Sir Donald suspected that the Dodge papers were forgeries, or were obtained from record owners who had conveyed to the father of Alice and afterward deeded the same property to the Dodge grantors. Possibly there might be a number of unrecorded deeds. Perhaps the records had been falsified.

Numberless possible contingencies were suggested to his legal ac.u.men.

Contrary to his usual secretive habit, Sir Donald suggests these to Oswald, who in turn comments upon them to Alice and Esther, with all the gravity of original discovery.

Sir Donald's reports to Alice were brief, giving little information, except ultimate facts as to results of the investigations. Upon most matters relating to proposed tactics, Sir Donald was silent.

Oswald marveled at the obtuseness of this eminent barrister. Why not unravel this web of connivance with dispatch? Time, distance, and every contingency, immediate or remote, were merely incidental. Oswald Langdon will see that the solicitors and Sir Donald Randolph do not fail.

One day Alice pressed Sir Donald for an opinion of the probable time required to have the cloud upon her t.i.tle removed, and said: "I hope you will frankly tell me all the difficulties likely to confront you in the case. The matter surely can be decided in a short time. From what Oswald has told me, I certainly will win."

Sir Donald explained many uncertainties of the case. His talk was so sincere, evincing such understanding of the puzzling mazes of the matter, that Alice could not fail to see her chances of success were at best very doubtful. In spite of Sir Donald's promise to devote time and money to vindicate her t.i.tle, Alice felt despondent over the outlook.

She appealed to Oswald for hopeful a.s.surance, explaining fully what had been said by Sir Donald.

Oswald saw the gravity of her trouble, and could say little to mitigate it. Naturally he was frank, and would not indulge in flattery or deceit.

He longed to encourage Alice, but could find no truthful words of hope.

Alice saw his evident sympathy, and felt pleased despite her utter helplessness.

Esther proposed that they take a stroll in some of the public grounds.

The three afterward were seated in Hyde Park. Esther moved away, as Alice seemed anxious to talk with Oswald upon some confidential matter.

Alice related Paul Lanier's proposal, and dwelt at length upon the many persecutions she had endured, culminating in the lake tragedy.

"I always felt an unaccountable dread of both Paul and his father. Can it be that there is some conspiracy concerning my father's estate in India? Is my existence in the way of their schemes? Would my death or marriage with Paul help them? I feel that all my acts are known. How suddenly Paul appeared at the lake! They now may be watching us!"

Looking around, Oswald was struck by the att.i.tude of a plain-appearing man, with heavy whiskers, seated about twenty feet distant, evidently listening. Oswald said nothing about this, as he did not wish to increase her fears, and the stranger's conduct seemed due to vulgar curiosity.

Alice was so despondent over her financial stress, that she knew not what to do.

"What will become of me, Mr. Langdon, if I fail in the case?"

Oswald spoke hopefully, and thought there would be some way out of her trouble. Esther came up, and he then proposed a moonlight boat-ride on the Thames. He would rent a rowboat, and was quite good with the oars.

They decided to take the ride. Soon after the three returned to the home of Alice.

Sir Donald invited both the girls and Oswald to attend an opera that evening. Esther explained that they had agreed upon a boat-ride. "But perhaps Alice and Mr. Langdon would find the opera just as pleasant."

To please Alice, the matter was finally settled by Esther accompanying her father to the opera and the others taking the ride. Oswald did not approve of this arrangement, but offered no objection.

During the evening Alice seemed nervous. She would exert her most bewitching arts to interest Oswald, and then remain silent. Many pleasant complimentary remarks would be cut off abruptly, as if the speaker refrained from further comment through maidenly hesitation or restraint. He noticed her odd manner, but being much absorbed in thoughts of the opera, was not inclined to be sensitive or critical.

After some time had been pa.s.sed in this manner, she suggested that they tie up the boat to a projecting bush on the bank of the stream and take a stroll along the sh.o.r.e.

Alice and Oswald walked along the bank for a few minutes, coming to some overhanging shrubbery, where there was a seat, used by strollers along that side of the Thames. They sat down within a few feet of the sh.o.r.e.

The girl still acted strangely, appearing to have some matter in thought importunate for expression, but nervously suppressed. Oswald inquired if Alice were still worrying over her financial troubles, adding some hopeful remarks as to the future, even if the property should pa.s.s into the possession of another. His manner was sympathetic. Overcome by her emotions and his words, she began to cry.

Oswald was now in a dilemma. He could face danger with unflinching nerves, but was a novice in such an emergency. Doing what any young man with generous impulses naturally would do under such circ.u.mstances, he attempted to allay the fears of his hysterical companion. There was little of premeditated propriety in his words or conduct.

Alice now confessed to Oswald her love. "Much as I dread being left penniless, such poverty would be nothing compared to loss of you. With all the worry and uncertainty caused by this villainous conspiracy against my father's estate, shadowed by fear of the hateful Paul Lanier, life since meeting you at Northfield has been a joyous dream. Without you I cannot live, pursued by the cunning malice and crafty scheming of these persecutors. Will you forgive me, Mr. Langdon, for not waiting a proposal? You have been so kind, I cannot believe you insincere."

