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BY THE SAME AUTHOR

The House of Merrilees

Richard Baldock

Exton Manor

The Squire's Daughter

The Eldest Son

The Honour of the Clintons

The Greatest of These

The Old Order Changeth

Watermeads

Upsldonia

Abington Abbey

The Oraftons

The Clintons, and Others

Sir Harry

Many Junes

A Spring Walk in Provence

Peggy in Toyland

The Hall and the Grange

Peter Binney

Big Peter

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CONTENTS

CHirnx

P1QI

Striking It Bioh ....

Tttlk and Estates

Big Petbb m London .

An Attempted Deal

Master and Man ....

Peter's Luce:

VII

Tee Gikl of the Picture .

VIII

Tee Church by the Broad .

112

A Let Off

125

Disappointments ....

138

Petbb in London ....

154

XII

A Conspiracy

159

xin

In the Wood

173

xrv

A Change in the Succession

183

The Home of His Fathers .

195

XVI

By the Lake

204

XVII

An Arrest

226

XVIII

Prison

233

XIX

The Trial

247

The Verdict

269

XXI

The Last

274

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BIG PETER

CHAPTER I

STBIKINO IT BICH

THE owners of the Bnckingham claim had
struck it rich.
There were three of them, and it would
have been difficult to find, in all the new gold-
field of Kampurli, three partners who were less
alike.

They were known as the Swell, Seotty and
Big Peter.

No one knew the Swell's real name. He was
a tall, handsome man, of perhaps five and
thirty, and every feature of his face, every
movement of his clean-bnilt body, every tone of
his rather low voice, marked him oat as a man
who had come of a very different stock and
lived a very different life from the majority
of those about him. No one knew what mis-
take, or perhaps what fault, had brought him
tumbling down from the world of clubs and
balls and smart race-meetings and shooting-

2 BIG PETER

parties, to that other more real world where
men work with their hands, and fight with them,
too, if they have a mind. There were few who
could beat the Swell in that respect. He was
a scientific boxer, and although he never took
the initiative in a row he was never known to
draw back from one. The loud bullies who are
to be found in every collection of men where
the law has not had time to assert itself were
apt to soften their manners wonderfully when
that dangerous glint appeared in the eyes that
were generally so quiet and even sleepy.

Scotty's real name was MacDonald. He had
emigrated to Australia twenty years before.
Until the gold rush to Kampurli he had worked
among the sheep and the shearers, and had al-
ready saved money, with the idea of going back
to Scotland some day a rich man. Now he
could go back any day he liked, a very rich man,
for the Buckingham claim was destined to be
one of the richest even in that goldfield of un-
exampled richness. Scotty was a taciturn,
rather morose sort of fellow, but he had a great
respect for the Swell, and something approach-
ing an affection for his other partner, Big
Peter.

Big Peter was the most amiable giant of a
man who ever rejoiced in strong muscles and
perfect health. He was Australian bred, and

STBIKING IT RICH 3

as fine a specimen of that virile race as could
be found anywhere. He was not much over
thirty. He stood six foot two in his socks, and
had a chest measurement to correspond. He
was blue-eyed and fair-bearded, a magnificent
figure of a man, and his heart was as soft as
his muscles were strong.

The three partners had built themselves a
hut, and because it was weather-tight and sub-
stantial it was considered a palace in those
early days of Kampurli, where the lust for gold
was so strong that few of those who were after
it had time or inclination for housing themselves-,
in anything but the most make-shift way. It
had, in fact, been dubbed Buckingham Palace-
by the wits of the field, and the three partners
had accepted the name, and called their claim
the Buckingham claim for luck.

The interior of Buckingham Palace, where
everything to be seen was sternly for use, and
ornament was in no way considered, was deco-
rated by one picture tacked on to the wooden
wall above Big Peter's bunk. It was a full
page reproduction from some illustrated weekly
paper of the photograph of a beautiful young
girl. She was sitting upright in a high-backed
carved chair and gazing out in front of her with
a smile. She had masses of dark hair, dressed
low over a broad brow, eyes of which the photo-

4 BIG PETEE

graph had succeeded in expressing the liquid
depth, and only left out the colour, a face of
pure oval, and a very sweet mouth. She wore
an evening gown, and her graceful neck and
beautifully rounded arms, resting in her lap,
were bare. The pose was completely natural.
She was fingering a trinket hanging from her
neck by a thin chain, and wore no other jewels.
She must have been very young; and to Big
Peter's eyes she was the most beautiful thing
in girlhood to be found anywhere. He would
lie on his bunk when there was nothing else
to be done, smoking, and contemplating her.
He had fixed up a rough sconce just by the pic-
ture, so that the candle would enable him to
read, and would also light up the sweet, eager
young face, which looked out so strangely into
this primitive apartment and on the men who
occupied it; and the more he gazed on it the
deeper grew his admiration.

There was nothing to show who the girl was.
Peter had picked the picture out of a waste-
paper basket in an hotel smoking room, and its
former owner had cut off all the margin and
left no word of inscription. There was noth-
ing even to show the date to which it belonged.

Peter's admiration for the girl of the pic-
ture was known far and wide. He kept very
little of what he was thinking about to him-

STRIKING IT RICH 5

self, and visitors to the but were always wel-
come to pass comments upon it as long as those
comments were of an appreciative character.
He had been known to take people by the scruff
of the neck and turn them out with an indig-
nant kick for a word of detraction, and the
nearest that any one now dared to go who
wished to take a rise out of him was to suggest
either that the photograph had been taken so
long ago that the lady must now be a middle-
aged matron, or that she was some beauty of
the Variety stage whose fresh charm could not
outlast more than a year or two of her entering
on that career. Others told him — and this kind
of chaff pleased him much better — that she was
probably a royal princess and far beyond his
reach.

"Whatever criticism or suggestion was made
he considered seriously, and generally con-
sulted the Swell about it.

The photograph could not be very old, said
bis friend, because it was not more than a few
years since that kind of reproduction had been
generally used, and a year or two added on to
the age of the girl would increase the beauty
of that type, if anything. He did not think
she was a royal princess. They were not gen-
erally so good-looking.

The suggestion of the Variety stage he did

6 BIG PETEE

not deal with entirely to Peter's satisfaction,

"Look here," said Peter, "yon ought to know
a swell when yon see one; you're one yourself.
Now tell me, doesn't that girl show breeding
in every inch of her! She's no painted beauty
of the stage, I know."

"Breeding!" echoed the Swell. "What's
breeding! There isn't such a thing. It's all
a question of good food. "What you call the
painted beauties of the stage have it just as
much as the daughter of a duke; generally a
good deal more, or they wouldn't be where
they are."

Peter looked pained. "I am sorry to hear
you say that," he said. "I like to think of that
girl as brought up in some lovely old castle,
walking amongst the roses in a beautiful gar-
den, with a peacock trailing after her, and sit-
ting down on the edge of an old fountain with
goldfish in it, trailing her fingers in the water."

The Swell laughed. "That's a pretty pic-
ture,'.' he said.

"You've seen it, haven't yon!" asked Peter.
"You've seen girls like that in gardens like
that!"

A shadow came over the face of the other.
"I have seen a good many things," he said,
"which I don't talk about over here."

"Well, I don't want to pry into your secrets,

STRIKING IT KICH 7

old chap, ' ' said Big Peter. ' ' But just you think
of the most beautiful garden you have ever seen
in the old country, and tell me if you don't
think that that girl would look at home in it —
much more at home than she would prancing
about on the stage of a Theatre."

"If you want my real opinion," said the
Swell, "she was never on the stage in her life,
and is never likely to be."

Big Peter breathed a sigh of relief. "I am
glad you've said that," he said. "I'll tell you
what it is, I'm getting soft about that girl."

The Swell did not smile at this confession of
an obvious fact. He was sitting at the door of
the hut, his chin on his hand, looking out to
where the great silver southern moon was hang-
ing over the mean deserted scrub, and perhaps
his thoughts were far away in just such a gar-
den as Peter had conjured up from some novel
he had read or some picture he had seen.

"If we strike it rich," Peter went on, "I
should like to go to the old country and find out
that girl. I dare say she wouldn't look at a
rough fellow like me ; I dare say she would con-
sider herself far above me; and she wouldn't be
wrong, either. I don't know that I should want
anything of her, but I'd just like to set eyes on
a girl as good and lovely as that one. It would
be like looking at a beautiful picture."

8 BIG PETER

I The other turned to him and said with a touch
of impatience, "No girl in the world is worth
putting on a pedestal like that. They are all
the same when you get beneath the surface."
Then he got up and strolled out of the hut.

Seotty also showed some scorn of Peter's at-
titude of adoration. "If you want a girl," he
said, "go and take her; don't go crawling about
her with your mouth open as if she was a golden
image. Put some value on yourself, man! If
we strike it rich you will be able to marry any
girl you want to."

But such a way of looking at things seemed
sacrilege to Big Peter. He lay on his bunk
night after night, gazing at the picture, and
wrapping himself in his golden dream. Cer-
tainly, if they struck it rich, he would go home
to England and look for this girl. But as to
what he should do when he found her, he could
never come to any decision that could be im-
parted to others, or even acknowledged to him-
self. But the decision was there all the same,
like a little spark ready to blaze into flame at
any time. It was true that any man could win
any girl if he were enough of a man, and she
was not already won. And Big Peter, in spite
of his modesty, felt himself to be every inch a
man.

The discovery of that wonderful seam of gold

STRIKING IT RICH 9

in the Buckingham Claim had been celebrated
by a carousal in Buckingham Palace. Any one
who wanted a glass of champagne, or half-a-
dozen glasses, or a bottle, could get it by going
up to Buckingham Palace and congratulating
its occupants on their good luck. For cham-
pagne was to be had freely at Kampurli, by
those who liked to pay for it, although water
was scarce enough.

When the carousal was at last over, the Swell
had not turned a hair; Scotty was morose and
almost tearful, but liable also to be suddenly
quarrelsome; and Big Peter was radiant with
the most foolish good-humour and abounding
affection for every one around him. He alone
had accepted every word of hearty congratula-
tion as genuine, and ignored all the envy and
jealousy that lay behind much of the noisy good
fellowship in which a great part of the night
had been spent.

The air was chilly, and to men whose blood
had been thinned by the fierce heat which burnt
this desolate place during all but a few hours
of a few nights in the year, warmth of body
was necessary. They shut the door and the
window-flap of the hut, and prepared to turn
in with all the extra coverings that they could
find, in spite of the atmosphere heavy with
smoke and fumes of drink. There was still an

10 BIG PETER

echo of the former pandemonium going on out-
side, but it was receding from their hut, as the
revellers made their slow and unsteady way
homewards.

But presently the noise seemed to become sta-
tionary and to increase in volume, and with ears
accustomed to gauge the meaning of such
sounds, the Swell listened, his hand up to com-
pel silence inside the hut, and then threw open
the door again.

"It's Bully Jones," he said. "He's murder-
ing somebody."

Then he ran out into the night, leaving the
other two to follow him.

The scene upon which he arrived was ludi-
crous enough, if it had not been fraught with
considerable danger to one of the chief actors
in it.

