'Vi was quite right; he died as he had lived. I believed that if he had had a few minutes longer he would have robbed me of all he could.'

'I shouldn't be surprised; the ruling pa.s.sion strong in death.'

Presently he departed. I was alone with the man in the bed.

It was a curious sensation. It had all been so much easier than I had ever ventured to hope. So quickly over too. The idea which had been only mooted yesterday was already carried out. And in such triumphant fashion. And we had waited fifteen years! But then during that period I had never lighted on a Mr. Montagu Babbacombe. The man was a consummate actor; altogether beyond anything I had ever seen or heard of. On the stage his fame would fill the world; and then ring down the ages. The arch-impostor had duped them all; with the most ridiculous ease. No wonder; on one or two points he had deceived even me--whose idea the whole thing was. The death certificate would be forthcoming--poor old Hanc.o.c.k's conduct had been fatuous. This was a great physician! If all doc.u.ments of the kind are granted with equal readiness, how many people are buried alive? The reflection was not an agreeable one. The recognition in each case had been unhesitating.

Even that Didymus, Foster, was persuaded at last. There only remained one or two trifling details which required attention, and the stakes were ours.

I was a little at a loss how exactly to proceed. The key had been turned to prevent untoward interruption, but still the fact remained that voices might be audible without. If we were heard--or even if I was heard, I might be asked whom I was talking to,--which, conceivably, might be awkward. Obviously, it was a case for the extremest caution.

I leant over the bed, and I whispered,

'Babbacombe!'

He did not answer. I had not expected he would. By now I had gained some insight into his methods.

'I only want to tell you that I understand a woman's coming to wash you; "lay you out," I believe, they call it. I suppose you don't object?'

Not a sign; not a sound.

'That's all right; I don't suppose she'll worry you overmuch. By the way, where have you put that money? I don't want to know; only women of that kind are as sharp as needles; and not over scrupulous either.

If you like to confide it to my keeping it will be quite safe in my charge, and you can have it whenever you want it, with the other five hundred, as you know very well.'

Nothing to show he heard.

I turned down the bedclothes, thinking that he might have slipped the notes between the sheets. Not he! Nothing in the shape of a bank-note was to be seen. My curiosity being piqued--the depths of this man really were too deep!--I looked for them in every place I could think of, subjecting the whole bed to a minute examination; he evincing not the slightest apparent interest in my proceedings. Not the vestige of a note. Could he have swallowed them? If he had not, I could not conceive what had become of them. They were not upon his body. They could hardly, at his bidding, have vanished into air. Although I was quite prepared to admit that, 'for ways that are dark,' compared to him the Heathen Chinee was an innocent suckling.

'Well, as I can't find it I imagine that the woman won't; so I suppose I make take it that the money's safe. There's only one other topic on which I wish to touch--the funeral. The undertaker's man will come and measure you to-day. The sh.e.l.l, and, I presume, the coffin also, will arrive to-morrow morning. You'll be placed inside, and, in the afternoon, the coffin will be closed. It will be taken down in the evening by a special train to Cressland--where you may, or may not, be aware is the family vault--the interment taking place on Wednesday. As we are none of us particularly proud of you, the interment will be as private as possible. As, I take it, you don't want to be inside the coffin when it's placed in its last resting-place, I'll look in before the undertaker's fellows; you must give up being dead, and, between us, we'll screw down the lid. I'll find an excuse which will satisfy them. I have an idea in this fertile brain of mine.--You clearly understand and agree. Say so if you don't!'

He said nothing, nor signified in any way whatever that he had attained to even a glimmer of comprehension. But I knew him. Taking his immobility to signify acquiescence, I left him asleep upon the bed.

But though I left him he was with me all the time. I could not get him out of my head. I interviewed the landlord, with whom I made arrangements on a very liberal scale to compensate him for the inconvenience the affair was causing him; and all the while that we were talking I saw, with my mental eye, the silent figure on the bed!

