"I swear to you," cried the barrister, who was unusually excited, "that I will tear the heart out of this mystery before the week expires."

Mensmore bowed silently and would have left the room, but Smith entered.

In their distraction they had not heard the bell ring. Smith handed a card to his master. Instantly Bruce controlled himself. His admiration for the dramatic sequence of events overcame his eagerness as an actor.

It was with an appreciative smile that he said, without the slightest reference to Mensmore:

"Show the lady in."

Mensmore was pa.s.sing out, but the sight of the visitor drove him back as though he had been struck. It was Phyllis Browne.

Her recognition of him was a bright smile. She advanced to Bruce, saying pleasantly:

"I am glad to meet you, though the manner of my call is somewhat unconventional. I heard much of you from Bertie in the Riviera, and more since my return to town."

He suitably expressed his delight at this apparition. Mensmore, not knowing what to do, stood awkwardly at the other end of the room.

Neither of the others paid the least heed to him.

"Of course I had a definite object in coming to see you, Mr. Bruce,"

went on the young lady. "I have been coolly told that, because somebody killed somebody else some months ago, a young gentlemen who asked me to be his wife, is not only not going to marry me but intends to spend the rest of his life in Central Africa or China--anywhere in fact but where I may be."

"A most unwise resolve," said the barrister.

"So I thought. You appear to hold the key to the situation; and, as it is an easy matter to trace you through the Directory, here I am. My people think I am skating at St. James's."

"Well, Miss Browne," said Claude, "I am neither judge nor jury nor counsel for the prosecution, but there is the culprit. I hand him over to you."

"Yes; but that goose didn't kill anybody, did he?"

"No."

"And I am sure his sister did not; from what little I saw of her she would not hurt a fly."

"Quite true."

"Then why don't you find the man who caused all the mischief--and--and--lock him up at least, so that he cannot go on injuring people?"

Miss Phyllis was very brave and self-confident at the outset. Now she was on the verge of tears, for Mensmore's saddened face and depressed manner unnerved her more than his pa.s.sionate words at their last interview.

"You ask me a straight question," replied Bruce, though his eyes were fixed on Mensmore, "and I will give you a straight answer. I _will_ find the man who killed Lady d.y.k.e. As you say, it is time his capacity for doing injury to others should be limited. Before many days have pa.s.sed Mr. Mensmore will come to you and beg your pardon for his hasty and quite unwarranted resolve."

"Do you hear that, Bertie?" cried the girl. "Didn't I tell you so?"

Mensmore came forward to her side of the table.

"I need not wait, Phil, dear," he said simply. "I ask your pardon now.

This business is in the hands of Providence. I was foolish to think that anything I could do would stave off the inevitable."

"And if you have--to go--to China--you w-will take me with you?"

Bruce looked out of the window, whistled, and said loudly, addressing a beautiful lady in short skirts who figured in a poster across the way:

"Let me ring for some tea. All this talk makes one dry."

CHAPTER XXVI

LADY HELEN MONTGOMERY'S SON

When the young people had gone--Mensmore ill at ease, though tremuously happy that Phyllis had so demonstrated her trust in him, Phyllis herself radiantly confident in the barrister's powers to set everything right--Bruce devoted himself to the task of determining a new line for his energies.

The first step was self-evident. He must ascertain if the d.y.k.es knew a Colonel Montgomery.

He drove to the Club frequented by Sir Charles, but the baronet was not there, so he went to Wensley House.

Sir Charles was at home, in his accustomed nook by the library fire. He looked ill and low-spirited. The temporary animation he had displayed during the past few weeks was gone. If anything, he was more listless than at any time since his wife's death.

"Well, Claude," he said wearily, "anything to report?"

"Yes, a good deal."

"What is it?"

"I want to ask you something. Did you ever know a Colonel Montgomery, or was your wife acquainted with any one of that name to your knowledge?"

"I do not think she was. Had she ever met such a man I should probably have heard of him. Who was he?"

The baronet's low state rendered his words careless and indefinite, but his friend did not wish to bother him unduly.

"The police have discovered," he said, "that Mrs. Hillmer formed a close intimacy with some one whom she designated by that name and rank, though I have failed to trace any British officer who answers to his description. He disappeared, or died, as some people put it, about the same time as your wife."

"Is it not known what became of him, then?"

"No."

"Won't Mrs. Hillmer tell you?"

"She absolutely refuses to give any help, whatever."

"On what ground?"

"That is best known to herself. My theory is that a man she loves is implicated in the affair, and she is prepared to go to any lengths to shield him."

"Ah!"

Sir Charles bent over and poked the fire viciously. Then he murmured: "Women are queer creatures, Bruce. We men never understand them until too late. My wife and I did not to all appearance care a jot for one another while she lived. Yet I now realize that she loved me, and I would give the little remaining span of existence, dear as life is, to see her once more."