A man as big as Big Peter himself, and a
great deal bigger than the Swell, had hold of
a much smaller man by the neck, and was shak-
ing him to and fro and lifting him up and down
in his powerful arms, while he kept on saying
in a plaintive voice, "You know you've got an
ugly face. Say you've got an ugly face and
I'll let you go."

The man who was being subjected to this
rough treatment was making no difficulty at all
about complying with the request of his tor-

STRIKING IT RICH 11

mentor. He was shouting, "Yes, I've got an
ugly face," with all the force of his lungs, and
shrieking "Murder I" in the intervals. But
still the treatment went on, and became more
and more violent ; so violent indeed that by the
time the Swell had pushed his way through the
surrounding crowd, which was swaying and
shouting with helpless laughter, the protesting
voice was beginning to drop to a moan, and its
owner was on the point of collapse.

Perhaps the Swell wanted something to loose
the pent-up excitement in his brain, which the
carouse of the evening had only locked in more
securely. He did not wait to expostulate in
words, but drove his fist full in the face of
Bully Jones, who went down backwards and
pulled the other man on top of him.

He loosed hold of him instantly and got up
with an oath and rushed upon his assailant.
There was a wild cheer at the prospect of a
real fight, and a ring was cleared as if by magic

But the fight ended almost as soon as it had
begun. Bully Jones was drunk and the Swell,
besides being his superior in science, was sober.
Within a couple of minutes the Bully was being
led away bemoaning an eye soon about to close
entirely, a streaming nose and the loss of a
tooth. The Swell, shaking the blood from his
knuckles, turned towards the man he had res-

12 BIG PETEE

cued. Big Peter had raised him from the
ground and was embracing him tenderly, while
he said in a heartfelt voice, "Why did he say
yon had an ugly facet It's as handsome a face
as I ever saw." Then he wept a few sympa-
thetic tears and said it was a cruel world, hut
fortunately no bones were broken, and there
were a few bottles of champagne still unopened
in Buckingham Palace.

There was some reason for Bully Jones's
criticism, although the way in which he had
treated the offence to his aesthetic ideals may
have been overdone. The man who presently
eat blinking in a corner of the hut was not at-
tractive in appearance. His features were or-
dinary, and he was not in that respect uglier
than the majority of mankind. But there was
something sneaking and unpleasant in his air,
and he held himself cringingly. He was like a
dog with his tail between his legs, who invites
the attacks of other dogs of a more open and
swaggering composition. If he had walked
through the crowd of which Bully Jones was
the centre, boldly, he would probably have been
unmolested. But he had tried to sneak round
it, and this had drawn notice to him, and an at-
tack which might have had serious conse-
quences if the Swell had not come to his rescue.

But he soon revived under the influence of

STRIKING IT RICH 13

the wine which was opened for him, and from
being unpleasantly humble and grateful for his
rescue, he became as unpleasantly boastful and
talkative.

He was dressed like a clerk out of a city, and
his linen was filthy after his long overland jour-
ney. He had been carrying a rolled-up "swag,"
which had been flung down into a corner of the
hut. He told his hosts he had arrived up that
night and was looking about for some place to
"camp."

"I went to the hotel," he whined, "but, my
Gawd ! the prices there I They 'd kill you if you
was made of money."

This he said with a furtive glance round the
hut, as if apprising the chances of his being
oifered hospitality of a more permanent de-
scription than he was now enjoying.

" Oh ! you '11 soon make money here, ' ' said Big
Peter encouragingly. "It's the richest gold-
field in the world, and we three have struck it
rich, my boy. Pill up your glass again. The
more I look at you the more I like you. As
long as I've got a crust of bread you shall share
it. Make yourself comfortable here as long as
you like, and you'll soon strike it rich your-
self."

Thus reassured, the newcomer's attitude un-
derwent a quick change. His back lost some

14 BIG PETER

of its carve, and his eyebrows, which had been
lifted, returned to their normal position.

"My name's Robert Walker," he said. "Al-
though I dare say I don't look much now, I'm
a gentleman, and a solicitor by profession.
I'll have the law on that swine who went for
me, if there's any law in this God-forsaken
place; and you, gentlemen, shan't lose by what
you have done for me."

He swallowed a tumbler of champagne, and
immediately became noisy and excited. While
Scotty glowered at him, the Swell turned away
in contempt, and began to take off his coat
again in preparation for turning in, and Big
Peter sat gazing at the visitor in rapt sympa-
thy, assuring him that he was among friends,
and that he need think nothing more of what
had happened.

When he had emptied another tumbler,
Walker unexpectedly changed his attitude into
one of high scorn. He kicked over the half-
empty champagne bottle which stood on the
floor by his side, and threw his glass into a
corner of the hut. "What's all this!" he ex-
claimed. "Talk about striking it rich — you're
all beggars to what I'm going to be. I've
struck it rich already. I shan't have to work
for it, either. There's half a title waiting for
me over in the old country, and half a great

STRIKING IT BICH 15

estate, too, and half of everything I am going
to get hold of for some lucky man that I've
come here to find. And if he won't give me
half of it, then he shall have nothing, and I'll
have it all. He needn't think he's going to
play with me. He shall give me half or he
shan't have anything."

Big Peter pat a large, soothing hand on his
knee. "Don't get excited about it, old pal,"
he pleaded. "I'm sure he's a good fellow and
will give you half. ' '

Walker rose unsteadily and looked round him
with ineffable seorn. "What sort of pigstye is
this to invite a man to who'll have half a cas-
tle of his own by and by?" he asked.

He got no farther. Scotty also rose from the
edge of his bunk, where he had been sitting
gazing at him with ever-increasing distaste.
"Here, you get out of this," he said, "and take
your swag with you. If it isn't good enough
for you, go and camp out in the bush. We've
had enough of you."

He laid a forcible hand on his coat collar,
and the touch recalled the unpleasant experi-
ence from which he had been rescued. In-
stantly he was again the cringing, terrified crea-
ture of half-an-hour before.

"Oh, I didn't mean it," he whined. "Let me

16 BIG PETEB

camp down here. It's so cold outside. I'll be
as quiet as a mouse."

Peter added his entreaties. "Don't be cruel,
Scotty," he expostulated. "He's overwrought,
that's what he is — overwrought. If you were
overwrought you wouldn't like to be turned out
into the night."

"I'm tired of the beast," said Scotty inex-
orably.

But the Swell said from his bank, where he
now lay under his blankets, "Let him stay.
But if he talks again out he goes. And you
shut up, too, Peter, and turn in. You're drunk
— drunk and maundering."

Big Peter was so overcome by the injustice
of this charge that he could only expostulate
feebly; and presently there was silence in the
hut, while its four occupants slept and the night
crept on towards the dawn.

The next day was Sunday, which was given
up to various cleaning processes, when there
was anything to clean with, and to general so-
ciability and leisure.

All four occupants of the hut slept late.

Big Peter was the first to awake. Piercing
shafts and pencils of light were making their
way in through the cracks in shutter and door,
and between the logs which made both inside
and outside walls. The cold of the night was

STRIKING IT RICH 17

gone, and after throwing off his blankets,
stretching himself and yawning mightily, he
sprang out of his bunk and opened both door
and shutter, letting in to the close atmosphere
of the hut the sweet freshness of the Australian
morning.

There was no doubt that Big Peter had drunk
rather more champagne than was good for him
the night before; but his magnificent health en-
abled him to wake op as fresh and keen as the
morning itself. He had not drunk bo very
much, after all, and he had not mixed his bev-
erages, but had stuck to the champagne, which
had been of a sounder brand than that apt to
be supplied for such carousals as he had taken
-part in. It had been more from excitement
than from the wine, that he had seen everything
and everybody in such a rosy light the night
before.

Now, as be looked down on the recumbent
form of Mr. Robert Walker, who lay stretched
on the floor, with his head on his "swag," his
red-rimmed eyes closed, and his mouth open,
the doubt crossed his mind whether he was
quite worthy of the brotherly affection and ad-
miration he had expressed for him.

"Well, I'm not so sure that Bully Jones
wasn't right," he said to himself. "You are
rather an ugly beggar to look at, and I can only

18 BIG PETEE

hope that your behaviour will turn out to be
better than your appearance."

Mr. Walker's behaviour did not turn oat to
be very much better than his appearance. He
did not arouse himself to do anything to help
in the preparations while a fire was made and
breakfast prepared outside the hut, and when
he was told that bis grub was ready for him
turned up his nose at the "billy-tea" which the
others were drinking, and expressed his pref-
erence for the tipple of the night before. A
bottle of champagne was opened for him, as he
had asked for it, and the laws of hospitality
in the Australian Bush are stringent. The con-
sequence was that Mr. "Walker soon became as
unpleasantly boastful as he had been on the
night before, and made further allusions to hav-
ing struck it rich, and to his title and castle
and estates in England.

"What's the yarnf" asked Scotty disagree-
ably, removing the bottle from him. "Let's
have it before you get too full."

After some expostulation at this measure as
being rather strong, he embarked on his yarn.
"I dare say you coves can help me," he said.
"I have come up here on the lookout for a man
called Chandos."

"What do you want with himt" asked Peter.

STRIKING IT RICH 19

"That's what I'm going to tell you. That's
the man whose fortune I'm going to make, and
the man who is going to make my fortune, too,
or else I'll leave him where I find him."

"Perhaps he has made his fortune already,"
said Big Peter, with a laugh.

"Well, if he has he can't buy the sort of
things I'm going to give him out of it. Do you
know the man 1"

"Perhaps I do and perhaps I don't," said
Peter. ' ' What is it you 're going to give him 1 ' '

A sudden access of caution came over the
man, who was already halfway on the road to
intoxication. "I don't know why I should let
it all out to you," he said, with a cunning leer.

"Well, if you don't, yon won't get anything
more to drink," said Seotty, and Peter added,
"Besides, if I don't choose to tell you who he
is, nobody else can."

"Well, if I do tell you, you won't go back on
me, will you! It's my show, and I'm going to
work it."

"Cough it up or else keep it to yourself and
clear out," said Seotty. "Your company wants
something to make it go down, and if you've
got a yarn about titles and castles let's have
it."

"I'll trust you," said Walker, handsomely.

20 BIG PETER

"Give us half a glass to wet my whistle and
I'll tip you a yarn as good as yon ever read in
a story-book."

His request having been complied with, he
embarked on a story, which showed him, in spite
of an unprepossessing exterior, to possess some
skill in the art of narrative, as he understood
it, and some imagination to work on.

"In one of the most beautiful parts of Eng-
land," he began, "there stands an ancient cas-
tle, surrounded by lovely gardens and thou-
sands of acres of rich land, which has been in
the possession of the same family for centuries.
That castle and those lands rightfully belong,
not to the prond Earl who looks upon them as
his, but to a miner on this very field."

He looked round him to take in the effect of
his announcement. The eyes of the Swell were
fixed upon him narrowly, but he did not speak,
and Walker went on :

"A hundred years ago a younger son of the
twelfth Earl of Cambray married when he was
quite a youth a girl out of a little out-of-the-
way village in Norfolk. He married in his own
name — Mervyn Chandos. But nobody there
knew who he really was, and he soon grew tired
of his wife. She died within a year of the mar-
riage in giving birth to a son, and he had that
son brought up in a cottage near Cambray Cas-

STRIKING IT BICH 21

tie until he was twelve or thirteen years old,
and then he Bent him out here, and gave money
to the people who brought him, to give him a
start.

