Sir Allan Beaumerville, Bart., _dilettante_ physician and man of fashion, was, on the whole, one of the most popular men in London society. He was rich, of distinguished appearance, had charming manners, and was a bachelor, which combination might possibly account in some measure for the high esteem in which he was held amongst the opposite s.e.x. He had made his _debut_ in society quite late in life, for he had succeeded to the baronetcy, which was one of the oldest and richest in the country, unexpectedly; and, as a young man, London--fashionable London, at any rate--had seen or known nothing of him. Nor, indeed, had he at any time had much to say to anyone about the earlier period of his life. It was generally understood that he had lived abroad, and that he had been in some sort of practice, or how else could he have acquired his knowledge of the technical part of his profession? Beyond this, nothing was known; and although he was evidently a traveled man, having much to say at times about all the interesting parts of Southern Europe, no one ever remembered meeting him anywhere. For the rest, he had pa.s.sed through none of the curriculum of English youth. No public school had had his name upon its books, nor had he even graduated in his own country. But he had taken a very high degree indeed at Heidelberg, which had won him considerable respect among those who knew anything about such matters, and his diplomas included half the letters of the alphabet, and were undeniable. And so when he had suddenly appeared in London on the death of his uncle and cousin, a middle-aged, distinguished gentleman, with manners a little foreign, but in their way perfect, society had voted him a great improvement on the former baronet, and had taken him by the hand at once. That was a good many years ago, and very soon after his first introduction to the London world he had become a notable figure in it. He had never missed a town season, and at all its chief functions was a well-known and popular figure, always among the best and most exclusive set, and always welcome there. He had a yacht at Cowes, a share in a Scotch moor, a dozen or so hunters at his little place near Melton, a shooting box in Derbyshire, and a fine old mansion and estate in Kent, where everyone liked to be asked; and where he had more than once had the honor of entertaining royalty. There was only one thing in the world wanted to make Sir Allan Beaumerville perfect, women declared, and that one thing was a wife. But although no one appeared to appreciate more highly the charms of feminine society--as he showed in more ways than one, both in St. John's Wood and in Belgravia--he had never shown the least inclination to perform his duty to society in this respect. How he managed to steer clear of the many snares and pitfalls laid for him in the course of his career puzzled a good many men. But he did it, and what was more remarkable still, he made no enemies. He had friendships among the other s.e.x such as no man save he dared have indulged in to a like extent; but with infinite skill he always seemed to be able to drop some delicate insinuation as to the utter absence of any matrimonial intention on his part, which left no room for doubt or hope. He was, in short, possessed of admirable powers of diplomacy which never failed him.

Of course his impregnability gave rise to all manner of stories. He had been jilted in his youth, he had a wife alive, or he had had one, and she was dead, none of which rumors met any large amount of credence. As to the first, the idea of anyone jilting Sir Allan Beaumerville, even before his coming into the baronetcy, found no favor in the feminine world. No woman could have shown such ill judgment as that; and, besides, he had very little of the melancholy which is generally supposed to attend upon such a disappointment. As to the second, it was never seriously entertained, for if any woman had once claimed Sir Allan Beaumerville as a husband, she was scarcely likely to keep away from him, especially now that he was occupying such a distinguished position.

The third was quite out of the question, for even had he ever been married--which n.o.body believed--he was scarcely the sort of man to wear the willow all his life, and, indeed, it was very evident that he was not doing anything of the sort. Everyone knew of a certain little establishment beyond Kensington way, where Sir Allan's brougham was often seen, but of course no one thought the worse of him for that. And without a doubt, if Sir Allan had yielded to that gentle wish so often expressed, and commenced domestic life in a more conventional manner in the great house at Grosvenor Square, he would have forfeited at once a great deal of his popularity, at any rate among the feminine part of his acquaintance. As it was, there was always a faint hope of winning him to add a zest to his delightful companionship, and Sir Allan, who was a very shrewd man, was perfectly aware of this. He was a sybarite of refined taste, with an exquisite appreciation of the finer and more artistic pleasures of life; and the society of educated and well-bred women was one of the chief of them. Rather than run any risk of deterioration in its quality he preferred to let things remain as they were, and that he might enjoy it the more thoroughly without the restraint placed upon other men, was the sole reason that he had not altogether abandoned his profession. He never took any fee, nor did he ever accept any casual patient. But on certain days of the week, at certain hours, he was at home as a physician to certain of his lady acquaintances to whom he had already offered his services. The number was always few, for the invitations were rarely given, and the patients generally remained upon the sick list for an indefinite period. But there were few invitations more sought after. Something--perhaps the very slight spice of impropriety which certain prudes, who had not been asked, affected to see in such an arrangement--had made them the fashion; and, then, Sir Allan was undeniably clever. Altogether, the idea was a great success for him.

It had been one of Sir Allan's afternoon receptions, and, as usual, every patient on his list had paid him a visit. Having seen the last and most favored to her carriage, Sir Allan returned to his study with a slight smile on his handsome face, and the recollection of some delightfully confidential little speeches still tingling in his ears.

For a moment he stood on the hearth rug recalling them, then he looked round the room and rang the bell. A servant appeared almost immediately.

"Clear these things away, Morton," Sir Allan said, pointing to some dainty marvels of china and a j.a.panese teapot, which stood on a little round table between two chairs, "and bring me a loose jacket from my room. I am dining in Downing Street to-night, and shall not want to dress before eight."

