dash. He sauntered up to Tidman and looked at him smilingly, "Well met old pard," said he in his slangy fashion.

"My name to you, is Major Tidman," said the old fellow coolly.

"I guess I know that much. Can't we go a stretch along the lower part of the town?"

"If there's any row to come off," said the Major, keeping a wary eye on the young man. "I prefer it to take place here. On guard sir--on guard."

Clarence shrugged his shoulders and produced a cigarette. "Oh that's all right," said he striking a match. "I guess my old aunt's been at you. I'm not going in for any row--not me."

"Just as well for you," said the Major sharply, "how dare you threaten me, you--you--"

"Now I ask you," said Clarence, "if I have threatened you? Go slow. I guess the old girl's been piling on the agony. She's got old Forge to fight her battles. When I make trouble," added Clarence musingly, "it will be for a pretty girl like Olivia."

"You can have your desire for a row by telling that to young Ainsleigh."

"Huh," said Burgh with contempt, "I guess I'd lay him out pretty smart. I tell you, Major, I'm dead gone on that girl: but she treats me like a lump of mud."

"And quite right too," said Tidman coolly, "you aren't worthy of her. Now Ainsleigh is."

Clarence pitched away his cigarette with an irritable gesture. "Don't get me riz," said he darkly, "or I'll make the hair fly with Ainsleigh."

"Pooh. He's quite able to look after himself."

"Can he shoot?" demanded the buccaneer.

"Yes. And use his fists, and fence, and lay you out properly. Confound you, sir, don't you think I've travelled also. I've been in the Naked Lands in my time, and have seen your sort growing on the banana plants. You're the sort to get lynched."

"Oh, tie it up," said Burgh with sudden anger, for these remarks were not to his mind. "I want to tell you about the fan."

"Why do you want to talk of that?" asked Tidman with suspicion, "I don't care a straw for the fan."

"Oh, I reckon you do, Major. But you're well out of it. If you'd kept that fan there would have been trouble--yes, you may look, but if you'd held on to that article you'd have been a corpse by now."

Tidman sneered, not at all terrified by these vague threats. "What do you mean by this drivel?"

"Let's come to anchor here," said Clarence pulling up beside a seat in a secluded part, near the old town beach. "I'll spin the yarn."

"About the fan," said the Major sitting promptly. "I confess I am curious to know how it came to England again, after Forge took it again to the Far East. Didn't he give it to Lo-Keong?"

"So he says," said Clarence with a side-long look at his companion. "I don't know myself. All I know is, that I got it from a pirate."

"From a pirate?"

"That's so. I was in Chinese waters a year or so ago, and I reckon pirates swarm in those parts--"

Tidman shivered. "Yes," he admitted, "I had an adventure myself in Canton with a pirate of sorts."

"Old Forge told me something about it," said Clarence lighting a fresh cigarette, "but my yarn's different. I was out with some of the boys in Chinese water, and a pirate tried to board us. We were down Borneo way, looking out for a ruby mine said to be in those parts. My pals--there were two of them, and myself engineering the job--hired a boat and cut across to Borneo. The pirates tried to slit our throats and our Chinese crew tried to help them. But we used our Winchesters and six shooters freely, and shot a heap. The pirates cleared off and we brought our barky into port safe enough."

"But about the fan?"

"I'm coming to that. The Boss pirate was shot by me--a big six foot Northern Chinee, got up, to kill, like a tin god. He had this jade fan, and directed operations with it. When his pals cleared I found him as dead as a coffin and nailed the fan. It was pretty enough, but didn't appeal to me much. I clapped it away in my box, and when I reached England I offered it to Aunt Lavinia. She wants me to marry Miss Rayner, and said I should offer it to her, and cut out that aristocratic Ainsleigh chap. Olivia--ripping name, ain't it--well, she didn't catch on, so I thought I'd gain the goodwill of old Miss Wharf, and passed it along to her."

The Major listened in silence to this story, which seemed reasonable enough. "Strange it should have come back to England, and to a small place like this, where Forge had it," he mused. "A coincidence I suppose. By the way did you see the advertisement?" he asked.

"You bet I did, and it made me sick to think I'd parted with the fan. Leastways, it made me sick till I saw Hwei!"

"You mean Tung-yu."

"No, I don't. I mean the Chinee as calls himself Hwei, who put that advertisement in every newspaper in London, and the United Kingdom."

"What, in everyone?" said the Major, "must have cost----"

"A heap you bet. Major. Well I struck Hwei--"

"That's the name of a river, man."

"Maybe: but it's what this celestial calls himself. I struck him near the Mansion House, and knew him of old in Pekin I reckon, where we chin-chined over some contraband biznai. I spoke to him in Chinese--I know enough to get along on--and he told me he had come to this country about Lo-Keong's fan. I never said I'd got it, though by that time I'd seen the advertisement. I know Chinamen too well, to give myself away in that fashion. I pumped him, and learned that Hwei intended to scrag the chap who held the fan, so I concluded to lie low."

"But he offered wealth to whomsoever gave it up."

"Maybe. I don't know exactly how the thing figures out. I guess Hwei does the killing, and Tung-yu the rewarding. But you can take it from me, Major, that unless Miss Wharf gets rid of that fan she'll have her throat cut. So I guess, you must be glad you didn't handle the biznai," and Clarence puffed a serene cloud of smoke.

"It's more of a mystery than ever," said the Major. And so it was.

[CHAPTER VII]

The Warning

The idea that the end of the year would see him ruined and homeless was terrible to Rupert. Even if his home had been an ordinary house, he would have been anxious; but when he thought of the venerable mansion, of the few acres remaining, of the once vast Ainsleigh estates, of the ruins of the Abbey which he loved, his heart was wrung with anguish. How could he let these things depart from him, for ever? Yet he saw no way out of the matter, although he had frequent consultations with his lawyers. One day, shortly before the ball at the Bristol, he returned from town with a melancholy face. Old Petley ventured to follow his young master into the library, and found him with his face covered with his hands, in deep despair.

"Don't take on so. Master Rupert," said the old butler, gently, "things have not yet come to the worst."

"They are about as bad as they can be, John," replied Ainsleigh. "I have seen Mr. Thorp. It will take thirty thousand pounds to put matters right. And where am I to get it? Oh," the young man started up and walked to and fro, "why didn't I go into the law, or take to some profession where I might make money? Forge was my guardian, he should have seen to it."

"Master Rupert," said the old butler, "do you think that gentleman is your friend?"

"What makes you think he isn't, John?"

Petley pinched his chin between a shaky finger and thumb. "He don't seem like a friend," said he in his quavering voice. "He didn't tell you or me. Master Rupert, how bad things were. When you was at college he should have told you, and then you might have learned some way of getting money."

"My father trusted him, John. He was appointed my guardian by the will my father made before he left for China."

"And Dr. Forge went with the master to China," said the old man, "how did the master die?"

"Of dysentery, so Dr. Forge says."

"And others say he was murdered."

"Who says so, John?"

"Well sir, that Mandarin gentleman sent your father's papers and luggage back here when your mother was alive. A Chinaman brought the things. He hinted that all was not right, and afterwards the mistress died. She believed your father was murdered."

Rupert looked pensive. He had heard something of this, but the story had been so vague, and was so vague as John told it, that he did not believe in it much. "Does Dr. Forge know the truth?" he asked.