"Now in the meantime the Earl had suc-
ceeded to his title and married a lady in his
own rank of life, none other than the prond and
peerless Lady Alicia Vans, scion of a noble fam-
ily as ancient as his."

"That's good, matey," Peter encouraged
him. "Yoo 're warming up to it."

"From this marriage," continued Walker,
"sprang the race that now enjoys the Cambray
title and estates. The present Earl of Cambray
is grandson of the thirteenth Earl and the Lady
Alicia, But as I have told you, it was not the
Earl's first marriage. The boy who was sent
here to work for his living was his rightful suc-
cessor, and his descendants after him."

"Well, I neverl" exclaimed Peter, with eyes
wide open. "Is that gospel truth, matef "

"It's nothing but a yarn," said Scotty scorn-
fully. "If the kid who was sent out here was
brought up near the Castle everybody would
have known that he was the rightful heir.
That'B so, Swell, isn't itl"

The Swell did not appear to have taken much
interest in the story, and Walker broke in be-
fore he could reply.

22 BIG PETEE

"They did know he was his son," he said.
"Everybody knew he was his son. But they
thought he was illegitimate, and his father
shipped him off when he wanted to get married
to the Lady Alicia."

"And how do you know he wasn't illegiti-
mate T" asked Peter.

"That's my secret," said "Walker. "But I
do know. I know where the marriage register
is to be found, and when I find this cove, Chan-
dos, I'll tell him all about it, when he has signed
a paper to say he'll give me half of everything
that's rightfully his— title, castle, estates —
everything."

"How is he going to give you half his title t"
enquired the astute Scotty. "Is he going to
call himself Lord Cam, and you call yourself
Lord Brayt It's a name that would suit you
all right."

"Well, I don't know about the title," admit-
ted Walker. "I dare say he will have to stick
to the whole of that. But it has its money value
and he will pay me for it."

''What's going to become of the Earl who is
sitting at home in the Castle nowT" asked
Peter. "Has he got any family!"

"He is an old man with one daughter," re-
plied Walker. "I don't know what's to become
of them. They've enjoyed what isn't theirs all

STRIKING IT RICH 23

their lives, and they must be content with that.
I dare say they will get along somehow."

Peter looked at the picture of the girl on
the wall and his eyes flashed. "What! turn a
lovely young girl out of the beautiful home that
she's enjoyed all her life," he exclaimed, "and
let her go penniless, with an old man who has
never been brought up to work for his living!
That's a nice thing to be laying up against
them. If this man ChandoB is anything like
the chap I think he is, he will kick you and
your yarn out together. You are not the man
I thought yon, Mr. Walker. I don't like your
manners and I don't like your ideas. Finish
your drink and clear out. You're no mate for
honest men!"

Walker's expression changed to one of sur-
prise and indignation. "What are you getting
att" he exclaimed. "I didn't say his daughter
was a beautiful young girl. If he's an old man
she is probably an old spinster. Besides, it's
every one for himself in this world. This Earl
of Cambray and his father have kept out the
rightful heirs for two generations. It's they
who ought to have been out here working for
their living. Let them work for it now, and
let honest people come into their own."

"And you're one of the honest people, I sup-
pose," said Peter, whose indignation was rising

24 BIG PETER

apace. ''Too 're to go in and take half of
everything that they've enjoyed — a mean skunk
like you, who's done nothing but nose out a
Bcandal a hundred years old. "Why, you're
nothing but a blackmailer. Take the bottle
with you and clear out. We don't want such
men as yon drinking with us."

He held out the half-empty champagne bot-
tle to him. Walker did not refuse it, but stood
with it tucked under his arm while an ugly
flush came over his face.

"You're nothing but a soft fool," he said
contemptuously. "I don't want to have any-
thing more to do with yon. Tell me where this
m an Chandos is to be found, and we'll soon
see if he takes the silly view of matters of
business that yon do."

"Where is he to be found!" echoed Peter,
Btriking his broad chest. "Why, he's to be
found here. My name's Peter Chandos, and
you can take your yarn away with you and
drown yourself. I'm a free-born Australian,
and I've struck it rich. I don't want any other
man's title, or estates either. I'll stand on my
own feet. Now clear out."

CHAPTER H

TITLE AND ESTATES

THE SWELL spoke for the first time.
With one glance at Big Peter, he said to
Walter, who was standing with his month
open in the ntmost surprise, "Sit down again.
We had better have this out. Who are yon and
how did yon get hold of this story t"

Walter sat down rather unwillingly, while
Peter said, "Oh, let him go, we don't want to
have anything more to do with him."

The Swell took no notice of him. "You said
you were a solicitor," he said to Walter.
"What's your firm and ita address!"

After a moment's hesitation Walter gave an
address in a suburb of Sydney. "I'm on my
own," he said. "Bobert Walker is my name,
and that's where you can find me."

The Swell pencilled down the name and ad-
dress. "I dare say we can get hold of some
boot which will tell us whether you are really
a solicitor or not," he said. "You don't look
like one."

26 BIG PETEE

Walker looked uncomfortable. "I'm in the
law," he said. "I never said I was a fully
admitted Solicitor."

"Yes, you did," replied the Swell, "and you
didn't suppose you would knock against any
one who would know how to find out whether
you were one or not. Well then, you're not a
solicitor, but you've got hold of this story.
How did you get hold of itt"

"It doesn't matter to yon how I got hold of
it," replied Walker. "And who are you, any-
way, to be trying to come over me with your
airst My business isn't with you."

The Swell looked at him with Ms eyes nar-
rowed. He looked like a man used to the hab-
its of command, and the other man's eyes went
down before him, as he asked again in a level
voice, "How did you come by this story?**

"It was sent over by a correspondent who
had come across the marriage register and fol-
lowed up the clue."

"Was it sent over to you?"

Walker turned away from him with an elab-
orate air of indifference and addressed Peter.
"I have got a piece of information to sell,'* he
said, "and I'll sell it to you if you prove to me
you're the man I want, either for cash down
or on terms to be arranged. I shan't stick
out for half. That was a piece of bluff to begin

TITLE AND ESTATES 27

on. Ill leave you to think it over, and come
back later on for yonr answer."

"And my answer is that I don't want any-
thing more to do with yon," said Peter.
"You're a mean, dirty skunk, and if you come
back here I'll spoil your faoe for you."

"Wait a minute," Baid the Swell, as Walker
rose once more, with an ugly look in his faoe.
"I want to get to the bottom of this. If you
don't, Peter, you can hold your tongue. Now
then, sir, how did you get hold of this piece of
informationf Did you steal it, or what!"

Walker turned on him with a blasphemous
oath. "Find out for yourself!" he began.

But the Swell said instantly, without raising
his voice, "If you speak to me like that again
I'll make you sorry for it. You'll answer my
question before you go away from here. I want
to know how you came across this piece of in-
formation."

"And if I don't tell yout" hazarded Walker,
a look of fear beginning to come into his mean,
Bhifty eyes.

"You are going to tell me," replied the
Swell, "and you are going to tell me the truth."

Walker produced a not very good imitation
of a laugh of amusement and sat down again.

' ' Well, I see you 're going to have it, ' ' he said,
"and I don't mind. We're all pals here, in

28 BIG PETER

spite of our little differences, and I know it
won't go any farther. Promise me that and
I'll tell yon all abont it,"

"Oh I go on," shouted Sootty, suddenly en-
raged. "Tell os without any more havering."

Walker looked from one to the other, and
decided not to press for a promise of secrecy.

"I was a clerk in a big lawyer's office," he
said sulkily, "and had to deal with the cor-
respondence. The information came in a let-
ter from England and I took a copy of it when
Heft them."

"What did you leave them fort" asked the
Swell

"Well, we didn't get on very well together,
and we both thought we'd better part. It was
what you might call a mutual arrangement."

"You were sacked," said the Swell, "for
something we needn't enquire into at present.
Very well. Then you stole this letter with the
information in itt How was it put exactly?
What did the man who found it out want for
it!"

Walker's face broke into a sneer. "He was
one of those antiquarian fools," he said, "who
didn't know a good thing when he saw it. He
had got hold of the name of the firm somehow,
and wrote to them suggesting that they might
find the rightful Earl of Cambray. He said if

TITLE AND ESTATES 29

they didn't he should keep the information to
himself, for the present, as he didn't want to
upset existing arrangements,"

"Very sensible of him," said the Swell.
"What did the firm reply)"

"They wrote him a short letter saying it
wasn't the sort of business they wanted, and
that was the end of it."

"No wonder yon didn't feel at home in such
a firm as that," remarked the SwelL "Well,
you thought it was the sort of business that
you did want, so you stole the letter, and I dare
say you've got a copy of it on you — eht"

Walker's face changed. "Look here," he
said in a whining voice, "you're not going to
take it off me. You're too much of a gentle-
man for that I've told you all you wanted to
know. If you want to do a deal I am ready.
You're not going to rob me."

"You needn't be afraid of that," said the
Swell contemptuously. "You can keep your
stolen property. How did you track down our
friend beret"

In his relief Walker permitted himself to be
facetious. "He wasn't very difficult to track,"
he said, with a glance at Peter. "His goings
on were known well enough."

"Stow that," said Peter. "We don't want
to' hear any more about your Bneaking ways.

30 BIG PETER

You've tracked me and you've found I'm not
the sort of chap you thought I was. So now
you can clear out and keep out. You have
drawn a blank, and if you want to make a bit
you had better go and find some other way of
making it"

"Yes, I think we've had enough of yon, for
the present," said the Swell. "You can clear
out now, and if we want to see you again, I dare
say we shall be able to find you. You can take
the bottle with you. Now don't say any more.
We 've heard enough of your sweet voice. Take
your swag and don't take anything else. Good-
morning."

Walker went inside the but and emerged
with his bundle tightly rolled in a blue blanket.
Several times he opened his lips as if to speak.
But each time the Swell said, "Now, don't
talk." Finally he slunk off in silence. But
when he had got a safe distance away he turned
and shook his fist at the three men who were
watching him, and they replied with a simul-
taneous laugh, which sent him finally out of
sight in obvious but helpless rage.

"Well, that's over and done with," said the
Swell, rising and stretching himself. "Scotty,
it's your turn to fetch the water. You might
go now if you've finished, because I want to

TITLE AND ESTATES 31

shave. Peter and I will clear up while yon 're
gone."

His airy dismissal of the subject of Mr.
Walker and the story he had brought them, as
if it were not worth discussing, or even think-
ing about, may rather have surprised the other
two. But it was just in this sort of way that
he exercised an influence over them, and for the
moment they accepted his view of the situation
and relinquished the subject. Scotty went off
with a somewhat inadequate vessel to fetch the
water available for all the uses of all the day.

When he had left them alone together it be-
came plain that the Swell had by no means dis-
missed the disclosures made by Walker as un-
important. When he and Peter were inside the
hut, he turned to him and said, "This is a sur-
prising yarn, but it's worth following up."

Peter looked at him in surprise. "Whyl
Do you think there is anything in itl" he asked.

