"And you were forestalled," cried Artis. "Here, what are you going to do?"

"Thrash a contemptible scoundrel within an inch of his life," cried Capel; and he made a grasp at Artis's arm.

But the latter eluded him, bounded to the fire-place, and picked up the bright poker.

"Keep off," he cried, "or I'll murder you."

_Cling! Jingle_!

He had struck the gla.s.s l.u.s.tres of the great chandelier, and the fragments fell tinkling down.

_Crack_! A yell of pain! A dull thud!

With a dexterous blow, Capel caught Artis's right hand with the stout cane, numbing his nerves, so that the poker fell. With a second blow, he seemed to hamstring his adversary, who staggered, and would have fallen, but for Capel's hand grasping him by the collar; and then, for two or three minutes, there was a hail of blows falling, and a terrible struggle going on. The light chairs were kicked aside, a table overturned, a vase and several ornaments swept from a cheffonier, and suppressed cries, panting noises and blows, filled the gloomy room, till, after one final stroke with the cane, Capel dashed the helpless, quivering man to the floor, and placed his foot upon his breast.

An hour later, when Preenham went up from a confidential talk with his fellow-servants to admit Mr Girtle and Lydia--back from the theatre--he found the front door open. Had he been half an hour sooner, he would have seen Katrine, fully dressed, supporting Artis down the dark stairs, and out into the darkness of the great square, where they were seen by the light of one of the street lamps to enter a cab, and then they pa.s.sed out of sight.

Preenham saw nothing, and Mr Girtle and Lydia ascended to the drawing-room, the latter feeling light-hearted and happy, in spite of the evening's disappointment.

The old lawyer uttered a cry of dismay, as he saw the wreck, and that Capel was seated in a low chair, bent down, with his face buried in his hands.

"My dear boy! What is it?" he cried, as Lydia ran to his side, and her soft hand was laid or his.

"Don't touch me, woman," he almost yelled, as he sprang from his chair.

"Oh," he said, softly, "it is you?"

He took and kissed her hand, and then left the room.

"Preenham, what does this mean?" cried Mr Girtle, as the butler brought in lights; and they learned the truth.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

WHERE THE TREASURE LAY.

Six months elapsed before Mr Linnett put into execution the project he had had in his mind that night when he playfully tried the handcuffs on his wrists.

He had meant business, as he termed it, the next morning, but on presenting himself at the chief office, one of his superiors sent for him, and announced an important task.

"Extradition, eh, sir? America?"

"Yes. Cross at once; put yourself in communication with the New York police, and then spare no expense. He must be found."

"When shall I start, sir?"

"Now."

Mr Linnett did start _now_, saying to himself as he entered a carriage for Liverpool:

"Well, they didn't set me the job. It was my own doing, and the news will keep."

So it came about that one morning, when he presented himself at the Dark House, he was saluted by Mr Preenham with:

"Why, how _do_ you do? We thought we'd quite lost you, Mr Linnett, sir. You look quite brown."

"I've been pretty well all over America since I saw you, Mr Preenham, and now, sir, just go and give them my card and say I want to see them on very particular business."

"Have you found out anything, Mr Linnett?"

"You wait a bit, my dear sir. Just take up the card."

Mr Girtle was in the library with Paul Capel at the time, for the old man had settled down there, treating the younger as if he were a son.

He had talked several times of going, but Capel begged him not to leave, and he always stayed.

"Well, Preenham, for me?"

"He said you and master, sir--the gentleman."

"Ah! Linnett. The detective. Will you see him?"

"No," said Capel, sternly. "I don't want that affair opened again."

"But my dear boy--"

"There; very well. Show him up."

The detective came in, smiling, but only to encounter a stern look in return.

"I've called, gentlemen, about that little matter of the notes and jewels that were lost."

"My good fellow," said Capel, angrily, "I will not have that matter taken up again. It is dead."

"Well, sir, the fact is, you wouldn't let me take it up; but I did it on my own account."

"You did?" said Mr Girtle.

"Yes, sir; it took me months piecing together, as I had to do it all from the outside, without seeing the place. I was sent abroad, and have only just come back. Last night, however, I took out my notes and went into it again, and I think I can say I've found the treasure."

"Found it, man?" cried Capel, interested in spite of himself. "Where?

The place was thoroughly well searched."

"Oh! yes, sir, of course."

"Then you know who took it?"

"Yes, sir; that's it."