"He ought to, sir. Dr. Forge came from China with a report of this gold mine up in Kan-su, and your father was all on fire to go there and make money. The mistress implored him not to go but he would. He went with Dr. Forge, and never returned. The doctor, I know, says that the master died of dysentery, when the doctor himself was at Pekin. But I never liked that Forge," cried the old servant vehemently, "and I believe there's something black about the business."

"But why should Forge be an enemy of my father's?"

"Ah sir," Petley shook his old head, "I can't rightly say. Those two were at college together and fast friends; but I never liked Forge. No, sir, not if I was killed for it would I ever like that gentleman, though it's not for a person in my position to speak so. I asked the doctor again and again to let me know how bad things were, when you were at school, Master Rupert, but he told me to mind my own business. As if it wasn't my business to see after the family I'd been bred up in, since fifteen years of age."

"I'll have a talk with Dr. Forge," said Rupert after a pause, "if there is any question of my father having been murdered, I'll see if he knows," he turned and looked on the old man quickly. "You don't suppose John that if there was a murder, he--"

"No! no!" cried Petley hurriedly, "I don't say he had to do with it. But that Mandarin--"

"Lo-Keong. Why Forge hates him."

"So he says. But this Mandarin, as I've heard from the Major, is high in favour with the Chinaman's court. If the doctor was his enemy, he could not go so often to China as he does. And since your father's death fifteen years ago, he's been back several times."

"Well I'll speak to him, John."

"And about the money, sir?"

Rupert sat down again. "I don't know what to do," he groaned. "I can manage to stave off many of the creditors, but if Miss Wharf forecloses the mortgage at Christmas everyone will come down with a rush and I'll have to give up Royabay to the creditors."

"Never--never--that will never be," said John fiercely, "why the place has been under the Ainsleighs for over three hundred years."

"I don't think that matters to the creditors," said Rupert wincing, "if I could only raise this thirty-thousand and get the land clear I would be able to live fairly well. There wouldn't be much; still I could keep the Abbey and we could live quietly."

"We sir?" asked the old man raising his head.

Rupert flushed, seeing he had made a slip. He did not want to tell the old man that he was married, as he was fearful lest the news should come to Miss Wharf's ears and render his wife's position with that lady unbearable. "I might get married you know," he said in an evasive way.

"Lord, sir," cried Petley in terror, "whatever you do, don't cumber yourself with a wife, till you put things straight."

"Heaven only knows how I am to put them straight," sighed Rupert. "I say, John, send me in some tea. I'm quite weary. Thorp is coming to see me next week and we'll have a talk."

"With Dr. Forge I hope," said old John, as he withdrew.

Ainsleigh frowned, when the door closed. Petley certainly seemed possessed by the idea that Forge was an enemy of the Ainsleighs, yet Rupert could think of no reason why he should be. He had been an excellent guardian to the boy, and if he had not told him the full extent of the ruin till it was too late to prevent it, he might have done so out of pity, so that the lad's young years might be unclouded. "Still it would have been better had he been less tender of my feelings and more considerate for my position," thought Rupert as he paced the long room.

While he was sadly looking out of the window and thinking of the wrench it would be to leave the old place, he saw a tall woman walking up the avenue. The eyes of love are keen, and Rupert with a thrill of joy recognised the stately gait of Olivia. With an ejaculation of delight, he ran out, nearly upsetting Mrs. Petley who was coming into the Library with a dainty tea. Disregarding her exclamation of astonishment, Rupert sprang out of the door and down the steps. He met Olivia half way near the ruins of the Abbey. "My dearest," he said stretching out both hands, "how good of you to come!" Olivia, who looked pale, allowed him to take her hands passively. "I want to speak to you," she said quickly, "come into the Abbey," and she drew him towards the ruins.

"No! No," said her husband, "enter your own house and have a cup of tea. It is just ready and will do you good."

"Not just now, Rupert," she replied, laying a detaining hand on his arm. "I can wait only for a quarter of an hour. I must get back."

Rupert grumbled at the short time, but, resolved to make the most of it, he walked with her into the cloisters. These were small but the ruins were very beautiful. Rows of delicately carved pillars surrounded a grassy sward. At the far end were the ruins of the church stretching into the pines. The roofless fane looked venerable even in the bright sunshine. The walls were overgrown with ivy, and some of the images over the door, still remained, though much defaced by Time. The windows were without the painted glass which had once filled them, but were rich with elaborate stone work. This was especially fine in the round window over the altar. As in the cloisters, the body of the church was overgrown with grass and some of the pillars had fallen. The lovers did not venture into the ruined church itself but walked round the pavement of the cloisters under the arches. Doubtless in days of old, many a venerable father walked on that paved way. But the monks were gone, the shrine was in ruins, and these lovers of a younger generation paced the quiet cloisters talking of love.

"My darling," said the young husband fondly, "how pale you are. I hope nothing is wrong."

"My aunt is ill. Oh it's nothing--only a feverish cold. She hopes to be well enough to attend the ball to-morrow night."

"I did not hear of it," said Rupert, "though Tidman generally tells me the news. I have been in London for the last few days."

"So I see," said Olivia, and glanced at her fair stalwart husband in his frock coat and smart Bond street kit, "how well you look."

Rupert appreciated the compliment and taking her hands kissed both several times. Olivia bent forward and pressed a kiss on his smooth hair. Then she withdrew her hands. "We must talk sense," she said severely.

"Oh," said Rupert making a wry face, "not about your aunt?"

"Yes. I can't understand her. She has shut herself up in her room and refuses to see me. She will admit no one but Miss Pewsey."

Ainsleigh shrugged his shoulders. "What does it matter," he said, "you know Miss Wharf never liked you. You are much too handsome, my own. And that is the reason also, for Miss Pewsey's dislike."

"Oh, Miss Pewsey is more amiable," said Olivia, "indeed I never knew her to be so amiable. She is always chatting to me at such times as she can be spared from my aunt's room."

"Well, what is worrying you?"

"This exclusion from Aunt Sophia's room," said Olivia with tears of vexation in her dark eyes. "I am her only relative--or at all events I am her nearest. It seems hard that she should exclude me, and admit Miss Pewsey who is only a paid companion."

"I don't think it matters a bit," said Rupert, "hasn't your aunt seen anyone lately?"

"No,--yes, by the way. She has seen her lawyer several times."

"I expect she is altering her will."

Olivia laughed. "She threatens to do so in favour of Miss Pewsey, unless by the end of the month I give you up, and engage myself either to Mr. Walker or to Mr. Burgh."

Rupert grew very angry. "What a detestable woman," he exclaimed. "I beg your pardon, dear, I forgot she's your aunt. But what right has she to order you about like this? You are of age."

"And I am married, though she doesn't know it. But I'll tell you the real reason, I am vexed I can't see my aunt. Can't we sit down?"

"Over there," said Ainsleigh, pointing to a secluded seat.

It was placed at the far end of the cloisters under a large oak. There were four oaks here, or to be more correct, three oaks and the stump of one. "That was destroyed by lightning when I was born," said Rupert, seeing Olivia's eyes fixed on this. "Mrs. Petley saw in it an omen that I would be unlucky. But am I?" and he fell to kissing his wife's hands again.

"Really, Rupert, you must be more sensible," she said, in pretended vexation. "What a pretty tree that copper-beech is."

"Yes! But do you see the blackened square?"

"It is not so very black," said Mrs. Ainsleigh, pausing to dig the point of her umbrella into the ground, "there's hardly any grass on it, and the earth is dark and hard. Curious it should be so, seeing the grass is thick and green all round, I suppose this is where Abbot Raoul was burnt."