"I think it's worth following np. Did you
know anything about your parentage before I"

Peter did not immediately reply to this ques-
tion. "You're not going to advise me to go
in with a swab like that, are you?" he ex-
claimed. "Whatever I might get through him
would stink of his dirty fingers. Besides, what
sort of a chap should I be to go and turn an

32 BIG PETEE

old man and a young girl out of all the riches
and luxury they've been nsed to all their lives?
Why, I couldn't do it. Sapposing it was a girl
lite that one!" — he jerked his thumb towards
the picture on the wall, — "and it might very
well be, — although not so beautiful, of course
— brought up in just such an old castle as I have
always thought of her living in. I should never
forgive myself. I shall have plenty of money
of my own, now. Surely you're not going to
advise me to go for dirty money like that."

"I don't advise you to do anything through
Mr. Walker," replied the Swell, "but we will
talk about that later. What I want to know
is whether you know anything about your father
or your grandfather I"

Peter, somewhat unwillingly, set himself to
answer this question. "I know as much as most
fellows out here," he said. "My great-grand-
father did come from England in the early
days, when he was a youngster. But whether
he was a boy of twelve or thirteen, or a bit
older, I couldn't tell yon. Anyhow, he took up
land in New South Wales, and my grandfather
owned the Maluka Station on the Murrum-
bidgee. My father was a hell-raky sort of a
chap— you'd know all about him if you had been
out here long. He got rid of everything— rac-
ing and so on. He left me without a bob. For-

TITLE AND ESTATES 33

tunately for me, my old grandfather didn't die
until I was about eighteen, and he saw that I
got some decent education."

"Wasn't there any tradition in yonr family
about where you came from in England, and
who your people were!" asked the Swell.

"Not that I know of. Well, — there was a
sort of idea that we were better than most.
You see Chandos is a swell sort of a name.
That's why I've never been very keen on claim-
ing it in a place like this; and as a matter of
fact, I don't believe we've always had the name.
I seem to have heard some time or other that
my great-grandfather came out here under an-
other name, and changed it afterwards. So
perhaps after all I am not file fellow that that
scoundrel was looking for."

"If that's so," said the Swell, "it seems to
me to make it more likely that you are the fel-
low. I dare say your great-grandfather knew
whoBe son he was. He would very likely have
been brought up in England under his mother's
name, and took his father's when he got on
here. Didn't he leave any papers!"

"Now yon mention it," said Peter, "there is
a tin box full of papers at my father's law-
yer's. It'B about all that there is there, for
everything else went in the smash. But I have
never been through it."

34 BIG PETER

"Then what you've got to do, my friend, di-
rectly you get back to Sydney, is to get hold
of that box and see what's in it. Very likely
it contains the clue to the mystery."

"Then you think I really am the chap? It
would be a pretty surprising thing if it turned
out to be so. Fancy me an Earl, with a castle
of my own! That would be a rummy job,
wouldn't itt But look here, I'm not going any
farther with it. I meant what I said just now,
and said before, to that dirty cad. It would be
a beastly thing to turn out the other people-
that old man and his daughter. What sort of
a job should I make of it — bossing an estate T
He's been brought up to it, and no doubt plays
the game much better than I ever could."

"He doesn't play the game at all," said the
Swell, shortly.

Peter stared at him. "Why, do you know
him!" he exclaimed.

"I know all about him. He's a dissipated
old scoundrel. He has the worst managed es-
tate of any man in England. All his cottages
are tumbling down, and he won't spend a penny
on them. He has bled his tenants for years,
and spent the money on himself. It would be
the best thing in the world for the people who
are dependent on him if he were turned out and
a better man took his place."

TITLE AND ESTATES 35

"Ton don't say so," exclaimed Peter. "To
think of that now I"

"I tel! yon," went on the Swell, "that if that
man's title and estates are properly yours, it's
your dnty to claim them. He has almost rained
the property, but you'll have plenty of money
now to pull it round. You go for it, Peter, my
boy I Find out whether what that fellow said
was true, so that you won't be starting off on
a wild goose chase, and if you find that it's as
he says, go straight home to England and put
forward your claim*"

"But, my dear fellow," said Peter, "fancy
me an earl in a castle! I shouldn't know how
to behave."

"You would know how to behave a good deal
better than the man who is there now. You
would know how to behave as well as any earl
in any castle. You have only got to be your-
self. Nobody can ask anything better of you
than that. I am not given to flattery, but that's
what I Bay, and that's what I mean."

Peter's eyes wandered in perplexity round
the hut and rested on the picture of the beau-
tiful girl in the carved chair. Gradually his
face broke into a smile. "By Jove!" he said.
" Supposing I was to find her and tell her I was
an earl with a castle of my own, and plenty
of money to keep it up with. Isn't that the

36 BIG PETEE

sort of thing that might please her! Isn't that
the sort of thing that she might expect from a
man who wanted to marry hert"

The Swell langhed. "You go home and try,"
he said.

CHAPTER IH

BIG PETEE IN LONDON

IN a month's time Big Peter was on his way
to England in the B.M.S. "Orusoo."
He had by no means made np his mind to
claim the title and estates which seemed his
to claim, bnt he had found ont a good deal about
himself. Walker had been lost sight of from
the morning of his dismissal from Buckingham
Palace, bnt Peter had gone to Sydney and
looked through the box of papers in his lawyer's
office.

He had learnt that his great-grandfather had
been sent ont to Australia by the Earl of Cam-
bray, whose son he had been known to be, al-
though neither he nor any one else seemed to
have had any idea that he was his sou by a
legitimate marriage. He had been known as
George Holden, but when he grew up and made
money he changed his name to Chandos, be-
cause he said he was as much a Chandos as any
of them, and many natural sous of great men
had been recognized by their families when
they got on.

38 BIG PETER

Peter did not quite approve of this. He
thought if it had been he, he would have kept
the fact of his birth dark, and started alto-
gether afresh. However, there it was. He
was a Chandos, whether he liked it or no. And
Walker had said that the marriage register
which proved him to be the head of his family
was in existence. It was in a village in Nor-
folk, bnt what village he did not know.

He was persuaded to take definite steps by
an old lawyer named Fearon, with whom he
struck np a friendship on board ship. Mr.
Fearon had taken a long holiday to visit a
married daughter in Australia, after a life-time
of hard and honest work, which had been
greatly to the benefit of those who had put
their affairs in his hands, and to his own bene-
fit also. He took a fancy to Peter, and was
never tired of drawing his yarns out of him,
at which he would chuckle dryly. They were
mostly yarns of adventure in the Australian
bush, and Mr. Fearon was not a little surprised
to learn that there was another still more sur-
prising yarn in connection with this big, cheery
man, whom he had looked upon as a pure prod-
uct of Australian life.

The old man was, of course, cautious about it,
and told Peter that the facts could not be con-
sidered as settled by any means. This rather

BIG PETER IN LONDON 39

egged Peter on to defend them, and the end of
it was that he made up his mind to search for
the register, even if he had to visit every church
in Norfolk before he found it.

Peter made many other friends on board the
' ' Ornsco, ' ' and among them was a young widow,
a Mrs. Saunders, travelling from Australia to
England with her child, a delicate-looking boy
of ten or eleven. She was rather an insignifi-
cant little woman and was evidently very poor.
She was travelling second-class, where Peter
had as many friends as among the first-class

Little Tommy Saunders was a genius with
brush and pencil, and the fame of his drawings
of everybody and everything around him soon
spread through the ship. Big Peter, already
anxious to spend some of the fortune he had
made out of the Buckingham Mine in helping
his poorer neighbours, decided that Tommy
would be a good object to begin upon.

He got Mrs. Saunders's story out of her.
She was an Englishwoman who had come out
to Australia as a girl, married, as it appeared
in rather poor circumstances, and was now go-
ing home again to fight the battle of life for
herself and her boy, with very little money to
do it on. She said almost nothing about her
husband, and it was plain that her marriage had

40 BIG PETER

been an unhappy one. Her immediate relations
were dead, she told Peter ; she was going to set-
tle down somewhere in London and set np as a
dressmaker, and give little Tommy an art train-
ing of some sort if she could possibly man-
age it

It was not long before Peter relieved her anx-
ieties on that score. "Yon leave all that to me,
Mrs. Saunders," he said, largely. "I have a
lot more money than I know what to do with,
and 111 see that the little chap gets his chance."

He cheerfully brushed aside her tearful grati-
tude. "Why, good heavens I" he said. "It's a
chance for me just as much as for him. He '11 be
a great man some day, and his name will be
remembered long after mine is forgotten.
There's nothing I could do with my money that
could give me greater pleasure."

Peter found it very difficult to get Mrs. Saun-
ders to consent to his helping her in any other
way. She was very poor, as he made it his
business to find out, asking her all sorts of
searching questions with a good-natured per-
sistence that would take no denial; but she was
also very proud. If he could help her boy to
learn, she said, she could do all the rest herself.

But he pressed her so hard that at last she
gave in. "Look here, Mrs. Saunders," he said,
"I'm going to take a little house for you, and

BIG PETEE IN LONDON 41

furnish it. And I'm going to make over a little
income to yon, so that yon will be able to give
Tommy the sort of home that a great artist
ought to have when he's a child. I'm going to
make myself his guardian. So it's no use your
trying to stand out."

"Oh, how good you arel" she cried. "I've
never met a man like yon. I didn't know that
men could be so good. My experience of them
hasn't been a very happy one. Perhaps I ought
to stand out, bnt I can't. Some day I may be
able to do something for you in return, and then
yon can imagine how glad I shall be. Perhaps
it is not so unlikely as it seems now. You are
casting your bread upon the waters."

A week or so after he had landed, Peter
dined with old Mr. Fearon, in his comfortable
house on Campden Hill.

"Now then, Peter," said the old lawyer,
when they were sitting together after dinner
with a bottle of port between them, "what steps
are you going to take to find this register 1"

""Well," said Peter, "I have looked np the
County of Norfolk on a map, and it seems to be
abont as big as an ordinary sheep run out west.
It wont take long to run through it and have a
look at all the registers until one comes across
the right one."

42 BIG PETER

"Do yon know how many churches there are
hi Norfolk!" asked Mr. Fearon.

"No," said Peter. "I suppose there's one
in every township, isn't there!"

The lawyer laughed. "Yes," he said, "there
is one in every township, and there are a good
many townships in Norfolk. Norfolk is a big
county, as counties go. I should think there
would prohably he more churches in it than in
the whole continent of Australia."

"Oh I" said Peter, somewhat dashed at this
piece of news.

"However," went on Mr. Fearon, "it is the
only way of setting to work. You can leave the
towns out of account first, and your best way
will he to take a tour round the country, say in
a motor car, and examine every church register
until you find the right one."

"I shan't do that," said Peter. "I shall
hump my swag."

"And that means!" enquired Mr. Fearon.

"That means walking on my two feet with
my blanket on my back," said Peter. "I want
to see something of the old country, and that's
the best way of doing it."