To say that Oswald was embarra.s.sed by this unexpected burst of feminine emotion would be mild expression of his feelings. He was stunned and speechless. What could he say in reply? The utter helplessness of Alice, with her despondent future outlook, pursued by enemies whose aims were cruelly vague, against all restraints of maidenly sentiment declaring love for one having no responsive feeling other than pity, was pathetic.

Had he not unwittingly contributed to her misery by his unguarded conduct? Would not his denial of her strange suit be a base betrayal?

Alice had thought his conduct sincere. How could he now crush this poor girl's hopes by frank statement of his real sentiments.

With staring, inquisitive eyes Alice watched Oswald's troubled face while these thoughts were pa.s.sing through his mind. She could not mistake his embarra.s.sment. With dawning presentiment of his unspoken decision, this despairing girl, standing erect, gave one glance at the river. Her action was quickly noted by Oswald, who sprang between Alice and the sh.o.r.e. She begged him to have pity. "You have made me love you!

Do not cast me off! Whatever happens, save me from that hateful villain, Paul Lanier!"

There is a flash of steel, a blow and thrust, followed by the splash of two bodies. A form stoops over the projecting sh.o.r.e until the waters have hidden both from view. By aid of the moonlight, scanning the stream far as can be seen in its onward course, this peering watcher seems fearful that his victims may escape from the river. At the sound of voices, he mutters an oath and skulks away.

Oswald rises and swims against the current. Grasping an overhanging shrub in contact with the water's surface, by great effort he manages to reach land.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "THERE WAS A FLASH OF STEEL, A BLOW AND THRUST, FOLLOWED BY THE SPLASH OF TWO BODIES."]

Before starting upstream, Oswald looked for any appearance of Alice.

There was no sign. When on the sh.o.r.e, he tried to go down the river in hope of rescuing her, but loss of blood and his fatigue prevented.

Hearing distant voices, it dawns on Oswald that he will be suspected of having caused the death of Alice Webster. They had gone for this night row, and were last seen together. Whether the body shall be found or not, he will be suspected of having murdered the girl. Who will believe his statement of the facts?

These thoughts and his weakened state still kept Oswald rooted to the spot, undecided what to do. The voices grow more distinct. He detects the excitement of those approaching. Shall he await their appearance, or meet them coming and explain all?

In this dilemma Oswald follows the impulse seeming to him most rational.

Avoid these strangers about whom he knows nothing; confide first in his friends; with them and the police search for the body of Alice Webster.

With these conclusions rapidly formed, Oswald rises to his feet. Weak from loss of blood, but with forced energy, he starts in an opposite direction from that of the voices, intending to make a circle, and coming in their rear, follow cautiously until these strangers have pa.s.sed up the stream beyond the point where the boat is tied to the sh.o.r.e. He then will return the boat. After reporting to Sir Donald and Esther, the police shall be notified, and together they will search for the missing body.

Oswald continued for some distance, but saw no chance, without detection, of getting back of those in the rear. In this way he traveled until entirely exhausted. Crawling a few rods out of their path, but in full view, he watched them, expecting to be seen.

Four men pa.s.sed between him and the sh.o.r.e. One remarked: "Say, pards, that empty boat down there looks suspicious. Why hasn't anybody showed up? Wonder what's their b.l.o.o.d.y lay."

"Oh, you're a little off, old chappie, to-night! Guess that red bottle you emptied got you a b.l.o.o.d.y eye!"

The quartette gave a boisterous laugh, and pa.s.sed by.

When these were out of sight, Oswald arose and started back toward the boat, but soon was compelled again to sit down. Despairing of his ability to return that night, he crawled into some bushes away from the path, and slept.

The sun is brightly shining when he awakes. His left arm is sore, but he finds that it is only a deep flesh wound, which had caused excessive flow of blood. The complications of his position daze Oswald. How can he return and give information of Alice Webster's death? What reasonable excuse can be a.s.signed for his delay? How seemingly transparent this yarn! Will it not be evident that he manufactured a tissue of falsehoods, and to clinch these preposterous lies inflicted on himself this slight wound?

Return is not to be considered. There is no avoiding the gallows but in flight. But how escape?

Oswald feels feverish thirst, and hoping to find clear water follows toward its source a muddy little rivulet emptying into the river. In this way he travels about a mile from sh.o.r.e, where, in the corner of a fenced strip of ground, are a boy and a girl drinking from a clear stream.

Frightened by this pale-looking, bareheaded tramp, the children fled.

Oswald drank deeply of the refreshing water, and was moving away, when a loud voice commanded him to stop. Looking up, Oswald saw a burly citizen, just over the fence, puffing with swelling sense of proprietorship.

Oswald's combative faculties are aroused, and in defiant att.i.tude he awaits the attack.

"Who be ye, man, and what ye doing here?"

Oswald explained that he was a stranger there, and had slept on the bank of the river. His hat was lost. He hoped that no harm had been done. He had money, and would pay for all damages.