"Yes. I've told you the story and shown you the spot many times," said Rupert, slipping his arm round her waist.

"Dearest," she whispered, "I was too much in love, to hear what you said on that point. And remember, all my visits to the Abbey have been secret ones. My aunt would be furious did she know that I had been here, and I often wonder that Pewsey, who is always watching me, has not followed me here."

"If she does I'll duck her in the pond for a witch," said Rupert, and drew his wife to the seat under the oak, "well, go on."

"About my aunt. Oh, it's what Major Tidman told me. He's been trying to see Aunt Sophia also. Have you heard what Mr. Burgh told the Major about that horrid fan?"

"No. You forget, I have just returned from town. What is it?"

Olivia related to Rupert the story which Clarence had told the Major. "So you see," she ended, "this man Hwei wants to kill any one who has the fan, and Tung-yu desires to reward the person who brings it back."

"It seems contradictory," said Ainsleigh thoughtfully, "and if Hwei put in the advertisement it is strange that Tung-yu should have received me in the Joss-house mentioned in the paper. Well?"

"Well," said Olivia rather vexed, "can't you see. I want my aunt to know that she is in danger and get rid of that horrid fan."

"Pooh," said her husband laughing, "there's no danger. Hwei can't kill an old lady like that for the sake of a fan she would probably sell for five shillings."

"She wouldn't," said Olivia with conviction. "Aunt Sophia has taken quite a fancy to that fan. But she ought to be told how dangerous it is, Rupert."

"Or how lucky," said Ainsleigh, "let her sell the fan to Tung-yu for five thousand pounds and then she can let Hwei kill Tung-yu."

"But would he do so."

"I can't say. On the face of it, it looks as though these two were working against one another, seeing they propose to reward the owner of the fan in such different ways. Yet Hwei, according to Burgh, put the advertisement in and Tung-yu received me. I don't understand."

"Well, don't you think I should tell the whole story to my aunt?"

"Yes. Go in and see her."

"Miss Pewsey won't let me, and my aunt refuses to admit me. I sent in a note the other day saying that I wished to speak very particularly, and she sent out another note to say that she would not see anyone till she was well. The note was kind enough in Aunt Sophia's cold way, but you see----"

"Yes! Yes! Well then let Tidman see her."

"Rupert, how annoying you are. She won't see anyone but Miss----"

"Miss Pewsey. Well then, tell her the story, and she can repeat it to your aunt. Though, by the way," added Ainsleigh, "Burgh may have told Miss Pewsey about it already."

"Yes," said Olivia, her face brightening, and rising to go away, "but I'll ask Miss Pewsey to tell Aunt Sophia herself."

As they walked towards the ruined entrance, Mrs. Petley's bulky form appeared in the archway. She threw up her hands. "Sakes alive, Master Rupert, come off Abbot Raoul's burning-place."

Ainsleigh, who was standing on the square of blackened ground, obeyed at once, and drew Olivia away also. "I forgot," he murmured.

"Forgot what?" asked Olivia.

"Why miss," said the old housekeeper, "don't you know it's said that if an Ainsleigh stands there, some trouble will befall him before the year's end, You're not an Ainsleigh miss, but Master Rupert--well there--oh sir, how can you be so foolish. The tea's ready sir," and Mrs. Petley, with this prosaic ending trotted away.

"She doesn't know that you are an Ainsleigh," said Rupert kissing his wife, "pah. Don't think of that foolish superstition. Come to--"

"No, Rupert," said Olivia, planting herself firmly against the wall, "you know I said a quarter of an hour. It's half an hour we have been talking. I must get back."

The young husband urged, implored, scolded, cajoled, but all to no effect. Olivia made up her mind to go, and go she did, Rupert escorting her to the gates. "You are very unkind," he said.

"I am very sensible," she replied, "I don't want to disturb my new relations with Miss Pewsey. She has such power over my aunt that it is necessary I should keep on good terms with her. Now, Rupert, you must not come any further."

"Just along the road."

"Certainly not. All the gossips of Marport would talk. Good-bye. I won't be kissed again. Someone may be looking."

Ainsleigh muttered a blessing on anyone who might be about, and shook hands with his wife just as though they were strangers. Then he remained at the gate till she turned the corner. There, she looked back and Rupert threw her a kiss. Olivia shook a furious sunshade at him for the indiscretion.

"The silly boy," she said to herself as she went along, "if anyone saw him, there would be a fine story all over Marport."

[CHAPTER VIII]

The Beginning of the Ball

So this was the position of affairs immediately before the ball given by the Glorious Golfers at the Bristol Hotel. Miss Wharf possessed the fan, and two Chinamen were searching for it. Hwei intended to secure it by murder, and Tung-yu by the milder means of honourable purchase: but why the two, with such contradictory intentions, should work in unison, as appeared from the advertisement, Rupert could not understand. However, he had so much trouble himself that he dismissed the matter from his mind.

There was little chance of his benefiting by money from the one Chinaman, or of being murdered by the other. And he presumed that Olivia would instruct Miss Pewsey to tell Miss Wharf about the fan, even if she did not see her personally. And while Miss Wharf was ill and safe in her house, Hwei could not get at her in any way. Moreover, as Burgh in his interview with Hwei near the Mansion House, had held his tongue, the man would not know where the fan was.

The ball was the best of the Marport season, as the Glorious Golfers were a body of young men with plenty of money and a great love of amusement.

The vast apartments of the Bristol were thrown open, and decked with flowers; an Irish Band,--The Paddies,--was engaged from London, and many people came down from the great city to be present. It was a perfect night when the ball was held, and the terrace on the first floor of the hotel, or to speak more properly the balcony, was thronged with people. It looked very pretty, as it was filled with tropical ferns and plants and trees, illuminated with Chinese lanterns and made comfortable with numerous arm chairs, and plenty of small marble-topped tables. Between the dances, people finding the rooms too warm, came out to walk in the night air. There was no moon, but the night was starry and warm, and a soft luminous light was reflected on sea and land. Standing under the great fern-trees and amidst the fairy lights, the guests could survey with pleasure the vast waste of water stretching towards the clear horizon, and see the long pier glittering with innumerable lights. Needless to say, the terrace was much frequented by amorous couples.

Within, the ball-room, gay with flowers and draperies, with a waxed floor and many electric light in coloured globes, looked very pretty. The band was hidden behind a lofty floral screen, and played the latest seductive waltzes, interspersed with inspiriting barn-dances and quaint cake-walks. The women were lovely, and the dresses perfect, so the young men enjoyed themselves not a little. Rupert was present, looking handsome in his evening dress, but rather flushed and anxious. He was not sure if Miss Wharf would come, in which case Olivia would not be present. And, if the old maid did recover sufficiently to make her appearance, she would perhaps refuse to allow him to dance with the girl.

However Miss Wharf did appear though at a somewhat late hour. She was gowned in pale blue and looked very handsome, if somewhat stout. Olivia's dark beauty revealed itself in a primrose-hued dress, and Miss Pewsey looked more like a witch than ever in a black frock glittering with jet. This was the gift of Miss Wharf, as poor Miss Pewsey would never have been able to indulge in such extravagance. At the back and in attendance on the Ivy Lodge party, were Clarence Burgh and Dr. Forge. The buccaneer looked picturesque and dashing as usual and was dressed very quietly for one of his flamboyant tastes, though he showed to disadvantage beside the perfection of Rupert's garb. Forge wore a suit which might have been made for his grandfather, and which fitted his lank form ill. The doctor looked less his cool self, than was usually the case. His parchment face was flushed and his melancholy eyes glittered as they roved round the brilliant room. Rupert wondered if he was looking for Tung-yu, and glanced round the room himself to see if the Chinaman had arrived in Chris Walker's company. But he could not perceive him.