"I don't know hut what you're right. I used
to do that sort of thing myself when I was a
young man, and enjoy it. Bat you needn't take
a blanket with yon. You'll find plenty of nice

BIG PETEE IN LONDON 43

old village inns which will provide blankets, and
sheets too. Take a knapsack with you, and
send a bag of clothes on here and there, and
yon '11 provide yourself with a pleasant holiday,
even if you don't find anything. If you do find
something, come to me and tell me about it"

Big Peter bad taken rooms in a quiet Square
in Bloomsbury, and when be left Mr. Fearon's
house, as the night was fine, and be could never
get enough exercise in London, he determined
to walk home.

He had just left the noise and bustle of Ox-
ford Street and was walking through a quiet
street near the British Museum, when a man,
coming down the pavement on the opposite side,
suddenly started at sight of him and drew back
into the shadow of a doorway, where he stood
staring with his mouth half-open and a look of
surprise, not unmixed with alarm, on his fea-
tures.

Peter walked on all unconscious of being
watched, or indeed of being known, among all
those crowded millions of people in London,
where he scarcely knew a soul. He looked very
different from the rough miner of the Australian
gold-fields, in his high boots, flannel shirt and
old slouched hat. One of his amusements had
been to acquire an extensive wardrobe of the
best clothes he could buy. He wore a beautiful

44 BIG PETER

Bilk bat, a thin dark overcoat, with a fine knitted
ecarf of white silk, and shining patent leather
boots under his black trousers. He had still
kept to his yellow beard and refused to have it
clipped to a point But it had been trimmed
by a Bond Street barber and did not detract
from his handsome appearance as he strolled
manfully along the pavement. It made him look
rather older than bis years, but with his fine
upright presence and active walk be might have
been taken for a well-to-do country squire, more
used to the pursuits of country life than to the
pavements of Loudon, but quite at home on them
all the same. And if he had been seen striding
with that self-reliant step in the direction of
the House of Lords, it would not have needed a
great effort to imagine him an hereditary mem-
ber of that assembly. If he should succeed in
taking his place in it, in appearance at any rate,
he would bring no discredit on it; and if he still
entertained doubts in that reBpect there was
no one who would not have relieved him of them.
As he turned the corner of the street, the man
who had stood watching him on the opposite
pavement moved on, and as be came within the
radius of light of a lamp-post, any one who had
known him would have recognized the unattrac-
tive features of Mr. Robert Walker, whose pres-
ence in Loudon boded no good to the man who

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CHAPTER IV

AN ATTEMPTED DEAL

THE great pile of Cambray Castle stood
proudly on the summit of a wooded hill
which commanded a magnificent stretch
of country, bounded in the distance by the blue
line of the sea. The old fortified keep remained
much as it had been centuries before, when its
owners had used it to terrorize the surrounding
country, and to ward off the attacks of those
who would have taken from them by force what
they had gained and kept by force. But consid-
erable additions had been made in more peace-
ful times, and the wing of the castle now chiefly
inhabited showed a long line of windows look-
ing out over the valley, and in front of them a
broad terrace, beneath which stretched the beau-
tiful gardens, until they were closed in on by
the woodlands.

Along this terrace, one sunshiny morning, an
old man was pacing slowly to and fro, leaning
on the arm of an attendant. If his movements
were feeble, however, the face which looked out
from under the wide brim of his hat, waB of

AN ATTEMPTED DEAL 47

almost startling vigour. It was not a face that
would be likely to attract any one to its owner.
It had something fierce and hawklike in it, some-
thing lowering and secret too, with its bushy
brows, startlingly black in comparison with the
whiteness of the hair and the heavy moustache,
which almost hid the mouth and drooped over
the heavy protruding chin. There are not many
faces of which one can say definitely that they
are bad. But this was a bad face. It was the
face of a man who had been bold in vice, who
had never scrupled to indulge himself in any-
thing, bnt had taken his own course boldly and
not feared for the consequences. A sort of ani-
mal courage was its only virtue; the eyes were
still strong and piercing, and only the wasted
body showed the price that had been paid for a
life-time of such habits as a man of strong and
bad passions gratifies himself with, when he is
so placed that he can gain most of what he wants
for the moment.

The man on whose arm he was leaning bad
an appearance no more attractive than the Earl
of Cambray's own. Perhaps that was why he
had remained in his service for some five-and-
twenty years, first as a sort of confidential sec-
retary, and latterly almost as a body servant;
for Lord Camhray, in the wreck of his powers
wanted no one about him whom he could not

48 BIG PETEE

trust. Perhaps he trusted Lorrimer no more
than anybody; hut he paid him well — twice as
ranch for his menial assistance as he had paid
him for the work of a gentleman. Lorrimer was
a tall dark man of middle-age, and in the course
of time his features had taken on a look that
made him not dissimilar from his master, al-
though he was many years his junior. There
was something sinister in his dark reserved
look. He held many of his master's secrets,
and might have been said to have acted as his
minister of evil. His manner was correctly re-
spectful as he walked to and fro, giving aid to
those weak footsteps. But it was familiar too,
with the familiarity of a deep intimacy. The
world would not have been edified by the con-
versation carried on between these two, as they
paced up and down in the sunshine. It was
chiefly a revival of old memories, in which the
man's part had been almost as important as
that of the master. It was a startling comment
on the closing years of such a life as Lord Cam-
bray had lived, that he was now almost entirely
dependent upon this man to give him what com-
panionship and pleasure he could still enjoy.

The sun shone brightly over the lovely scene,
and its light was flashed back from the many
windows of the great house ; gay flowers of early
summer were blooming all about the terrace and

AN ATTEMPTED DEAL 49

in the garden below it; the birds were singing
in the woodlands. Perhaps the old man to whom
all these beauties belonged was vaguely affected
by them, but if it was so he made no comment
on them, but just moved slowly up and down in
the sunshine, and fed his mind with the memory
of the base pleasures he no longer had the power
to seek out and enjoy.

A footman came out of the honse and tendered
him a card on a salver. "Mr. Robert Walker,"
he read, bending his bushy brows with a terrific
frown on the footman, who met the look man-
fully. "Who the devil is Mr. Robert Walker,
and what does he want!"

"I don't know, my lord. He said he had
something of great importance to communicate
to your lordship."

He considered for a moment. "Ton had bet-
ter go in and see who he is and what he wants,
Lorrimer," he said. "I will sit down here until
you come back."

The footman departed. Lorrimer helped his
master to a seat and went indoors, leaving him
sitting there, in the full sunshine, looking out
over the wide stretch of country that was his,
with his fierce bad old face telling nothing of
the thoughts that were passing through his
mind.

Presently Lorrimer came back. "I can't get

50 BIG PBTEE

out of him what he wants," he said. "He saya
he won't tell it to anybody but you alone."

"Oh, he won't, won't net" said Lord Cam-
bray with an oath. "What sort of a fellow is
he!"

' ' Bather a shabby looking man. Looks rather
as if he might be a private detective."

"Bring him out here and give him a chair
not too near me. Get behind the curtains in the
morning-room and keep a lookout."

Lorrimer seemed to be in no surprise at these
somewhat unusual instructions, justified prob-
ably by more lurid experiences of the past. He
came out again immediately, accompanied by
Mr. "Walker, placed a garden seat for him, not
too near that occupied by his master, and re-
tired through an open window just behind.

Mr. Walker took his seat with a jaunty air.
His eyes looked a little frightened, and the old
man, who fixed bis own keen eyes on him, may
have noted that look of alarm. But there was
none to be noted in the tone in which he said,
"Very pleased to have the honour of meeting
your lordship. I have come all the way down
here to give you a little piece of information
which you ought to have. In fact, I've come all
the way from Australia, you might say, on pur-
pose to give it to you, and it has been rather an
expensive trip, my lord."

AN ATTEMPTED DEAL 51

"Go on," said the old man, still fixing hiin
with his steel-like glare.

Walker hitched his chair a little closer, and
Lord Cambray suddenly shouted at him, "Keep
back, keep your distance!" in such a tone as to
make him jump, and remain where he was.

"I have something very secret to tell you,"
he grumbled. "I don't want to shout it out
where everybody can hear me."

' ' Nobody will hear you, and you needn 't shout
it out Say what you have got to say. I'm not
deaf. I shall hear you quite plainly where you
are."

Thus adjured, Walker cast about in his mind
for a fitting opening of his statement, and find-
ing none better than a bald assertion of fact,
said, "There's a man come over from Australia
who is going to claim your title and estates."

Lord Cambray stared at him, and then gave
vent to a disagreeable laugh, which was suc-
ceeded by an equally disagreeable frown, as he
aBked shortly, "On what grounds?"

"On the grounds," replied Walker, taking
refuge again in a bald statement of fact, "that
yonr grandfather, the twelfth Earl, was mar-
ried to somebody before he married your grand-
mother, and had a son that this man is descended
from."

Lord Cambray did not laugh at this state-

52 BIG PETEB

ment. It took him by surprise. He had not
interested himself greatly in the history of his
forebears, having had his mind pretty well oc-
cupied with his own, and had for the moment to
make an effort of memory to recall the facts of
his grandfather's marriage.

"My grandfather the twelfth Earl," he re-
peated. "I don't remember him or my grand-
mother either. Let me see, he married a Vanx,
— Lady Alicia Vanx." He turned to the table
at his side and rang a bell and waited.

Walker began to say something, but he sil-
enced him, and after a short interval Lorrimer
appeared, but not out of the window through
which he had gone into the house.

"Fetch me a Burke's Peerage," he said to
him, and waited again in silence until the book
was brought and laid on the table beside him.

He turned over the leaves until he had come
to the record of his own family, and then said,
"My grandfather married when he was thirty-
five. Now what's this story! You say he was
married before. Who tot"

Mr. Walker coughed nervously. He was not
unimpressed by the old lord's autocratic man-
ner, and did not relish the idea of arousing it
against himself. But he had certainly not come
there to give up all his information at a mere

AN ATTEMPTED DEAL 53

brusque request, and he intimated as much as
politely as be could.

""Well, my lord," he said, with an ingratiat-
ing smile, "you will understand, I am sure, that
I haven't come all this way just to tell you some-
thing that I think you ought to know, and then
go back again. It just so happens that I have
got hold of all the facts of a very interesting
story, and, if you'll excuse me for mentioning
it, I think they're worth paying for."

If it had not been for the expectations he cher-
ished, Mr. Walker would have quailed at the
frown that was bent upon him. But he stuck to
his guns, however uneasily, and said, "If your
lordship will think it over, I am quite sure you
will see that that is quite reasonable."

"How did you get hold of this lie?" asked
Lord Camhray.

"It isn't a lie, my lord," replied Mr. Walker
quietly. "If it was I shouldn't have thought it
worth troubling about."

For the first time the old man's eyes dropped
for an instant, but he fixed them again on
Walker's face as he said, "Of course it's a lie.
But have it your own way for a moment. How
did you get hold of the story!"

"I have no objection to telling you that, my
lord," said Walker. "It waB sent over to a

54 BIG PETER

firm of solicitors I was connected with, by a
man who had come across the register of the
first marriage. I held a subordinate position
in the firm, and I got the sack for doing some-
thing I ought not to have done, which I won't
trouble you with. So before I left I took down
the particulars, as I thought they might be of
use to me, and I might be able to make money
out of them."