The man obeyed, and Sir Allan, lighting a thick Egyptian cigarette, took up a French novel, and stretched himself out in his easy chair.

"You are not at home to anyone else this afternoon, sir?" the servant inquired before quitting the room.

"Certainly not," Sir Allan answered, yawning. "Has anyone been inquiring for me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Lady or gentleman?"

"Gentleman, sir--at least, I think so. He looks like one."

"Any name?"

"I didn't inquire, sir. I said that you were not at home; but, as he seemed very pressing, I promised to try and ascertain when you would be at liberty."

"Ask him his name," Sir Allan directed.

The man withdrew, and returned in a moment or two looking a little puzzled.

"His name is Brown, sir--Mr. Bernard Brown."

Sir Allan was seldom clumsy in little things, but at that moment he dropped the book which he had been reading upon the floor. The servant hastened toward it, but Sir Allan waved him away. He preferred to pick it up himself.

"I'm afraid I've lost my place," he remarked, turning over the leaves.

"You can show Mr. Brown in here, Morton," he added. "I may as well see what he wants."

The man withdrew, and Sir Allan recommenced the chapter. Then the door was opened again, and the visitor was admitted. Sir Allan laid the paper knife carefully in his place, and shutting the book, rose from his chair.

"Mr. Brown," he said, "I am very pleased to see you. Come and take a seat here."

He stood up in an easy att.i.tude upon the hearthrug, and pointed with a smile to the chair which his last visitor had occupied. But he did not offer his hand to Mr. Brown, nor did Mr. Brown appear to expect it.

The apartment was in the semi-gloom of twilight, for the silver lamp burning on the bracket by Sir Allan's side was covered with a rose-colored shade, and threw all its light downward. The art treasures with which the room was crowded, and the almost voluptuous grace of its adornment and coloring, were more suggested than seen. Mr. Brown, who had advanced only a few steps from the closed door, covered his eyes with his hand, and looked a little dazed.

"Do you live in darkness?" he said in a low tone. "I want to see your face."

Sir Allan shrugged his shoulders, and turned up the lamp a little higher than it was. The faces of the two men were now distinctly visible to each other, and the contrast between them was rather startling. Sir Allan's was placid, courteous, and inquiring. Mr. Brown's was white almost to ghastliness, and his eyes were burning with a strange light.

"I wish you'd sit down, my dear fellow!" Sir Allan remarked in a tone of good-natured remonstrance. "It worries me to see you standing there, and I'm sure you look tired enough."

Mr. Brown took no notice whatever of the invitation.

"I have come to see you, Sir Allan Beaumerville," he said slowly, "to lay certain facts before you, and to ask your advice concerning them--as a disinterested party."

"Very happy, I'm sure, to do the best I can," Sir Allan murmured, lighting a fresh cigarette. "I wish you'd sit down to it, though. I suppose it's about that murder we were mixed up in? Horrid affair it was."

"Yes, it was a very horrid affair," Mr. Brown repeated slowly.

"They haven't caught the man yet, I suppose?"

"They have not--yet."

Sir Allan shrugged his fine shoulders.

"I fancy their chance is a poor one now, then," he remarked, emitting a little cloud of smoke from his lips, and watching it curl upward in a faint blue wreath to the ceiling. "How differently they manage affairs on the Continent! Such a crime would not go undetected a day there."

"It will not be undetected here many more days," Mr. Brown said. "My own belief is that a warrant is already issued for the apprehension of the supposed murderer, and I should not be surprised to hear that at this very moment the police were watching this house."

Sir Allan looked hard at his guest, and elevated his eyebrows.

"This is a very serious matter, Mr. Brown," he said, looking at him steadily in the face. "Do I understand----?"

"I will explain," Mr. Brown interrupted quietly. "On my return to Falcon's Nest yesterday, I find that during my absence the cottage has been entered, apparently by some one in authority, for keys have been used. My cabinet has been forced open, and a number of my private letters and papers have been taken away. Certain other investigations have also been made, obviously with the same object."

Sir Allan maintained his att.i.tude of polite attention, but he had stopped smoking, and his cigarette was burning unnoticed between his fingers.

"I scarcely see the connection yet," he said suavely. "No doubt I am a little dense. You speak about a number of private papers having been abstracted from your cabinet. Do I understand--is it possible that anything in those papers could lead people to fix upon you as the murderer of Sir Geoffrey Kynaston?"

The two men looked steadily into each other's faces. There was nothing in Sir Allan's expression beyond a slightly shocked surprise; in Mr.

Brown's there was a very curious mixture indeed.

"Most certainly!" was the quiet reply. "Those letters plainly point out a motive for my having committed the crime."

"They are from----"

"Stop!"

Sir Allan started. The word had burst from Mr. Brown's lips with a pa.s.sion which his former quietude rendered the more remarkable. There was a dead silence between them for fully a minute. Then Mr. Brown, having resumed his former manner, spoke again.

"Those letters," he said, "tell the story of a certain episode in the life of Sir Geoffrey Kynaston. No other person is mentioned or alluded to in them. Yet the fact of their having been found in my possession makes them strong evidence against me."

Sir Allan nodded.

"I don't know why on earth you've come to me for advice," he remarked.

"I'm not a lawyer."

"Neither do I quite know. Still, I have come; and, as I am here, give it me."