Putting his fortune to the test, and having come to no open rupture with the lady, Rupert boldly walked up to Miss Wharf and offered his hand. She gave him rather a peculiar look and coloured a little. But to his secret satisfaction she received him very kindly. Olivia took her husband's greeting with a quiet smile, rather cold, as she knew well Miss Pewsey was watching her face. As to that lady, she hovered round the group like an ugly old fairy, about to weave the spell.

"And where is the Major?" asked Miss Pewsey in her emphatic way, "surely he is present on this occasion."

"I am sorry to say that the Major is laid up with a bad cold," said Rupert. "I have just been to see him. He is not coming."

"A cold spoils his beauty," tittered Miss Pewsey, "dear me, how very vain that man is."

"A cold has not spoilt Miss Wharf's beauty at all events," said Ainsleigh, seeing his way to a compliment. "I never saw you look so well," he added with a bow.

"Thanks to Lavinia's nursing," laughed the lady. "Olivia can you keep still while that delicious music is playing. I'm sure Mr. Burgh--"

"I think Miss Rayner is engaged to me," put in Rupert promptly.

Miss Wharf tapped him on the shoulder with the very fan, about which there had been so much talk. "No I can't spare you," she said amiably. "I want to chat with you. Olivia?"

The girl exchanged a look with her husband and saw that his eyes were fastened on the fan. Resolved to give him a chance of talking to her aunt about it, she moved away on the arm of the buccaneer to join in the whirling throng. Forge offered his arm to Miss Pewsey, not to dance, but to escort her on to the terrace, and so it came about that aunt Sophia and Rupert were left alone in a quiet corner of the room.

Miss Wharf cast a side glance at the young man and seeing how handsome and gay he was, she heaved a sigh. Perhaps she was thinking of his father whom she had loved dearly, but if so, the emotion was only momentary, for she compressed her lips and drew herself up stiffly. "Mr. Ainsleigh," she said, "you never come to see me now. How is that?"

"I thought you did not wish to see me," said Rupert frankly.

"Oh yes I do. Your father was an old friend of mine, and for his sake I wish to be kind to you."

Rupert saw that she was unaware that he had met Olivia secretly, and had heard the story of the early romance. It was not wise, he thought, to bring up the subject, so he met her on her own ground. "You can be very kind to me if you wish," he said casting a significant glance on Olivia who floated past with Burgh.

Miss Wharf followed his gaze and frowned, shaking her head. "No," she said severely, "you must give up the idea of marrying Olivia."

"I can't do that," replied Rupert, thinking of his secret marriage, "and I don't see why you should refuse to let me love her."

"I can't prevent that," snapped Miss Wharf, "love her as much as you choose, but as another man's wife," and again she looked oddly at Rupert, who wondered what she meant.

"What an immoral remark," he said, "perhaps you will explain."

"Mr. Ainsliegh I will be frank with you," said the lady calmly, "you have no money, and are liable to lose Royabay. I hold a mortgage it is true and by the end of the year I can foreclose; but that, I shall not do if you give up Olivia. If I foreclose, you know well enough that your other creditors will come down on you, and you will lose all. I hold the scales," added she significantly.

"I see that well enough Miss Wharf, but many things may happen before the end of the year."

"You mean that you will get the money to pay me and others?"

"I might even mean that," answered Rupert coolly, "and if I am a bad match, I don't think Mr. Burgh is a better. I have at least a position and a clean name."

"What do you know about Clarence Burgh?" she asked quickly.

"Nothing, save that he is an adventurer, Miss Wharf. He comes from nowhere, and swaggers about Marport as if it belonged to him. He has no recognised position and he is not a gentleman."

"Oh but he is, and I want him to marry Olivia."

"And thus you would condemn Olivia to misery. She loves me--"

"A girl's love," said Miss Wharf coolly, "she'll soon get over that. Mr. Burgh is Lavinia's nephew, and I have promised Lavinia that Olivia shall be his wife."

"Why in heaven's name?" asked Rupert angrily, "he has no money."

"Oh yes he has, and may have a chance of getting more. Lavinia has been a good friend to me for years and years--all my life in fact, Mr. Ainsleigh. I owe much to her, and I intend to repay her. Her heart is set on this match and Olivia must marry Clarence."

"Olivia shall not."

"Olivia shall. I set my will against yours Mr. Ainsleigh."

"You'll find my will is stronger," said Rupert coolly.

Miss Wharf gave a short laugh. "Try," she said curtly; then her hard eyes softened and her cold manner grew warmer. "Don't let us quarrel," she said gently. "I wish you well, and would give you anything save Olivia--"

"Which is the only thing I want."

"How rude of you to call Olivia a 'thing,'" said the woman lightly, "you may make up your mind that if you marry her, I shall leave my money to Miss Pewsey."

"Do so. I don't want your money."

"Five hundred a year is not enough," sneered Miss Wharf, "but I may have more. What do you say to five thousand--"

"Oh," interrupted Rupert coolly, "so Olivia has told you about the fan--or perhaps Miss Pewsey."

"It was Olivia. I believe Clarence Burgh told her. This fan," Miss Wharf unfurled the article, "means five thousand pounds--"

"Or a cut throat," said Rupert quickly.

"Pah! how foolish you are, as though such a thing could happen in England. Were we in China I admit that I should be afraid to keep this fan; but as it is I am perfectly safe. See here, Mr. Ainsleigh," she added bending towards him, "if you will give up Olivia I will give you this fan and you can get the money to pay off your creditors."

"No," said Rupert at once. "I need thirty thousand, not five. And even if you were to give me the thirty thousand I need, I would not sell Olivia for that sum."

"Look at the fan first," said Miss Wharf and gave it to him.

Rupert's nerves thrilled as he took the dainty trifle in his hand. So much had been said about it, so much hung on it, of the meaning of which he was ignorant, that he could not look at it without feeling the drama it represented. Balzac's remark about killing a Mandarin in China to obtain a fortune, occurred to his mind. This fan dainty and fragile, might cost the life of such a Mandarin. It all depended into whose hands it fell.

The fan was exactly as the advertisement described. On one side the pale green sticks were enamelled and smooth; on the other thin slivers of jade covered the wood, and were inscribed in quaint Chinese characters in gold. The handle was of gold, and therefrom hung a thick cord of yellow silk, with four beads and half a bead thereon. Three beads and the half one were of jade, but the remaining ball was of jasper. What these might mean Rupert could not understand, but apparently they were connected with the secret of the fan, whatever that might be. Certainly, whatever its significance, the secret dealt with the life of Lo-Keong, with the life of Dr. Forge, and with the life of Miss Wharf, seeing she now possessed the article. All the time Rupert furled and unfurled the fan, admiring its beauty, she kept her cold eyes on him. "Think," she whispered, "five thousand pounds may gain you a few months respite--you may be able to save the Abbey."

Rupert shook his head. "If I lose Olivia I don't care about keeping Royabay. It can be sold up and I'll go abroad to the Colonies to work for my living."

"Without Olivia."

"No. With Olivia. Nothing will buy her from me."

Miss Wharf finding all her arts fail, snatched the fan from him, and bit her lip. Her eyes flashed, and she seemed on the point of making some remark, but refrained. "Very good, Mr. Ainsleigh," said she. "I'll see what I can do with Olivia. You have ruined her."