The impudence of this confession seemed to
arouse in Lord Cambray's mind an interest in
his visitor which he had not formerly exhibited.
' ' You 're a pretty cool customer, ' ' he said. ' ' But
if this fellow has come over here with a claim
that has anything in it, I don't quite see what
value your information has. We shall hear it
all soon enough from him."

"If that was so, my lord," said Walker, "I
shouldn't have troubled you. But he hasn't got
the information. He hasn't got the most impor-
tant part of it."

"What's that!"

"He doesn't know where the register is to
be found, and I do. He's not likely to be able
to find it either, for he doesn't know where to
look. It is in a part of England that he would
never think of looking in, and as it has been
hidden there for a hundred years, it iB no more
likely to be found now than it was before."

AN ATTEMPTED DEAL 55

There was one little fact Walker was una-
ware of. He did not know that in the half-
drnnken excitement in which he had told Big
Peter the story which he had now brought to his
kinsman, he had let out that the village where
the marriage had taken place was in Norfolk.
But his statement impressed Lord Cambray,
who now proceeded to ask him many questions.

"I see," he said, with a sneer, when Walker
had answered such as he meant to answer, and
refused to answer those that were cunningly
designed to draw from him what he wished to
conceal. "You tried to sell this information to
the other side, and when you find they won't
deal, you come to me with it."

"That's so, my lord," said Walker, un-
ashamedly. "It's a matter of business."

"Very well then, Mr. Walker, you are some-
thing of a rascal and I won't mince matters
with you. I am very much obliged to you for
what you have told me. The most important
part of it seems to be that this register of mar-
riage, if there is one, is where nobody is in the
least likely to find it. It's a great relief to hear
that. If you would like any lunch before you go
back where you came from, my servant shall
see that you have some, and he will send you
back to the station so as to save you the expense

56 BIG PETEE

of a fly. I owe you something for the entertain-
ing half-hour yon have given me."

His hand moved towards the bell on the table,
bnt he did not immediately ring it, and Walker,
who was quite as sharp in his own way as he
was himself, noted this fact in the midst of the
unpleasant surprise caused by his speech.

' ' "Wait a minute, my lord, ' ' he said. ' ' I don 't
think you've quite got the hang of it all yet.
The secret isn't hidden now. It is known to
the man who discovered it, and I know who that
man is."

"And from what yon have told me about him,
he's not likely to do anything about it."

"Oh, well!" said Walker, with an air of un-
concern. "If you are willing to run that risk!
But 111 remind you, my lord, he isn't the only
one who knows it. I know it."

"Yes, and what use is it to you! You tried
to sell it to the other side and they wouldn't buy.
And you've tried to sell it to me. Who else is
going to buy it of you?"

"Nobody else," said Walker boldly, "who
will pay me for getting rid of the evidence!"
He said this slowly with a meaning look that
was not lost on Lord Cambray. "That's why
I don't want to go away before we've discussed
it further. I want to make big money out of
this, and I don't mind saying so. But as for

AN ATTEMPTED DEAL 57

making some money oat of it, if 70a send me
away, that won't be very difficult. There are
plenty of papers who would pay handsomely for
such a story as that."

Lord Cambray ignored the last statement.
"What do you mean," he asked, "when yon
talk about being paid for getting rid of the evi-
dence? Do you know what you're saying?"

"I know very well, my lord, what I'm saying,
and what I'm doing too. I'm putting myself in
your hands. But from what I have heard of
your lordship I am not much afraid of doing
that."

"I have got sueh a reputation for kindness
and goodness, haven't I?" sneered the old lord.

' ' I don 't mean that. I shouldn ' t put my head
in the lion's mouth if I didn't know that I had
got some means of preventing the lion from
shutting it on me."

Lord Cambray laughed at this. "Well, what
do you mean?" he asked, with an approach to
good humour.

Walker hitched his chair a little closer, and
this time he was not rebuked.

"I mean," he said, in a low but expressive
voice, "that I am ready to do the work for you
that you couldn't do for yourself. I am ready
to go and steal this register and bring it to you.
I am not asking you to pay for mere iuforma-

58 BIG PETER

tion. "What I'll Bell yon is what I'll steal, and
what yon couldn't bny if it wasn't stolen."

Lord Cambray looked at him with something
like admiration. This was bold wickedness of
a sort that he could appreciate. But all he said
was, "A pretty sort of a fool I should be if I
were to let myself be drawn into compounding
a felony with a fellow like you ! Yonr appear-
ance doesn't exactly inspire confidence, Mr.
Walker."

""Well," said "Walker coolly, "perhapB your
lordship would like to think it over for an hour.
I shall be much obliged for that lunch you kindly
offered me just now, as I've had a long journey
and haven't had anything to eat since I left
London this morning. If youll excuse me, 111
just point out to you that I don't ask you to do
anything till I bring you what I've said. Sup-
posing I got caught in helping myself to it,
there will be nothing to show that you had had
any connection with it at all. I am willing to
ran all that risk myself, and you can deny all
knowledge of me. But if I get it, because of the
price that we should agree upon — I've got to
trust you for all that — then I'll ask you how
much it's likely that I shall split and land my-
self in gaol, when I shall have got everything
that I've run all the risks for."

"Ton put it very lucidly, Mr. "Walker," said

AN ATTEMPTED DEAL 59

Lord Cambray. "As you are so much to be de-
pended upon, perhaps there is no harm in ask-
ing you what price you would suggest for doing
this little service for met"

Now that it had come to this point, Mr. Walker
showed some hesitation in naming a price. He
began to enlarge on the dangers of the enter-
prise and the expense and trouble to which he
had already been put.

"You can drop all that," said Lord Cambray
coolly. "I am quite aware of what it means.
You are going to suggest some absurd price,
which you know I should not think of paying.
Don't be shy. Let's have it out."

Thus encouraged, Mr. Walker plumped out,
"Five thousand pounds."

"Ah!" said Lord Cambray. "I thought you
would have asked ten. Well, I dare say you
think I'm a far richer man than I am, Mr. Wal-
ker. In these hard times a person in my posi-
tion finds it somewhat difficult to raise a sum in
cash, however important the object may be. I
even had to refuse our excellent "Vicar here a
subscription towards reseating the church last
week, although you can imagine that it gave me
an almost sleepless night to think that perhaps
he might not be able to do it after all."

Walker laughed nervously at this pleasantry,
and waited for what should come.

60 BIG PETER

"But 111 tell you what I'll do," Lord Cam-
bray continued. "If you bring me what you
say you can bring me — you talk in a crude sort
of way about stealing it, but of course I couldn't
countenance anything of that sort — I will under-
take to raise five hundred pounds for you, and
I call that a very handsome offer under all the
circumstances."

"Walker's face showed a dull flush of resent-
ment. "Tour lordship is playing with me," he
said sulkily. "I didn't come here prepared to
bargain. I made up my mind what I would ask
and I dare say I was a bit nervous in bringing
it out, because it's a pretty tidy sum of money.
But I shouldn't have been in the least nervous
about stating a sum of money that I expected
to have cut down. Five thousand pounds is my
price, my lord, and I won't take a penny less."

"Very well, then," said Lord Cambray qui-
etly. "I don't feel inclined to pay your price,
and that seems all that there is to be said about
it. If at any time you feel inclined to accept
my offer, you have only got to give me the pleas-
ure of another visit, from you, Mr. "Walker. I
shouldn't write, if I were you. Better not to
put that sort of thing in writing. I will now
give yon over to my servant." And this time
he rang the bell without further hesitation.

AN ATTEMPTED DEAL 61

"Oh I wait a minute, my lord," cried Walker
as before.

But Lord Cambray said, "Do you accept my
offer or not?"

"No, of course I don't. But — "

"Very well then, I have nothing more to say.
I want my own luncheon and I dare say yon are
quite ready for yours. Lorrimer, give this gen-
tleman something to eat and tell them to drive
him wherever he wants to go to afterwards.
Good morning, Mr. Walker. We have had a
very interesting conversation. "

CHAPTER V

MASTEH AND MAS

LORRIMER waited with perfect patience
and propriety until his master should
choose to enlighten him as to what had
passed between him and Walker. He knew that
it would not he long before he was taken into
confidence. Lord Cambray could do nothing
without him. He might think and scheme and
bend his terrific brows over all sorts of plans
and ideas, but when it came to putting them
into practice he was as helpless as a child. He
could not even write a letter, except it passed
through Lor rimer's hands; and he was prob-
ably under no illusions as to what would happen
if he wrote a letter on any subject he might
wish to keep from Lorrimer, if that gentleman
did not see the necessity of secrecy.

After his solitary luncheon Lorrimer came
and led him into the room he mostly occupied
and helped him to lay himself down on a sofa
by the open window for an afternoon nap. This
was the invariable programme, and the attend-

MASTER AND MAN 63

ant was free for an honr. At the end of that
time his bell would ring, and for the rest of the
day he was on duty. It was perhaps hardly
the life that one would have expected a man of
Lorrimer's appearance to choose for its own
sake. One might say that an active bodied man,
whose days were spent waiting hand and foot
and brain on the whims and necessities of a
capricious tyrant, would be doing so with the
hope of some reward; and that the reward ex-
pected would be more than a handsome salary.

This afternoon, when the hour had passed,
Lord Cambray's bell was still silent, and it was
not until another hour had gone that its in-
sistent summons called Lorrimer to his mas-
ter's side.

"I've had something to think about," growled
the old lord in half apology. "With very little
left to him but to eat and to sleep, it still irked
him to have it thought that he had slept away
two hours of a sunshiny afternoon. "I'll drive
now, and yon can come with me."

Within a few minutes master and man were
seated side by side in a roomy carriage, driving
quickly through the country roads. There were
not many horses left in the stables of Cambray
Castle now, but such as there were were good
ones, and it was one of Lord Cambray 's pleas-
ures thus to drive far and fast, even although

64 BIG PETER

he bad to sit in a barouche like any old dowager,
while a coachman held the reins.

After a time he entered on the subject that
Lorrimer was waiting for, and told him all
about it.

"I dare say there's something in it," he said.
"As the fellow won't come down in his price,
which is, of course, ont of the question, the best
way might be to let him think he is going to
get it, and get the paper, whatever it may be,
from him somehow."

He said this qnite naturally, in a thoughtful
tone of voice, as if robbery by force or cunning
were quite an ordinary suggestion to be made
by a nobleman to his paid companion. And the
way Lorrimer took it seemed to show that it
was not such an extraordinary suggestion from
this particular nobleman to this particular com-
panion.

"I think a better way than that," said Lorri-
mer smoothly, "would be for me to go and find
the register.*'

"Of course it would," said his master, "and
you would be sent off pretty quickly to do it,
if we had any idea where the register was."

Lorrimer 's face showed a trace of disappoint-
ment, aroused, as it appeared by his next speech,
by the fact of his master taking it quite for
granted that he would consider the stealing of

MASTER AND MAN 65

,a parish register, or a part of one, as coming
within the bounds of his duty.

"Of course you wouldn't expect rae to do such
a thing as that/' he* said, "without taking the
danger into consideration."

"Of course I shouldn't," sneered Lord Cam-
bray. "Do you suppose I look to get anything
out of you but what I pay you fori"

Lorrimer let this go by, but his face showed
a dull flush. "If I might suggest something,"
he said — "It is quite possible that there are
papers or letters somewhere in the house that
might give you a hint as to the part of the conn-
try in which this marriage took place. Her lady-
ship found some old diaries which her maid men-
tioned to me, in a cupboard in one of the attics.
in the Keep."

