In an instant, on his question, my doubts and suspicions seemed to harden into certainties. I knew--it was nothing less than knowledge--that she was not there, and that the note brought by the boy with the red cap told truly where she was. Fillingford would go to Breysgate--he would be referred to Chat. Chat would tell him that Jenny was in bed. Would he believe it and go home peacefully--to face Lady Sarah's angry scorn and the doubts of his own perplexed mind? He might--then all would be well. But he might not believe it. He had said that he would try to find her to-night. He knew where to find her--if he trusted the information which the boy in the red cap had brought.

"He doesn't know you've come here, of course?"

"Not he! I got a start--and, by Jove, I ran! Are you going to do anything about it?"

I was quite clear what I had to do about it. Chat must be in the secret; she might manage to send Fillingford home--or she might keep him at Breysgate long enough to give me, in my turn, a chance. No good lay in my going to meet him--Chat could lie as well as I, and, if he would not believe her, he would not believe me either. Neither would I send Lacey to him; any appearance of Lacey's in the matter would show that we were afraid, that we knew there was something to conceal. My course was to take the start Lacey's warning gave me, to go where Jenny was, trusting to reach her in time to get her away before Fillingford came on from Breysgate. It was time to put away pretenses, scruples, formalities. I must find her wherever she was; I must meet her face to face with my message of danger.

I put on my hat and coat hastily. Lacey stood looking at me.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Where that boy came from," I answered.

"Do you mind if I come, too? As far as the house, say?"

"Why do you want to come?"

He spoke with a certain calm authority. "I think I've a right to come.

You must excuse me for saying that I think I know with whom we're dealing. We may very likely be in for a row, Austin. I don't want to be seen, if I can help it, but I do want to be somewhere handy in case my father--well, in case there is a row, you know."

Yes, we knew with whom we might have to deal. A row was not unlikely.

"Very well, come along," I said.

The clock struck seven as we started out into a dull, foggy, chill evening. Darkness had fallen and the lights of Catsford twinkled in the valley beneath us. As we began to walk, I heard carriage wheels on the road behind us. Fillingford was on his way to Breysgate. Lie well, Chat!

Be clever! Keep him there--keep him there, till the danger is overpast!

CHAPTER XIV

THE EIGHT-FIFTEEN TRAIN

If Jenny were bound to see Leonard Octon that evening, why had she not sent for him to her own house? In order that the servants might not know, and spread the gossip among their friends in other households? For fear that some of the neighbors, to whom she had sacrificed him, might pa.s.s by and see him going in or coming out, or even might call and encounter him there? A visit from the Aspenicks, from Lacey, from Alison, was not impossible. Who could say that Fillingford himself would not do as, in fact, he had done, and go to Breysgate on receipt of her letter? There were plausible reasons to be given for her action, but they were not, coolly regarded, of sufficient strength to outweigh the great fact that, whereas a meeting at Breysgate might have been reckoned a bit of defiance and unfriendliness to Fillingford and his allies, a meeting at Ivydene or, above all, at Hatcham Ford was open to a far more damaging interpretation; it was a terrible risk, an indiscretion fatal if discovered.

For the motives which determined her action, it is necessary, I believe, to look deeper, less to her reasoning, more to her character, and to the feeling under whose sway she was. Her obstinate courage refused to show the white feather to her distrust of Powers; that very distrust itself appealed to her love of a risk. She would do the thing because it was dangerous--because, if it came off well, the peril of it would have made it so much sweeter to her taste, would have given the flavor of mystery she loved, and been such a defiance of fate as was an attraction to her spirit. "Once more!" always appealed to Jenny; to try once more--once again beyond the point of safety. "Once more!" has appealed to--and has ruined--many lovers. Is not the scene, too, something? To lovers a meeting in the old place is doubly a meeting, and becomes a memory of double strength. The shrine has its sacredness as well as the deity; the spirit of the encounter is half lost in alien surroundings. "Once more--in the old place!" So she felt on the evening when she was to meet for the last time the man whom she dared not keep with her, but whose going wrung her heart. Farewell it was--it should be full farewell!