"What do you mean by that, Miss Wharf."

"You'll find out my friend," she replied clenching the fan fiercely. "Oh, I am not so blind, or so ignorant as you think me."

Ainsleigh turned crimson. He wondered if by any chance she had heard of the marriage, and it was on the tip of his tongue to put a leading question to Miss Wharf, when Chris Walker came up. He was not alone. With him was a small Chinaman with the impassive face of the Celestial. Tung-yu--as Rupert guessed he was--wore a gorgeous yellow gown, with a kind of blue silk blouse over it. His feet were encased in thick Chinese shoes wonderfully embroidered and his pig-tail was down. Several ladies cast avaricious looks at these gorgeous vestments, and especially at the blouse, which was heavy with dragons woven in gold thread. In his thin yellow hand with long finger-nails, Tung-yu held a small ivory fan, and he stood impassively before Miss Wharf, not even casting a look at the fan in her hand, which he was prepared to buy at such a large price.

"This is Mr. Tung-yu," said Chris boyishly. "He wants to meet you, Miss Wharf. He admires English ladies."

"I fear I can't speak his language, Chris."

"He can speak ours to perfection," said Walker.

Tung-yu bowed politely and spoke in admirably chosen English. "I was at Cambridge," he said calmly, "and I know of your Western culture. If you will permit me, madam." He took a seat beside Miss Wharf.

Chris, seeing his friend well established looked around. "Where is Miss Rayner?" he asked. "Oh there she is--the dance is over."

And so it was. The dancers were streaming out on to the balcony and the room was almost empty. Burgh, with Olivia on his arm, came towards Miss Wharf, and Chris hurried forward to ask Miss Rayner for a dance. But quick as he was, Rupert was quicker. He had seen his wife dance with one admirer, and was not going to let her dance with another. "Miss Rayner is engaged to me," he said, and offered his arm with a defiant look at Burgh, to whom he had not been introduced.

Burgh showed no disposition to let Olivia go, and scowled. But his eye fell on the Chinaman seated by Miss Wharf, and he suddenly moved away. It seemed to Rupert that the buccaneer was afraid. Chris remained to protest, but Ainsleigh ended the matter by abruptly taking Olivia out of the room. Miss Wharf frowned when she saw them depart and opened her mouth, as though to call Olivia back. But on second thoughts she contented herself with another frown and then turned to speak to Tung-yu. "I have heard of you," she said.

"From my friend, Mr. Walker," said the polite Chinaman,

"Oh yes, and from someone else, through a third party. I heard of your advertisement----"

"What advertisement?" asked Tung-yu.

"About this fan," and Miss Wharf waved it under Tung-yu's narrow eyes, which did not change their expression of indifference.

"I do not understand, Madam!"

The lady looked astonished. "Why. Didn't you advertise for the fan?"

Tung-yu permitted himself to smile. "Who told you I did?" he asked.

"Mr. Ainsleigh, who left just now, told a friend of mine, who told me," said Miss Wharf. "I understood you wished to possess this fan."

"No," said Tung-yu indifferently, "the advertisement was placed in the paper, by a compatriot of mine called Hwei. He asked me to see anyone who called about it, as he was engaged. I saw Mr. Ainsleigh and told him what he told your friend. You must apply to Hwei."

"And have my life taken," said Miss Wharf with a shudder.

This time the Chinaman was not able to suppress a start. "I do not quite understand, Madam?" he reflected.

"Oh, yes, you do, Mr. Tung-yu. Hwei would murder me to get this fan. I prefer to sell it to you for five thousand pounds."

The Chinaman's face became impassive again, though his eyes looked surprised. "I assure you, this is quite wrong. Madam. My friend Hwei wants the fan, because it belongs to a Mandarin who received it as a gift from his dead wife. So dearly does this Mandarin prize it, that he is willing to buy it at any price."

"Even five thousand pounds?"

"I believe so. This Mandarin is rich." He turned his narrow eyes again on the lady. "Did the person who said that Hwei would go as far as crime, tell you the Mandarin's name?"

"No. Who is the Mandarin?"

"I fear I cannot tell you madam. Hwei did not tell me. If you like I will bring him to you."

Miss Wharf hesitated. Her avarice was aroused by the hope of getting rid of a trifle for five thousand pounds but she did not wish to risk herself alone with a blood-thirsty celestial. "If you will come also," she said, hesitating.

Tung-yu reflected. "Madam, I will be plain with you," he said gravely, "as I am here, I can act on behalf of my friend Hwei--but to-morrow."

Miss Wharf tendered the fan. "Why not take it to-night and give me a cheque," she said quickly.

"To-morrow," replied the Chinaman, rising and bowing politely, "I will call on you, if you will permit me. Mr. Walker will show me the way. I will then arrange to buy the fan at a price to which you will not object. Meanwhile--" he bowed again and gravely departed.

Miss Wharf, rather annoyed and surprised by this behaviour, looked round for Miss Pewsey, to whom she was accustomed to tell everything. The little woman appeared at that moment pushing her way through the crowd in a state of excitement. "Oh, Sophia!" she said, throwing herself down. "Oh, Sophia."

"What's the matter?" asked Miss Wharf coldly.

"I might ask you," said Miss Pewsey, parrying the question, "you look so upset, my Sophia."

"It is with pleasure then," said the old maid, dryly, "I have arranged to sell this fan to-morrow for five thousand pounds."

"Oh," Miss Pewsey clasped her hand, "What joy; you will be able to add to your income. But, Sophia, I really can't keep it any longer. That Major Tidman----"

"Well. What about him?"

"Mr. Ainsleigh said he had a cold and was confined to his room. I went up to see, as I don't trust that Major a bit. He's so wicked. I went to his room, and peeped in. Sophia," added Miss Pewsey in a tragic manner. "He is not there--the room is empty!"

[CHAPTER IX]

The End of the Ball

Miss Wharf looked at her excited little friend with an indulgent smile. "Really I don't see why you should trouble," she said with a smile. "Let the Major do what he likes."

"He's up to some mischief," persisted the old maid, "and I'd like to find out what it is. He is supposed to be keeping his room, because of a cold, and I find he is not in. People with colds," added the lady, impressively, "do not go into the night air."

"How do you know Major Tidman has?"

"Because he would be at the ball, were he in the hotel. I shall ask Clarence to see what he is doing."

"Why?" asked Miss Wharf, puzzled.

"Because--oh, just because," replied Miss Pewsey, tossing her head in a sharp way, like the Red Queen in Alice's Adventures. "But the fan, dearest Sophia?--Can't I take charge of it?"

Miss Wharf grasped the fan tighter. "No, certainly not. It is worth five thousand pounds."

"And perhaps more," said Miss Pewsey. "Remember, dearest Sophia, that is the sum offered, but you might ask more. It is very important that this Mandarin should get the fan back. Dr. Forge told me."

"Why is it important?"

"Theophilus didn't tell me that, but he said that this Mandarin--I quite forget his queer name--would give even more than five thousand to get it back."

"His emissary didn't seem very anxious to buy."

"Oh, that is craft," rejoined Miss Pewsey, tossing her head. "The Chinese are very double, Theophilus says."

"I don't think so, Lavinia. I would have sold this fan for a few pounds had I not known such a large sum was offered. Tung-yu is not a good business man, or else the Mandarin must be a millionaire."

"He is--he is. I wish you would let me conduct the business, and do let me take the fan?"

"No, I shall keep it."