"I know she did," replied Lord Cambray,
"but they were older than that. They were at
the beginning of the eighteenth century."

"I was only meaning that there must be a lot
more papers here and there that nobody knows
anything about."

Lord Cambray considered this. ' ' It might be
worth while," he said, "to have a search made.
I might get Lady Margaret to do it when she
comes back. But in the meantime something
may happen. She will be in London for another
fortnight."

66 BIG PETEE

"But you wouldn't like Lady Margaret to
know anything about this," suggested Lorri-
mer.

"I don't know that I should. But I could get
her to bring me any papers she might come
across, and I could look over them myself."

"Then wouldn't it be better if I were to make
the search nnder your supervision!"

"I dare say it might. It isn't a bad idea. It
would give us something to do, and God knows
there's little enough in these days. We'll do
that, Lorrimer. We'll go right through the
house and find out what's in it. I don't know
half the things I possess. We may come across
valuables hidden away somewhere."

Master and man searched through all the hid-
den receptacles of that great house for a week,
and when the last lumber-room had been turned
out they had found all sorts of curious and in-
teresting things, but not what they wanted.

And yet they had got very close to it. An old
diary had come to light written by the mother
of that twelfth Earl whose record they were
trying to find. It was racy, and rather scanda-
lous, and in it occurred the following passage :

"Mervyn has been away for four months,
and if he is not getting into mischief I know
nothing of the breed from which he comes.

MASTER AND MAN 67

His letters amuse me, and I keep them.
Some day I will make him tell me what it is
that keeps him in so dead-alive a part of
the country at a time when there is no sport
to amuse him, and I promise myself some
amusement in reading between the lines of
his letters, and rebuking him for not per-
mitting his mother to share in his amuse-
ments."

Lord Cambray read out this passage to Lorri-
mer, who was standing by him.

"The letters were kept, yon see," he said.
"Confound the old girl for not mentioning
where they came from, and him for not making
them plainer ! If there was any wickedness on
foot, she would have enjoyed hearing of it as
much as anybody."

"Perhaps the letters were destroyed," sug-
gested Lorrixuer. "If he wanted to hush it all
up, he would not be likely to let them remain."

"He wouldn't mind, if he had not given him-
self away. If he had happened to come across
them he would probably have kept them as a re-
minder of an amusing summer."

Lorrimer's eye wandered round the big room,
wondering whether it had given up all its se-
crets. "Have you looked through your own
desk?" he asked.

68 BIG PETEB

Lord Cambray looked up at him with a sneer
on his face. A heavy old-fashioned piece of
Spanish furniture stood in a corner of the room.
Part of it would open out to make a writing-
table, but it was seldom so used. Its various
drawers and cupboards had been fitted with
inviolable locks, and he wore the keys of them
hang round his neck by a little gold chain, night
and day. The desk contained the very few se-
crets he still kept from his familiar.

"You would like to go through that with me,
wouldn't you!" he said.

"I should suggest that you went through it
yourself, ' ' Baid Lorrimer, unmoved by the sneer.
"It is the only thing that we have not searched.*'

That night Lord Cambray found what he was
looking for tucked away at the back of a drawer
in this old bureau. His grandfather had used
it before him for his secret papers, and when
he had taken it for his own he had simply
pushed aside in the lower drawers what he had
found there, without taking the trouble to exam-
ine it, and had forgotten all about it since.

If the old lady to whom the letters had been
addressed had ever discovered a clue to what
had puzzled her in them, she had left no record
of it on the letters themselves, as she had threat-
ened. They were as she had received them, —
{he hasty scrawls of a young man idling away a

MASTER AND MAN 69

summer in what, as it seemed, was to him rather
an unusual way. His descendant, re-reading
them after a hundred years, thought he under-
stood quite well what the astute lady of the diary
had seen, reading between the lines. The cor-
ners of his mouth twitched as he read a very
stilted description of a sunset, and another ill-
spelt rhapsody over a country of flat land and
Sat water. Yes, it was quite plain that Mervyn
Chandos was not the kind of young man who
would be content to linger in an out-of-the-way
village for the three months during which the
letters lasted, for the sake of scenery or sunsets.

When he had read the last of them, he tied
them up again into a packet and rang his bell
for Lorrimer, first of all locking the drawer in
which he had found them.

"Yon were quite right," he said; "here are
the letters, and I know the name of that village.
Now we can talk."

"Yes," said Lorrimer, standing in front of
him.

Lord Cambray talked in short sharp sen-
tences : "Better not to waste time. You can go
up directly to this place, get leave to examine
the register, and cut out the sheet. You talked
about a reward. I don't expect you to do this
for nothing. I will add five hundred pounds to
your legacy. Is that satisfactory T"

70 BIG PETER

"No," said Lorrimer at once. "You are ask-
ing me to commit a crime for which I may get
into serious trouble. I want a much bigger re-
ward than that."

"The devil you do!" said his master, bending
a terrific frown on him.

For once Lorrimer took the initiative. He
said without waiting for more, "I shall be run-
ning a great risk. What I've got to do wont be
easy, but I am prepared to do it on my own
terms."

""Well, I don't say that it's going to be so
easy. I can't pay you any money now. I can't
get hold of it; and I don't suppose you want
money now ; you 're content to wait. But I don 't
mind adding a bit to what I'm going to leave
you, and I'll show yon the codicil to my will if
you like. How much money do you want T ' '

"I don't want money at all."

"Don't want money. Then what do you
want!"

Lorrimer drew a little breath and then made
the astounding statement, "I want your permis-
sion to pay my addresses to Lady Margaret. "

If a tendency to apoplexy had been one of the
ailments to which Lord Cambray's excesses had
brought him, it would probably have carried him
off then and there. His face became crimson,
his eyes started out from his head, and he half

MASTER AND MAN 71

rose from his chair as if be would have made a
furious assault on the man who stood quietly
before him, bis eyes fixed on bis face and his
breath coming a little short, bnt otherwise un-
moved.

1 ' You scoundrel I " he cried at him. ' ' Tou im-
pudent rascal I How dare you talk to me like
that!"

' ' If you will listen to me quietly, I will tell you
exactly," replied Lorrimer; and be went on
speaking, heeding no interruptions until he had
finished.

"I am a gentleman by birth, though now I'm
practically your servant. I have been with you
for nearly five-and-twenty years. I have served
yon in everything and taken plenty of risks on
myself in doing so. For years past I have lived
the life of a Blave, doing everything for you and
scarcely enjoying an hour to myself all that
time, except when yon were asleep. You owe
me for all that what can never be repaid by
money. And that's not all. I know secrets of
yours that would send you to spend your last
years in a prison instead of in Cambray Castle,
if I were to let them out. I have got you com-
pletely in my power. I have never said a word
to Lady Margaret that I ought not to have done ;
I have been a great deal more careful of her
than you, her father, have. Yon would have

72 BIG PETER

sold her willingly to the highest bidder, if any
man in your own station had cared to come in
search of a wife to such a place as this. It can't
make any difference to yon what happens after
yon 're dead. I shan't want the marriage recog-
nized as long as you're alive, and I'll be to you
exactly what I have been as long as you live.
That's my offer."

"Get out of the room!" his master shouted
at him. "Send that footman Henry to me, and
don't dare to show your face here again. You'll
be paid what's owing to you to-morrow, and if
you're not gone by the evening, I'll send for the
police to turn you out."

Lorrimer did not stir. "You don't suppose,"
he said, with a sneer, that made his face very
much like that of his master, "that I can be got
rid of as easily as that. You're only wasting
time. If you were to dismiss me, I should im-
mediately go and do what I told you. That is,
let out some of yonr secrets. And if I went out
of this room, I should take with me that bundle
of letters. I shouldn't care about a struggle
with a helpless man like you, but you can't have
much doubt that if I wanted them I could have
them. Then where would you be I Instead of
spending the rest of your time here at Cambray
Castle, looked after in the way I have always
looked after you, and shouldn't alter. You

MASTER AND MAN 73

would be nobody at all, and wouldn't have an
hour worth living for the rest of your days."

The old man looked at him as if fascinated.
His face was horrible to see, but behind all its
fury and passion there was a baffled conquered
look which showed that he realized the truth of
what had been said. He had put himself into
the power of this man ; he was dependent on him
for practically everything that still remained to
him in life for enjoyment. Whatever the price
asked he would have to pay it.

But that he would consent to pay it at once,
Lorrimer was far too astute to imagine. It
must be brought home to him that he was help-
less, that his mastery had been taken away from
him and claimed by one who had the power to
enforce his claim. Until those facts sank in
there was nothing further to be done.

"I don't want an answer now," said Lorri-
mer. ' ' I have stated my terms, and I will leave
you to think over them. In the meantime, if yon
are ready for bed, I will take you there."

It was not until a week later that Lord Cam-
bray, with rage in his heart and a fixed and
fnrioua determination to punish this man for
his insolence by some means or other, ostensibly
capitulated.

Lady Margaret had returned to the castle.
He cared nothing for her, and was always far

74 BIG PETEE

more at his ease when she was absent. But she
was his daughter, of the proud and ancient blood
of the Chandoses, and it seemed to him an un-
speakable insult that this man should have dared
to raise his eyes to her. He was visibly the
worse in health since Lorrimer had first put
forward his proposal. He would lie shaking
with anger when he was left alone for the night,
and he had become frightened at the effect his
agitation was having on him. He was in Lorri-
mer 's grip and he knew it; and Lorrimer would
wait no longer. If he did not consent to his
terms at the end of a week, he had said that he
would act. Lord Cambray knew at last that he
could not face his action.

He waited until the last moment, until Lorri-
mer was about to leave him for the night.

Lorrimer stood respectfully by the door and
looked towards the great canopied bed where
the fierce lowering old face lay among the piled-
up pillows. "The time has run out," he said.
"If you have nothing to say to me now, you
will not see me again."

If there had been any power in the frightful
curse which his master threw at him with all
the passion of which he was capable, he would
have had small gain out of his presumption.
But he stood there quite unmoved, and waited
for the capitulation which he knew was to come.

MASTER AND MAN 75

' ' Have it your own way, ' ' growled the old man
in the big bed, with another violent oath, "and
get ready to go and get that cursed paper to-
morrow."

Lorrimer took a step towards hint . He showed
no triumph, but only a cold capability in bar-
gaining. Lord Cambray, he said, must prepare
the way for him with his daughter himself, and
until a secret marriage was arranged he would
not move.

But in this he was worsted. "You're such a
scoundrel," was the gist of the argument, "that
you are quite capable of throwing me overboard
when you have got all you want out of me."

It was a case of two scoundrels, neither of
whom trusted the other, fighting for the mas-
tery, and in the end the older, and perhaps the
greater, scoundrel won. When Lorrimer at last
left the room, the compact was that be should
pay his own addresses to Lord Cambray 's
daughter. In a week's time, whether he had
been successful or not, he was to go and steal
the register. When he came back with it Lord
Cambray was to bring pressure to bear on his
daughter, if she had not already capitulated;
and not until Lorrimer bad had his way was the
register to be put into bis hands.

