"Yes, with Miss Randolph and Alice. They are stopping at the Waterloo Hotel, Guelph Street. I believe they expect you along to dinner this evening."

Durham nodded. "I received a note from the old lady, and intend to come.

By the way, d.i.c.k, I hope you are fascinating her. Remember, she can leave you five thousand a year, and can't last much longer."

"I believe Miss Berengaria will see her century," said d.i.c.k. "Besides, now you have my affairs in order, I have enough to live on."

"But not enough to marry on," said Durham, significantly.

Conniston flushed. "If you speak of Lucy," he said, "she has a little money of her own, and our two incomes will keep us alive."

"It won't keep up the dignity of the t.i.tle."

"Oh, the deuce take the dignity of that," said Conniston, carelessly.

"In this democratic age who cares for t.i.tles?"

"The Americans, d.i.c.k. You ought to marry one."

"I'll marry Lucy, who is the sweetest girl in the world," said d.i.c.k, firmly. "We understand one another, and as soon as this business is over, Mark----"

"You will marry."

"No. Bernard and I will go out to the Front."

"What! Does Bernard say that?"

"Yes. He intends to go back to his Imperial Yeomanry uniform, and I honor him for it," said d.i.c.k, with some heat. "Bernard is not the man to sneak out of doing his duty. And Miss Malleson approves. I go out to the Front also, and daresay I shall manage to get a place of sorts, from which to take pot-shots at the enemy."

"But, my dear fellow," said Durham, much disturbed, "you may be killed."

"'Naught was never in danger,'" said Conniston, opening the door. "You get Bernard out of this sc.r.a.pe, Mark, and then come and see us start.

We'll return covered with glory."

"And without legs or arms," said Durham, crossly. "Just as if Bernard hadn't enough danger, he must needs run his head into more. Go away, d.i.c.k. It's your feather brain that has made him stick to his guns."

"Not a bit," retorted Conniston, slipping out, "it's Bernard's own idea.

Good-bye, Mark. I hope you will recover your temper by the time we meet at Aunt Berengaria's hospitable table."

Things fell out as Durham prophesied. The article was published in all the London and country journals, and provoked both praise and blame.

Many said that it was wrong to hint that a man was guilty before he had been tried. Others pointed to the sufferings that the innocent Bernard Gore had undergone, and insisted that even before the trial his name should be cleared. Those in authority took no notice of the storm thus raised, which seemed to confirm Durham's statement that the article had been inspired from high legal quarters. But the result of the publication and discussion of the matter was that one day a woman came to see Durham at his office.

The moment she entered he guessed who she was, even although she was veiled. Clothed from head to foot in black, and looking tragic enough for a Muse, poor soul, for certainly she had cause, Mrs. Gilroy raised her veil and examined the keen face of the lawyer.

"You did not expect to see me?" she asked, taking the seat he pointed to silently.

Durham was not going to tell her that the article had been published to draw her forth, as she might have taken flight and suspected a trap.

"It is a surprise," he said artfully. "And I am at a loss to understand why you have come."

"To save my son," said Mrs. Gilroy, looking at him with haggard eyes.

"Michael Gilroy?"

"Michael Gore. He has a right to his father's name."

"Pardon me, I think not. Bernard Gore is the heir."

"Ah!" said the woman, bitterly, and clasping her hands with a swift, nervous gesture. "He has all the luck--the t.i.tle--the money--the----"

"You must admit," said Durham, politely, "that he had had very bad luck for the most part."

"His own foolishness is the cause of it."

"Did you come to tell me this?"

Mrs. Gilroy sat quite still for a moment, and Durham noticed that even what good looks she had were gone. Her cheeks were fallen in, her eyes were sunken, her drab hair was streaked with white, and her face wore a terrible expression of despair and sorrow. "I have come to tell you all I know," she said. "I would not do so, save for two things. One is, that I wish to save my son, who is absolutely innocent; the other, that I am dying."

"Dying? I hope not."

"I am dying," said Mrs. Gilroy, firmly. "I have suffered for many years from an incurable disease--it doesn't matter what. But I cannot live long, and, but for my son, I should have ended my miserable life long ago, owing to the pain I suffer. Oh the pain--the pain--the pain!" she moaned, rocking to and fro as Michael had done.

Durham was sincerely sorry for her, although he knew she was not a good woman. "Let me get you some brandy," he said.

"No," replied Mrs. Gilroy, waving her hand. "Call in some clerk who can take down what I have to say. I will probably speak quickly, as my strength will not last long. I have come from an hospital to see you.

Get a clerk who writes rapidly, and be quick."

Durham called in a clerk and gave the order, then turned to his client.

"Was it on account of going to the hospital that you left Gore Hall?" he asked.

Mrs. Gilroy, still rocking, bowed her head. "Did you want me?" she asked.

"I wanted to tell you that Michael came to Miss Berengaria's to----"

"Michael. He came there. Why?"

"To pa.s.s himself off as Bernard."

"Ah, that was part of Beryl's scheme to get the money."

"Was it part of his scheme to poison Michael?" said Durham.

Mrs. Gilroy started to her feet, flushed with anger.

"Did he do that, Mr. Durham?" she asked. "Did he dare to----"

"Yes. He got Michael to sign a will as Bernard, leaving all the money to him, and then employed Jerry to poison him. Jerry should not have done so for two or three days, but he was eager to get away, as he was afraid of being found out, so he poisoned your son within a few hours of the signing of the false will."

"The villain!" said Mrs. Gilroy, thinking of Beryl. "But he shall not escape. I have come to tell you all. I wish I could see him hanged. He is the cause of all the trouble. I saw in the papers that Sir Bernard was alive," she added; "how did he escape?"