"Sophia," said Miss Pewsey, solemnly, "that is dangerous. Rupert Ainsleigh hates you and needs money; he might kill you to get that fan, and sell it for five----"

"Nonsense. I cannot be murdered in a house full of people like this. I know another Chinaman hints at murder--you told me so----"

"Olivia told me to tell you," put in the little woman, quickly.

"Well, Hwei isn't here, and I'll sell the fan to Tung-yu to-morrow."

Miss Pewsey would have said more, but at this moment Dr. Forge approached, with a crooked elbow and a dreary smile. "Allow me to take you into supper, Miss Wharf."

"Certainly," she rose and took the arm. "I am really hungry. Lavinia?"

"I shall look for Clarence. I must find out what has become of Major Tidman," and the old maid hurried away while the doctor escorted Miss Wharf to the supper-room.

Clarence was not drinking at the buffet, though his aunt went there to find him as the most likely place. Nor was he in the ball-room, although a new dance had begun. She could not see him in the card-room, but finally ran him to earth on the terrace, where he was leaning against a tree-fern with folded arms and with his wicked black eyes fixed on a couple some distance away. Miss Pewsey followed his gaze and her eyes also flashed, for she beheld Rupert talking with Olivia. Both their heads were bent, and they conversed earnestly. The little woman hated Olivia and detested Rupert, so the sight was gall and worm-wood to her. "Why don't you ask her to dance?" she demanded, touching her nephew's arm.

"Because there would only be a row," he rejoined sullenly. "I feel inclined to spoil that chap's looks I can tell you."

"Do you really love the girl, so?"

"Yes I do. I'd give anything to marry her, and I shall too."

"There's not the slightest chance. Ainsleigh will not surrender her I can tell you."

"Then why did you make me waste that fan."

"You didn't waste it on her," said Miss Pewsey coldly, "she refused to take it like a fool, and now Sophia has it, there is no chance of getting it back. Had I known the fan was of such value, you wouldn't have caught me advising you to part with it. If you knew what this Hwei said, why didn't you tell me the fan was valuable."

"I did not see Hwei until I had parted with the fan," said Clarence crossly, "and we can do nothing now."

"You are not so bold as Major Tidman," she whispered.

"What's that?" asked the buccaneer sharply.

"He's not in his room," rejoined Miss Pewsey in a low voice, "he pretends illness, to carry out his plan to get the fan."

"How do you know that?"

"Because Tung-yu is in the hotel. The Major will try and get the fan to sell it to him."

"In that case he would have come to the ball and have seen Miss Wharf to get it from her."

"No. He has some other plan. What it is I don't know. But I wish you would look round for him, Clarence, and watch him."

"Bah! It's all stuff." Burgh turned to look at the sea and the pier and the luminous night. "I'm getting sick of this business," he went on discontentedly, "and but for the chance of gaining Olivia, I would bunk out on the long trail. There's a barky out there," he continued pointing to the right of the pier, "yonder--the one with the green light. I saw her anchor early in the afternoon--a kind of gentleman's yacht I fancy. She'd just do for me. I'd like to take a boat and pull out to her, and then get up steam for the South Seas. There's a clear path leads there, down channel," and he stared at the flickering green light which winked amongst many red ones.

"You'll never get Olivia," said Miss Pewsey, in a sharp tense voice, "and you can go away as soon as you like. Meantime, look for Major Tidman and tell him I want him."

Clarence lazily stretched himself, and moved off along the balcony. At the end there was a flight of shallow steps leading down to an iron gate which was open. Thence one could pass to the Esplanade and the beach, if so inclined. But the guests kept to the populous end of the balcony where the lights clustered. Near the stairs, there were hardly any lamps, and a screen of flowers curtained it off from the rest of the hotel. Clarence passed through this floral arch, and Miss Pewsey lost sight of him. Her eyes turned to the couple she hated, and she carelessly moved near them. No one noted her as the balcony was not so full, and she sat down behind a fern where she could hear without being seen by the two, she was spying on. Their voices were low, but hate sharpened Miss Pewsey's ears, and she listened intently.

"My aunt is much more amiable to-night," Olivia was saying, "I suppose the chance of making five thousand pounds has appealed to her."

"She gave me the chance of making it, provided I gave you up," said Rupert, "and she lost her temper with me because I declined."

"Will you never be friends with her?"

"I fear not, while Miss Pewsey is in the way," said Rupert. "Olivia, it is that woman who makes all the mischief."

"I think it is," replied the girl with a weary smile, "but she seems to have a kind of hypnotic power over my aunt--"

"What do you mean?"

"Aunt Sophia has bad headaches and Miss Pewsey sometimes hypnotises her to send away the pain."

"Miss Wharf is foolish to allow her to do such a thing. That little woman is no more to be trusted than her scamp of a nephew is."

"Well it doesn't matter," said Olivia, feeling in her pocket. "I want to talk about ourselves. See Rupert you wanted a silk tie the other day. I have knitted you one--red and yellow."

Rupert took the tie and admired it in the lamp light. He would have kissed Olivia's hand after a few words of warm thanks, but she prevented him.

"Someone might see and tell Aunt Sophia," she said hurriedly, "I should have given it to you the other day when I called at the Abbey, but I forgot, so I decided to give it to you to-night. It's rather awkward your having it now. Give it to me again."

"No! I'll put it in my overcoat in the cloak room," said Rupert, rising, "but I must take you back to Miss Wharf, or she will be angry."

"I wish this deception was at an end and I could be with you altogether," said Olivia rising with a sigh.

It was at this moment that Miss Pewsey chose to come forward. She was furious at the way in which the couple spoke of her, but long habit enabled her to smooth her face to a treacherous smile.

"Oh dear Olivia," she said. "I have been looking for you everywhere."

"Does my aunt want me?" asked the girl calmly.

"No. She is in the supper-room with Mr. Forge. But Mr. Walker--"

"I don't want him," said Miss Rayner quickly, and with a change of voice.

"Yes--yes," said Rupert in a low voice. "Go with her, and dance with Walker; it will prevent Miss Wharf being cross."

"Very well," rejoined Olivia quietly: then turned to Miss Pewsey who smiled like a grotesque image. "Let us go to the ball-room."

"Won't Mr. Ainsleigh escort us?" asked the old maid, blandly. Rupert bowed, and smothering his feelings, which always revolted at the sight of the woman, he walked beside the two to the ball-room. Miss Pewsey took Olivia's arm and chattered effusively all the time. At the door they met Chris Walker, who hurried up at once and asked for a dance. Leaving the two ladies with him, Rupert went towards the cloak room. Here to his surprise he saw Major Tidman clothed in a heavy fur coat, talking to Tung-yu. Tidman looked white and uneasy, but the Chinaman still preserved his impassive face. Rupert took no notice but simply nodded to the Major as he passed, pulling out the yellow and red tie as he did so. Tidman changed colour, apparently not pleased at being found talking to Tung-yu, and laughed uneasily. "That's a bright piece of goods Ainsleigh."

"It's a present," said Rupert thrusting the tie into the pocket of his over coat. "I should think it would match your friend's dress."

"Hush," said Tidman quietly, "he speaks English. He will hear," then he added aloud. "Let me introduce you to Mr. Ainsleigh, Tung-yu."

The Chinaman turned and looked impassive enough. But his eyes had an enquiring look in their black depths. "Tung-yu and I met in Canton, where we had an adventure," said the Major, with a titter.

"About that famous fan?" asked Rupert smiling.