Thence I went to Tattenham, the funeral furnisher. The figure was with me there. I wondered what my feelings would be if I knew that I was being measured for my coffin. With what amount of ceremony would the measurer treat me? To be touched for such a purpose by such hands! I feared that under his kind offices I should not lie so still as I trusted Mr. Montagu Babbacombe would do.

At home I found, as I expected, Edith and Reggie confabulating with Violet. As I also expected, Vi began at me at once--though her tone and bearing were alike surprising. She was unwontedly meek.

'Doug'--it was very rarely that she called me 'Doug,' I had rather she had not done so then. I had too recently heard the abbreviation proceeding from other lips--'Doug, I'm sorry I behaved so badly. I know I was a wretch. Edith has made me see that, and it's no use Reggie pretending that I wasn't.'

My manner was brusque. It was a subject about which I wished to hear nothing more.

'That's all right. I wouldn't be too penitent if I were you. There was no harm done.'

'But it prevented him making his will?'

'If it did it did; and what's done can't be undone. Not that I think it matters.'

'Don't you really think it matters? Supposing any of those things happen at which it seems that Mr. Foster hinted; what then?'

'What then? Wait till then. Till then say nothing.'

I do not think she altogether grasped my meaning. Indeed I doubt if I myself clearly understood what it was I wished to say. I told them what arrangements I was making with regard to the funeral, and so on, Reggie showing himself quite of my opinion that everything should be done as quietly as possible. Had the third marquis died, after a well-ordered life, in the odour of sanct.i.ty, his corpse might have been interred with all possible honour; as things were, it was advisable that he should be laid in his last resting-place with as little form and ceremony as was compatible with decency.

When I left the room, anxious to be by myself, to think, Edith followed me. For the first time in my life I found her presence irksome. She followed me to the small apartment which I dignified by the name of library, evidently a.s.sured of the welcome which hitherto had never failed her.

'At last!' she began, as soon as we were alone together. I busied myself with some papers which were on my writing-table.

'Yes; at last.'

'We have waited for it a good many years; you and I.'

'That is so.'

This was plat.i.tudinous. I felt that if she had nothing more original to say I should have to ask her to excuse me if I gave my attention to matters which pressed. Her words, her voice, her very neighbourhood, seemed to have a singular effect upon my nervous system. It was as if I were ashamed. In some curious way, it was as if I were afraid of her. I wanted to take her in my arms; to hold her to me; to find strength in her sweet tenderness; for it was strength I needed. But I was conscious of an awkward inability to do as I had done a hundred times before--ay, a thousand. A shadowy something seemed to have interposed itself between us, as her own quick sight perceived.

'What is the matter with you, Douglas?'

The question took me aback. I looked up at her with a start, experiencing an unwonted difficulty in meeting her inquiring glances.

'The matter? Why?'

'You seem changed.'

'Changed? It's your fancy.'

'It's a very vivid fancy then. I noticed it first the night you dined with us.' On the afternoon of that day I had first seen the sleeping man. Are there any detectives like the eyes of the woman who loves?

'It has grown more perceptible since. Until now it sits upon you in a guise so that you seem transformed.'

'Many things have happened during the last day or two.'

'Yes. Have you told us of them all?'

'Of them all? What do you mean?'

'Douglas, don't you know what I mean?' She came close to me, laying her hand upon my arm. I actually quivered beneath her touch; a fact of which I had an uncomfortable conviction she was conscious. 'I've another fancy--which is also a very vivid one, that there is something behind all this of which you've said nothing. Douglas, can't you tell me?'

'What your fancy is? I'm afraid you ask something which is beyond my capacity; since it probably takes the shape of poetry rather than prose.'

'Douglas--is Twickenham married?'

'Married? My dear Edith, is that the shape your fancy takes? I know no more whether he was married than you do. Although I have a private conviction--to which I intend to adhere till the contrary is proved--that he wasn't.'

My manner plainly showed her that her shot had failed to hit the mark.

She let fly another arrow; this time with a better aim.

'Douglas, where did you see him first?'

'Some day I may tell you. I don't propose to now.'