Lacey and I ran till we nearly reached the gates of the park; then we walked quickly, pausing now and again to listen for carriage wheels behind us. We heard none. Fillingford was lingering at Breysgate--Chat must be playing her game well! Jenny was in bed and perhaps would get up--or Jenny was out and would soon be back; by some story or other Chat was fighting to keep him where he was. The thought gave hope, and I pushed on. Lacey kept pace with me; he never spoke till we came opposite to Ivydene, and saw the shrubberies of Hatcham Ford on our right.

"That's as far as I go," said Lacey, "for the present. It's no business of mine unless my father comes--and wants me."

I left him standing in the road, just opposite the gate of Hatcham Ford, which was open. I went on to Ivydene and knocked. I waited, but n.o.body came. I knocked again impatiently. There was a clatter of hob-nailed shoes along the stone pa.s.sage inside. The door was opened by the boy in the red cap.

"Ah, Alban, how are you? Is your father in?"

"No, sir--mother's out, too, sir. I'm taking care of the house." The boy looked pleased and proud--almost as if he knew, though of course he did not, the importance he had possessed in our eyes that day.

"Do you know where your father is?"

"I think he's at Hatcham Ford, sir. Mr. Octon came across a little while ago and asked for father, and when father came to the door he told him to get his hat and come back to the Ford with him. I expect he's there still."

"Thank you, Alban. I'll go and have a look."

I expected to find Powers on guard, acting scout, before the door or in the shrubbery, and quickly crossed the road to the Ford. As I went, I looked about for Lacey, but could see him nowhere. Either he had gone back along the road toward Breysgate, to watch for Fillingford's possible approach, or else he had thought he might attract attention if he loitered in the road, and had taken refuge from observation in the shrubberies. I pa.s.sed quickly along the gravel walk, went up to the hall door, and rang the bell.

A moment or two pa.s.sed. Then Octon himself opened the door. The light of the gas jet over the doorway was full on his face; he was very pale, and drops of perspiration stood on his brow. But when he saw me his face lit up with a sudden relief. "You! Thank G.o.d!" he said. "The very man we wanted! Come inside."

"Is she here?"

"Yes."

"She mustn't stay a minute. There's danger."

"I know there is," he said grimly. "We found that out from Powers. I've killed him, Austin, or all but. Come into the dining-room."

I followed him into the room where I had once waited while he and Jenny talked. As we pa.s.sed through the hall, I noticed a portmanteau and a bag standing ready packed.

In the dining-room Jenny was crouching on the floor beside Powers; she was giving him something to drink out of a winegla.s.s. The man lay there inert. I went up and looked at him, bending down close. There were marks of fingers on his neck; he had been half strangled.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Jenny was crouching on the floor beside Powers_]

Jenny had taken no notice when I came in. Now she looked up. "It's all right, he's coming to," she said. "I thought he was gone, though. We made him confess what he'd done, you know. Then he grew insolent, and Leonard--" She turned to Octon with a smile. She seemed to say, "Well, you can guess what Leonard would do under those circ.u.mstances!"

"You must come away from here," I said in a low urgent voice.

"Fillingford may be here at any moment. He went to Breysgate first--but he'll come on here. He knows--and he means to find you."

"If he knows, what does it matter whether he finds me or not? And what are we to do with Powers?"

"Leave him to me. I'll get him back to his own house." I had it in my mind that I could call Lacey to help me to carry him.

While I spoke, she was giving the man another drink. He gurgled in his throat and moved uneasily. She looked up again: "He's doing all right, but--hadn't Leonard better go?"

"Nonsense," said Octon. "I'm here to see it through."

"No, no," I said hastily. "She's right, you go. This may be a police matter, if he takes it that way--or if Fillingford comes and finds him.

If you're here, you may be arrested. Then everything's got to come out!

For her sake you ought to go."

"You must go, Leonard," said Jenny. She propped Powers's head on a footstool and rose to her feet.

"It would be the best thing," said Octon. "It's only to-night instead of to-morrow morning."

His decision was taken. He lingered only one minute. He held out both his hands to her, and she put hers in them. I looked away; by chance my eyes fell on the mantelpiece. It struck me differently somehow; in an instant it occurred to me that the picture of the beautiful young girl was not there.

"There's a fast train to London at 8.15. You can catch that," I said.

"And you'd better go abroad to-morrow. I can let you know what happens."