Tung-yu started and looked quickly at Tidman, who was again pale. "I don't remember about the fan," said Tung-yu, "did our friend find it in Canton."

"No! No I never did," said Tidman hurriedly,--"that is Forge found the fan--"

"And gave it to Miss Wharf. Quite so," replied Tung-yu blandly. "I see her to-morrow about the matter," then he bowed to Rupert and moved away slowly.

"I thought you had a bad cold," said Rupert to Tidman, who was looking after the Chinaman with a scared expression.

"Yes--yes--but that is better now," said the Major hurriedly, "so Miss Wharf is here, and has the fan?"

"Yes, she offered to give it to me if I surrendered Olivia."

"Refuse--refuse," cried Tidman hurriedly: he approached his lips to Ainsleigh's ears. "There is death in the air to-night."

"Tidman," cried Ainsleigh starting away and staring.

"Yes--yes--say nothing. I wish you hadn't mentioned about my having the fan. Tung-yu never knew--but it can't be helped. Ainsleigh, is there another Chinaman here to-night?"

"I have seen none. Do you expect Hwei? If so we had better warn Miss Wharf. She has the fan and--"

"No! No--say nothing. Don't touch the accursed thing."

"How do you know it is accursed?"

"I knew in Canton, and in a very unpleasant way. But I'll tell you my adventure to-morrow--yes I will--if nothing happens to-night."

Rupert stared still harder. "What can happen to-night man alive?"

"Nothing--nothing," said the Major hurriedly. "I'll get back to my room--you needn't say you have seen me. I--"

"Just the man I want," cried a bold free voice, and Burgh's slim hand fell on the Major's shoulder. "Miss Pewsey asks for you."

"For me. Any more trouble?"

"I guess not. She wants to fuss round about your cold. Heaping coals of fire's the English of it."

"Let her leave me alone," said the Major petulantly. "I'm quite well. I am going back to my room," and with a nod to Rupert, he marched out.

Burgh looked after him with a smile and a shrug: then he turned to Rupert who was moving towards the door. "Can I speak with you?" he asked with a frown.

"Not here Mr. Burgh," cried Ainsleigh, "this is not the place for a quarrel."

"And why not," cried the other, advancing with clenched fists, "I--"

"Keep your distance," said Ainsleigh sharply starting back on his guard, "the attendant is looking on," and he pointed to the man behind the counter who attended to the hats and cloaks.

Burgh tossed him a shilling, "Go and get a drink," he ordered.

"Stop where you are," commanded Rupert, "or I'll report you."

But the man, who was a dissipated-looking waiter pretended not to hear this last remark, and disappeared from behind the counter. The two men were alone, and Burgh spoke first. "I guess I'm going to lay you out," said he, "on account of--"

"Stop," said Rupert, "mention no names."

"I'll mention what I like and Olivia--"

Ainsleigh let drive before he could finish the word and in a second Burgh was sprawling on the floor. He rose with an oath and slipped round his right hand. "You draw a revolver and I'll break your neck," panted Rupert, "you bully, what do you mean by--"

Burgh drew his hand away--perhaps he was afraid a shot would bring in others to see the fray. But he dashed again at the young man. A short struggle ensued, which ended in Burgh being thrown again. Then Rupert, disinclined for a vulgar row, walked away. He stopped at the door to give his antagonist a bit of advice. "You touch me again," he said, "and I'll hand you over to the police after giving you a good thrashing. It's what a bully like you deserves. And if you dare to speak to Miss Rayner I'll make Marport too hot to hold you." When Rupert vanished, Burgh raised himself slowly and with an evil smile. "Perhaps the place will be too hot for you my fine gentleman," he said savagely, and began to think.

Meanwhile Rupert went to the ball-room and saw that Olivia was dancing with Dr. Forge. Chris Walker told him that Miss Wharf had gone on to the balcony for the fresh air. Miss Pewsey was not to be seen or Rupert would have told her to look after her disreputable relative in the cloak-room. The young man thought he would go up to the Major's room and have a smoke, when he felt a light touch on his shoulder. There stood Tung-yu.

"Excuse me sir," said the Chinaman in his excellent English, "I am your friend. Major Tidman and Dr. Forge are your enemies, and you have a third enemy in that young man Burgh."

"But how do you know--" began Rupert.

Tung-yu bent forward and whispered. "I know how your father died," he said softly and before Rupert could detain him, he vanished.

But Ainsleigh waited but for a moment. The speech was so surprising, that he determined to learn more. At once he ran after the Chinaman but could not see him. In spite of his noticeable clothes, he was swallowed up in the crowd and Rupert plunged into the gay throng determined to find the man who could solve the mystery of Markham Ainsleigh's death.

The night wore on and the fun became fast and furious. Towards twelve the guests began to depart, but many choice spirits declared they would keep the ball rolling till dawn. One of these was Chris Walker, who had imbibed more champagne than was good for him. While he talked excitedly Miss Pewsey came to him hastily. "Where is my dear Sophia?" she asked, "I can't find her, and with her delicate health it is time she was home in bed."

"I have not seen her. Have you, Dr. Forge?"

The lean doctor shook his head, "I have been in the card room for the last hour," he said, "and as Miss Wharf's doctor I assuredly say, she should go home, there's midnight," and as he spoke the strokes boomed from a tall clock in the hall.

"Clarence, have you seen her?" asked Miss Pewsey of the buccaneer who had Olivia on his arm.

"No! I've just been waltzing with Miss Rayner."

"Then you Mr. Ainsleigh?"

"I have been smoking on the balcony," said Rupert, who looked tired.

"Oh, dear me," said Miss Pewsey wringing her hands, "I wonder if dear Sophia has gone to see Major Tidman. She is so kind-hearted and he is ill--at least he says he is. Did he tell you Clarence?"

"I saw him only for a minute and he went back to his room I guess."

"Then Sophia must have gone there," cried Miss Pewsey and hurried away. Olivia followed with Forge as she thought also, that her aunt ought to go home, and Clarence's attentions were becoming so embarrassing that she feared there would be trouble with Rupert. But soon, Miss Pewsey appeared again and said that Miss Wharf was not in the Major's room, nor was the Major there. Taking Olivia and Clarence and Forge, she went to search for the missing lady. Rupert lingered behind as he did not wish to come into contact with the buccaneer.

The hunt proceeded for some time, and every room in the hotel was searched. But Miss Wharf could not be found. Finally everyone--for many of the guests were hunting by this time--, went out on the balcony. Miss Wharf was not there. "Oh, dear me," cried Miss Pewsey, "wherever can she be."

The balcony was searched from end to end. Then one of the guests more venturesome, descended the steps. He gave a cry of horror. "Bring a light," he cried.

Lights were brought and everyone rushed after them. Half way down the steps lay Miss Wharf--dead--strangled, and round her throat tightly bound was a yellow and red silk tie.

[CHAPTER X]

A Mysterious Case

The murder of Miss Sophia Wharf at the Bristol Hotel ball, made a great sensation. She had been well-known in Marport, and her many friends were enormously excited that each and everyone of them had been acquainted with a person who had been--as one of them put it--done to death. Also the circumstances of the murder were most extraordinary. It seemed almost incredible that a popular lady should be murdered in so public a place; though many said, that the safety of the assassin lay in the very fact that he had chosen to commit his crime, a few yards away from a spot where many people were congregated. But who had killed Miss Wharf and why she was killed in so brutal a manner, no one could understand.

