"My dear lady, this calamity was not to be foreseen. I am unspeakably sorry, but I have been hard hit, and the plain truth is that I am quite powerless for the present. Of course I shall do what I can to delay--er--discovery, but unfortunately I must leave for South Africa on Friday, this day week."

"Then all is lost! Ruin--disgrace--"

"Not so loud, please. Be calm. All may not yet be lost--if you at once accept young Craig's invitation. Now let us leave it at that.

To-night I am distracted by a thousand things, but I will call in the morning to enquire for your husband and, incidentally, to make things clearer to you."

"Can't you explain now? I shan't be able to sleep--"

"No.... But, by the way, it would do no harm were your husband to ask Craig, if he is really friendly, for a loan. If I'm any judge of men, Craig is the sort of silly fool who, because he has come into a bit of money, is ready to give lots of it away. However, you can suggest it to your husband, if you like. How is he to-night?"

"I think he is better, but he was so excitable a little while ago that I had to give him some sleeping medicine. He is sleeping now."

"Sooner or later, you know, he has got to be told of the Johannesburg disaster. What about getting Doris to break it?"

After a pause--"I'll see," said Mrs. Lancaster, "but I do wish you would give me some idea--"

"You really must excuse me. I hear some one coming in to see me. Till to-morrow--good-bye!"

Mrs. Lancaster, her handsome face haggard, lay back in her chair and for a s.p.a.ce of minutes remained perfectly motionless. At last her lips moved--

"Whatever happens, I shall have twenty-five thousand pounds."

CHAPTER XXII

As Bullard replaced the receiver, Flitch came slouching in.

"Couldn't help bein' a bit late, mister," he remarked. "Fog's awful to-night. Got lost more'n once."

"Fog that came out of a bottle, I suppose," said Bullard sarcastically.

For an instant resentment flamed on the hairy countenance, but Flitch seemed to get it under control and answered nothing. There was a certain change in the man's appearance. His hair and beard were freshly trimmed, and he had a cleanlier look than we have hitherto noticed; moreover, his expression had lost a little of its habitual sullen truculence.

"All right; sit down till I'm ready for you," said Bullard, and proceeded to clear his desk of a heap of newspapers. They were mostly Scottish journals of that and the previous day's dates. Earlier in the evening he had searched their news columns for a heading something like this: "Mysterious and Fatal Explosion in a Clydeside Mansion." Mrs. Lancaster's news had, of course, informed him that nothing of the kind had taken place, and had also raised doubts which he would have to examine later.

Sufficient for the present that the Green Box plot had failed. Contrary to his calculations, the key had remained undiscovered; otherwise Alan Craig and Caw, who would surely have opened the box together, would have ceased to exist. Their destruction, however, was perhaps only postponed--unless he became fully persuaded that the new plan suggested by Alan's invitation to the Lancasters was a more feasible one.

He turned sharply from the desk to his visitor, who was still standing.

"Come for your second and final hundred--eh?"

Flitch stared at the carpet, crushing his cloth cap in his hand, and uttered the most unexpected reply that had ever entered Bullard's ears.

"No, mister."

An appreciable time pa.s.sed before Bullard's gape became modified to a grin. "I see! You want me to keep it till you sail. Wise man! But upon my word, you took me aback--refusing money!--you! When do you want it, then?

You had better tell me where to send it, as next week I may--"

Flitch, having moistened his lips, interrupted quietly with--

"I don't want yer money, mister,--now or ever."

"What the devil do you mean?"

"I've joined the army."

Bullard burst out laughing. "Was the sergeant sober?"

Flitch made an attempt, not very successful, to draw himself up and face the scoffer. "The Salvation Army, I was meanin'," he mumbled.

Bullard stopped laughing. Flitch spoke again awkwardly and in jerks.

"That night up yonder about finished me. I've turned over a new leaf. The Captain said it wasn't too late, if--if I repented of all my many sins."

"It'll take you a while to do that, won't it?" said Bullard, sneering to cover his perplexity.

"No doubt, mister."

"And so you are above money! How beautiful! Going to pay me back that one hundred pounds you got from me the other day, I suppose!"

"Haven't got it now, mister. Fifteen bob and coppers in me pocket--that's all."

"Crazy gambler! How do you imagine you are going to get out of this country without my help?"

"Goin' to stay and face any music that likes to play. That"--said Flitch, still quietly--"is what I'm going to do, mister."

Bullard took to fiddling with the nugget on his chain. "Well," he said, "as it happens, I haven't got many hundreds just now to throw about, but I expect you'll change your mind when the first tune begins to play--only I warn you, it may be too late then. That's all! Now, what about your prisoner? How did you leave him?"

Flitch hesitated before he said: "That's one o' things I'm goin' to tell ye about, mister ..."

"Well, hurry up."

Flitch took a long breath and faced his patron, fairly and squarely.

"Mr. Marvel's gone," he said.

"What?"

"I was fearin' ye meant ill by him, and this mornin' I gave him back his money and let him go free."

Grey and ugly was Bullard's face; his body was rigid; his jaw worked stiffly. "You--you d.a.m.ned fool!"

The other drew his crumpled cap across his sweating forehead. "I was thinkin' ye wouldn't be extra pleased," he said, "but I'm for no more blood on me hands--no, nor other crimes, neither. Now," he went on, and his voice wavered, "now for the second thing. Mr. Alan Craig--"

"Idiot of idiots, he's in London at this moment! You'd better clear--that is, after I'm done with you."

"Ye give me good news, mister, for now I know for certain I've put meself right wi' Mr. Alan Craig--wait a moment!--and saved _you_ from another dirty sin. I knows what ye had in the parcel that night, mister; I saw ye fixin' up the infernal--"