d.i.c.k remembered the name of the firm quite well--at least, he thought so. Should he send a wire to inquire?

But then, in that case, Jack shrewdly pointed out, everything was as it should be. And this reflection caused the three considerable comfort.

For all that, there were one or two "ifs." Was it likely that Frank should have heard the news? He was notoriously hard up, and the name Talgarth had not appeared, so far, on any of the posters. Yet he might easily have been given a paper, or picked one up ... and then....

So the discussion went on, and there was not much to be got out of it.

The final decision come to was this: That guard should be kept, as before, until twelve o'clock midnight; that at that hour the three should leave the archway and, in company, visit two places--Turner Road and the police-station--and that the occupants of both these places should be informed of the facts. And that then all three should go to bed.

(IV)

At ten minutes past eleven d.i.c.k moved away from the fire in the Men's Club, where he had just been warming himself after his vigil, and began to walk up and down.

He had no idea why he was so uncomfortable, and he determined to set to work to rea.s.sure himself. (The clergyman, he noticed, was beginning to doze a little by the fire, for the club had just been officially closed and the rooms were empty.)

Of course, it was not pleasant to have to tell a young man that his father and brother were dead (d.i.c.k himself was conscious of a considerable shock), but surely the situation was, on the whole, enormously improved. This morning Frank was a pauper; to-night he was practically a millionaire, as well as a peer of the realm. This morning his friends had nothing by which they might appeal to him, except common sense and affection, and Frank had very little of the one, and, it would seem, a very curious idea of the other.

Of course, all that affair about Jenny was a bad business (d.i.c.k could hardly even now trust himself to think of her too much, and not to discuss her at all), but Frank would get over it.

Then, still walking up and down, and honestly rea.s.sured by sheer reason, he began to think of what part Jenny would play in the future.... It was a very odd situation, a very odd situation indeed. (The deliberate and self-restrained d.i.c.k used an even stronger expression.) Here was a young woman who had jilted the son and married the father, obviously from ambitious motives, and now found herself almost immediately in the position of a very much unestablished kind of dowager, with the jilted son reigning in her husband's stead. And what on earth would happen next? Diamonds had been trumps; now it looked as if hearts were to succeed them; and what a very remarkable pattern was that of these hearts.

But to come back to Frank--

And at that moment he heard a noise at the door, and, as the clergyman started up from his doze, d.i.c.k saw the towzled and becapped head of the unemployed man and his hand beckoning violently, and heard his hoa.r.s.e voice adjuring them to make haste. The gentleman under the arch, he said, was signaling.

The scene was complete when the two arrived, with the unemployed man encouraging them from behind, half a minute later under the archway.

Jack had faced Frank fairly and squarely on the further pavement, and was holding him in talk.

"My dear chap," he was saying, "we've been waiting for you all day.

Thank the Lord you've come!"

Frank looked a piteous sight, thought d.i.c.k, who now for the first time saw the costume that Mr. Parham-Carter had described with such minuteness. He was standing almost under the lamp, and there were heavy drooping shadows on his face; he looked five years older than when d.i.c.k had last seen him--only at Easter. But his voice was confident and self-respecting enough.

"My dear Jack," he was saying, "you really mustn't interrupt. I've only just--" Then he broke off as he recognized the others.

"So you've given me away after all," he said with a certain sternness to the clergyman.

"Indeed I haven't," cried that artless young man. "They came quite unexpectedly this morning."

"And you've told them that they could catch me here," said Frank "Well, it makes no difference. I'm going on--Hullo! d.i.c.k!"

"Look here!" said d.i.c.k. "It's really serious. You've heard about--" His voice broke.

"I've heard about it," said Frank. "But that doesn't make any difference for to-night."

"But my dear man," cried Jack, seizing him by the lapel of his coat, "it's simply ridiculous. We've come down here on purpose--you're killing yourself--"

"One moment," said Frank. "Tell me exactly what you want."

d.i.c.k pushed to the front.

"Let him alone, you fellows.... This is what we want, Frank. We want you to come straight to the clergy-house for to-night. To-morrow you and I'll go and see the lawyers first thing in the morning, and go up to Merefield by the afternoon train. I'm sorry, but you've really got to go through with it. You're the head of the family now. They'll be all waiting for you there, and they can't do anything without you. This mustn't get into the papers. Fortunately, not a soul knows of it yet, though they would have if you'd been half an hour later. Now, come along."

"One moment," said Frank. "I agree with nearly all that you've said. I quite agree with you that"--he paused a moment--"that the head of the family should be at Merefield to-morrow night. But for to-night you three must just go round to the clergy-house and wait. I've got to finish my job clean out--and--"

"What job?" cried two voices simultaneously.

Frank leaned against the wall and put his hands in his pockets.

"I really don't propose to go into all that now. It'd take an hour. But two of you know most of the story. In a dozen words it's this--I've got the girl away, and now I'm going to tell the man, and tell him a few other things at the same time. That's the whole thing. Now clear off, please. (I'm awfully obliged, you know, and all that), but you really must let me finish it before I do anything else."

There was a silence.

It seemed tolerably reasonable, put like that--at least, it seemed consistent with what appeared to the three to be the amazing unreason of all Frank's proceedings. They hesitated, and were lost.

"Will you swear not to clear out of Hackney Wick before we've seen you again?" demanded Jack hoa.r.s.ely.

Frank bowed his head.

"Yes," he said.

The clergyman and d.i.c.k were consulting in low voices. Jack looked at them with a wild sort of appeal in his face. He was completely bewildered, and hoped for help. But none came.

"Will you swear--" he began again.

Frank put his hand suddenly on his friend's shoulder.

"Look here, old man. I'm really rather done up. I think you might let me go without any more--"

"All right, we agree," said d.i.c.k suddenly. "And--"

"Very good," said Frank. "Then there's really no more--"

He turned as if to go.

"Frank, Frank--" cried Jack.

Frank turned and glanced at him, and then went on.

"Good-night," he cried.

And so they let him go.

They watched him, in silence, cross the road by the "Queen's Arms" and pa.s.s up the left-hand pavement. As he drew near each lamp his shadow lay behind him, shortened, vanished and reappeared before him. After the third lamp they lost him, and they knew he would a moment later pa.s.s into Turner Road.

So they let him go.