When the local police heard of the assassination, an Inspector with two subordinates took possession of the hotel, and obtained from the manager a list of the guests present at the ball. As these amounted to something like two hundred, it seemed like looking for a needle in a haystack to search for the criminal amongst them. And many of them did not know Miss Wharf even by sight, so it was certain that the task of identifying the assassin would be one of enormous difficulty. And the question was asked on all hands. "What had taken the deceased lady down the little-frequented steps?" The fan was missing--Miss Pewsey noticed that, when she bent over the dead, but the story of the fan was not yet public property.

According to custom the local police communicated with the Treasury, who placed the case in the hands of the Criminal Investigation Department, and thus it came about, that a plain clothes officer--in other words a detective--was sent down to Marport. This individual was called Rogers, and after paying a visit to the Superintendent of the Marport Police Office, he went to Ivy Lodge. Here, everything was gloomy and silent. The body of the unfortunate woman had been brought home, and was laid out for burial. Dr. Forge, who with others had been on the spot at the time of the discovery, examined the corpse, and asserted that the miserable woman must have been murdered just an hour, or half an hour previous. As midnight was chiming shortly before the discovery of the crime, it can be safely declared--and Dr. Forge did declare this--that Miss Wharf was strangled between eleven and twelve. When the corpse was found it was yet warm, Clarence haunted the Lodge and talked with his aunt, but Olivia kept to her own room.

"Tung-yu did it of course," said Mr. Burgh decisively. "I reckon he came down to get that fan, and grudged giving so much cash for it. I surmise that he lured the old girl to those steps, and then slipped the silk string round her neck."

"The silk tie," said Miss Pewsey whose eyes were very black and glittering, though red round the rims, from weeping.

"How do you know it's a tie?" asked Clarence with a start.

"I know," replied his aunt tightening her thin lips, "and I know to whom the tie belongs. But you say that Tung-yu?--"

"Who else could have scragged the old girl aunt Lavinia. The fan's gone--leastways I didn't see it when we spotted the deader."

Miss Pewsey nodded. "Yes, the fan is gone," she assented, "but if Tung-yu murdered dearest Sophia, he can easily be arrested."

"Oh, I guess not," replied Mr. Burgh easily. "Tung-yu's no slouch, you bet, and didn't intend to lose his prize--"

"The fan?" inquired Miss Pewsey.

"Just so, the fan," replied Clarence imperturbably, "and he's on his way to China by this time."

"Clarence?" Miss Pewsey rose, much excited; then calmed down. "I do not agree with you," said she firmly. "Tung-yu is innocent."

"I'll lay a couple of dollars he isn't, Aunt Lavinia. Do you remember that yacht I pointed out to you last night. Well, t'was a steam deep-sea barky, two hundred tons, Lloyd's measurement I reckon--quite heavy enough to cut round the Cape into Chinese waters. Well, she arrived in the afternoon yesterday and after midnight she lighted out."

"But how do you know Tung-yu was on board?"

"Well, I only size that up," said Clarence musingly, "but it looks to me as though he'd engineered the job. 'Twould be easy I guess for him to have had a boat waiting for him. After he'd killed the old girl and annexed the fan, he could dance down those steps like a two year old and pick up the boat on the beach. Course it's all my fancy," added Burgh modestly, "but I guess I'm right."

"I guess you're not," snapped Miss Pewsey in rather an unlady-like manner, and she rose to shake out her skirts. "I know who killed dearest Sophia," she added, wagging a lean finger at her nephew. "I know who possessed the tie, and I shall hand that man--"

"Who the dickens is he anyhow?"

"Rupert Ainsleigh," replied Miss Pewsey with a grim smile, and left the room, while the buccaneer stared, and then smiled. It was pleasant to think that his rival--as he considered Rupert,--should be in such straits and should be pursued by the vindictive hatred of Miss Pewsey, who would leave no stone unturned to bring about the conviction of young Ainsleigh.

"Well," said the buccaneer with his hands in his pockets, "I guess I'm not taking a hand in this biznai, and it ain't lively round these quarters, I'll git."

And this Mr. Burgh did. When he passed out of the front door, he brushed against a plainly dressed rubicund man with sharp grey eyes who glanced at him inquisitively. However, the stranger said nothing but proceeded to ring the bell. The maidservant who appeared took him into the drawing-room and carried a card to Miss Pewsey. The name thereon was, Orlando Rodgers, C.I.D.

With this in her hand Miss Pewsey sailed into the drawing-room and looked at the comfortable creature who rose to greet her. "Mr. Orlando Rodgers, C.I.D.?" queried the little old lady.

"Criminal Investigation Department," said the man in a cool voice, and with a sharp glance at the dry drab woman, "I'm in charge of the Wharf Murder Case, and have been sent down by the Treasury. As I have seen the Superintendent and can learn nothing likely to throw light on the subject, I have come to you--a relative?"

"No," answered Miss Pewsey sitting down, in a rigid way. "I am the companion of the late Miss Wharf. Her only relative, down here at all events, is Miss Olivia Rayner."

"Can I see her?"

"I think not--at present. She is in her room weeping. Though why she should display such grief I can't understand," added Miss Pewsey spitefully.

"It's natural in a relative, miss," said the detective looking hard at the withered little face.

Miss Pewsey laughed in a shrill manner, and spoke between her teeth more than ever, emphasising every word as usual. "Oh, dear me, no," said she. "Miss Wharf and Olivia never got on well. The girl hated her aunt, though dearest Sophia--Miss Wharf, you know, sir--brought her up, when she hadn't a shilling or a friend in the world."

"To whom have I the honour of speaking?" asked Rodgers wondering how much of this spiteful speech was true, and seeing plainly enough that the speaker was no friend to the niece.

"I am Lavinia Pewsey," said that lady, "and for years I have been the cherished friend and dearest companion of Sophia. We were at school together, and were--as I may say--like two cherries on one stalk. Anything I can do to avenge her death will be done."

"Punishment by the law, doesn't come under the head of vengeance!"

"It comes under the head of hanging, and I'll be glad to see the rope round his neck."

"Of whom are you talking?" asked Rodgers phlegmatically.

"Of the man who killed my dearest friend."

"Oh. I understood from the Superintendent that the affair was quite a mystery."

"Not to me," snapped Miss Pewsey, "Rupert Ainsleigh strangled her to get the fan."

"What fan?" asked the detective taking out his note-book, "and who is Rupert Ainsleigh?"

Miss Pewsey spread her skirts and folded her hands together in a prim way. "I shall tell you all," she cried, "and please take down all I say. I am prepared to make this statement in a law court."

"Well," said Rodgers moistening his pencil, "you may have to. Now this Mr. Ainsleigh?----"

"Of Royabay, a few miles from Marport," said Miss Pewsey, "quite one of the old families. A nice come down for the Ainsleighs, for the last of them to die on the gallows."

"He is not there yet," said Rodgers dryly, "and may I ask you to speak in a more reasonable way. I see you don't like the man."

"I hate him," Miss Pewsey drew a long breath, "and I hated his father before him, to say nothing of his mother, who was a cat."

"Then your evidence is prejudiced, I fancy."

"Never you mind, Mr. Orlando Rodgers," she replied sharply, "take down what I say, and then you can sift the matter out for yourself. My Sophia was murdered to obtain possession of a fan----"

"What fan?" asked Rodgers again.

Miss Pewsey smiled, and calmly detailed all she had learned from Dr. Forge concerning the fan. "You can ask my nephew, Clarence Burgh, about these things also," she ended, "and Dr. Forge, and Mr. Christopher Walker, who brought the Chinaman Tung-yu to the ball, and----"