The old man lay awake until long after day-
light had begun to filter in through the thick

76 BIG PETER

curtains of his room. The thoughts which set
bim quivering and shaking with helpless rage
were a punishment almost great enough for the
sins of his life. He had sacrificed everything
almost to his base passions, and now the last
thing that he had left, the youth and happiness
of his daughter, who had flowered like a rose out
of the foul soil in which she had been nurtured,
was to be given in payment for them. It was
he, her father, who was to soil her purity, and
to fix disgrace upon her which would last long
after he was laid in a dishonoured grave.

He may have thought of that as he lay through
long hours, thinking over everything, but if it
had had any weight with him, he would have
made up his mind, even at this late hour, to
break the wicked compact and take his punish-
ment on his own shoulders. Then, for once in
his life he might have fallen asleep peacefully,
with a conscience cleared of its foulest blots.
As it was, the last muttered words that broke
the silence of the great room were, ' ' I will make
you pay for it." And then with another fierce
oath, "I will make you pay for it."

The disturbance of mind which Lord Oambray
had gone through, and his sleepless nights, had
their revenge on his enfeebled body. The next

MASTER AND MAN 77

morning he was ill, and it was more than a week
before he could rise from his bed.

During all this time Lorrimer nursed him
with the oeaseleBs vigilance that he had always
used, and that made him, whatever his charac-
ter in other respects, the most priceless of serv-
ants. He was always at hand when wanted,
never seemed to require any sleep for himself,
or at any rate no sleep that he could not be
wakened ont of at the slightest whisper from
the fevered nneasy being in the great bed, at the
foot of which he rested.

Daring all these days and nights, no word
passed between master and man as to the evil
compact there was between them. And yet Lord
Cambray knew, as surely as if he had been able
to rise from his bed and follow Lorrimer wher-
ever he went, that during the times he was ab-
sent from him he was doing that which it still
shook bim with anger to think of. Perhaps it
was something in the man's face, perhaps it was
what he knew of his persistent ruthless nature.
He would have given anything to have known
what was happening on the other side of his
chamber doors. But no whisper from the great
house reached him. No one entered his room
but the doctor and Lorrimer, and once or twice
in the day a frightened looking maid, who did

78 BIG PETER

her duties as expeditiously as she could, and
vent out again with a sigh of relief at getting
away from the range of those fierce eyes.

On the first day of his illness a message was
brought to him, but not by Lorrimer, from his
daughter, asking that she might come and see
him.

He refused. The next day she asked again.
And again he refused. After that there were
no more messages. What his daughter was do-
ing he knew no more than if she had been a
hundred miles away instead of under the same
roof.

The day before he was well enough to get up,
he marked a subtle change in Lorrimer 'a face.
If he had not known the man so well and watched
him so eagerly, he would not have marked it at
all; and he could not interpret it. But it cer-
tainly did not betoken satisfaction, and he had
a fierce moment of joy in the conjecture that
the servant presuming to climb had been foiled
in his endeavour.

But his satisfaction was short-lived. If Lor-
rimer could not get his way by himself, then it
was part of their compact that he should see
that he got it. And there was no getting out
of that compact, if he wanted to evade the dan-
ger that was hanging over him.

After all how was it likely that Lorrimer

MASTER AND MAN 79

could have succeeded? His daughter was noth-
ing to Lord Cambray. If anything, her pres-
ence in his house had been a hindrance to the
licence with which otherwise he wonld have sur-
rounded himself. She had been in his way. He
bad no feeling of tenderness for her at all. Bat
she was of his blood, and if Lorrimer had come
and told him that she had given way, his indif-
ference to her would have turned into hatred
and contempt, because she had lowered her
pride.

The explanation of the change in Lorrimer
came when for the first time he led his master
to his chair on the sunny garden terrace.

"I am sorry to have to tell you," he said,
when he had settled him there with a rug over
his knees, "that Lady Margaret has left the
Castle with her maid. It was not within my
power to stop them and — "

"Of course it wasn't in your power," said
the old lord angrily. "Why didn't yon tell
met"

"I didn't want to touch on those matters un-
til you were better. Lady Margaret has gone
to Grosvenor Square."

The Countess of Marlow, who had a house in
Grosvenor Square, was the sister of Lady Mar-
garet's mother. She had long since ceased vis-
iting at Cambray Castle, and would have had

80 BIG PETEE

her niece to live with her permanently if Lord
Cambray would have allowed it. But he hated
her because she had dared to stand tip against
him and to rebuke him for his vices, and out of
spite to her he would not allow his daughter to
do more than visit her occasionally.

"Oh I she's gone to Grosvenor Square, has
shet" growled the old man. "Well then, she'd
better stay there for the present."

Lorrimer now dropped something of his re-
spectful tone. "I beg your pardon," he said;
"that is not keeping to our agreement. I have
not been able to get Lady Margaret to listen
tome."

"Did you ever suppose you would T" sneered
Lord Cambray, with a ferocious scowl.

* ' Not unless I told her, ' ' said Lorrimer coolly,
"that there were reasons why she should. I did
tell her that, and she knows that unless she
gives way something or other is going to happen
that will cover her name and yours with dis-
grace."

"Curse your impudent facel" shrieked the
old man at him. "What did you tell her that
fort"

"For the reason I have given you," said Lor-
rimer, unmoved by the outbreak. "I couldn't
expect her to listen to me without giving her a
hint of what might happen if she didn't. Now,

MASTER AND MAN 81

according to our agreement, it is for you to send
for her and exercise your authority."

Lord Cambray choked down his fury. "That
is not the next step in our agreement," he said.
"I was to exercise my authority when you
brought me that paper. Go and get it. Set off
to-day. I have been lying here doing nothing
for ten days, and that blackguardly little cad
who came here may have set to work already.
I haven't heard a word from him. We've put
it off too long already."

"I'll keep my part of the bargain," said Lor-
rimer, "I'll go off this evening. But yon must
keep yours. Yon must write to Lady Margaret
to come back here, and when I return with the
paper, you must be ready to do what you prom-
ised. If you will write the letter when you go
indoors, I will see that it is posted before I go. "

There was no getting away from it. Lord
Cambray wrote two letters, one to his daughter,
ordering her to return home at once, and one to
his sister-in-law, telling her that if she did not
send Margaret home at once he would come up
to Loudon himself and fetch her, ill as he was.

Lorrimer took off the two letters in triumph,
and that afternoon went up to London, on his
way to Norfolk.

Two days later Lord Cambray received a let-
ter from Lady Marlow which ignored the rude-

82 BIO PETEE

neas of his own, told him that Margaret had not
oome to her, nor written to her, and begged him
to let her know where she was, if he had since
learnt.

He could do nothing but wait in impotent an-
ger until Lorrimer should return.

CHAPTER VI

BIG PETER took Mr. Fearon's advice, sent
on a bag of clothes from one town to an-
other, and with a light knapsack on his
back and an ordnance map in his pocket, started
to explore one by one every village in that great
county of Norfolk. At the end of a fortnight
he sat down on a bench outside the inn in which
he was about to spend the night and stared at
the map in front of him, appalled by the magni-
tude of his task. He had visited some dozens
of chnrches and marked each of them off as he
had done them; and only one little patch on
his map was so marked.

"When he had been walking and searching for
a month, keeping mostly to the waterside vil-
lages, partly because he liked them best, partly
because it had occurred to him that a young
man, such as his great-grandfather had been,
holiday-making in the summer, would be more
likely to go where there was fishing and sailing
to be had, he came one afternoon to the little
village of Hollow Weir.

84 BIG PETER

It was an enchanting spot, far away from
the beaten track, and many miles from a rail-
way station. The old inn to which he made his
way was one of the best he had come across.
It was a long, low honse, with latticed windows,
irregular tiled roof and deep eaves, under
which the house martins were building. In-
side, it was full of old oak beams and cavernous
chimney corners, rambling passages and little
bits of ballustraded staircase. Its furniture
could hardly have been changed for a hundred
years, and as Peter looked round the bedroom
to which he had been shown to wash off the dust
of the roads, he thought to himself that if this
should turn out to be the place to which young
Mervyn Chandos had found his way, he must
be looking on the very same four-post bedstead
and the very same sporting prints on the pan-
elled walls that his great-grandfather's eyes
had rested upon during that momentous visit
a century before.

But he had had too many disappointments to
make him very hopeful, and was thinking more
that this would be a pleasant place in which to
spend a day or two, as he went down the uneven
stairs, than of the ultimate object with which
he had come.

The sun was shining above the tall trees
among which this quiet old inn nestled. The

PETER'S LUCK 85

waters of the weir, which was immediately in
front of it, were splashing with, a musical sound.
The rooks were homing across the evening sky
to their nests in the treetops, and he was look-
ing forward to the meal which instinct told him
such an inn as this would provide for him after
his long day's tramp. For the present he had
all he wanted, and life in this beautiful country
and in the glorious weather was very sweet.

He had not been wrong about the meal. Such
eggs, such butter, such thick cream and such
home-cured bacon had never yet been set be-
fore him, and he did full justice to them, sit-
ting in a cosy parlour with the windows open
to the setting sun, and the pleasant country
sounds outside greeting his ears.

When he had finished he strolled over to the
weir with his pipe in his mouth, and the land*
lord came out and joined him and bade him
welcome in the way of good old-fashioned inn-
keepers.

He was an old man, and only half an inn-
keeper, farming a good acreage of land and
keeping on the bouse more because his father
and grandfather had had it before him than for
the profit he made out of it. So he told Peter,
and promised him, if he would stay a few days,
as good fishing as he would get anywhere in
Norfolk. And Peter made up his mind that

86 BIG- PETER

he would send for his bag and stop for a day
or two. He would take a little holiday. He
had the whole summer before him, and if he
found the evidence that wonld give him an earl-
dom and an estate to-morrow, he could gain no
more satisfaction out of life than he felt now.

If only he could have found the girl in the
picture 1 That was all he wanted to make his
happiness complete. He thought about her sen-
timentally as he strolled through the grasses
by the riverside. This beautiful peaceful place
seemed to speak of her, somehow. If only he
could come across her in this sweet time of the
year and among all this quiet beauty, buried
deep in the heart of the green country 1 But,
alas! such things never happened. Happiness
was never perfect in this imperfect world.

The landlord had told him that a mile away
from the inn the river opened out into a Broad,
which he ought to see, as it was one of the pret-
tiest in all that country of Broads, with trees
growing down to the water's edge and a fine
church standing quite by itself in a curve of a
little bay, to which most people went by water.

It was only about six o'clock. There were
hours of daylight yet, and Peter thought he
might as well spend them on the water.

It took him some time to complete the busi-
ness of hiring a boat, and quelling the desire of

PETER'S LUCK 87

its owner to come with him. The wind was
freshening considerably, but he laughed at the
fears expressed of his inability to handle her.

"Have yon ever heard of Sydney Harbourt"
he asked. "That's where I learnt to sail a
boat, and if yon get upset there, there are
sharks about, so you learn not to get upset
more than is necessary."

The owner of the boat had never heard of
Sydney Harbour, but Big Peter's confidence im-
pressed him, and when he had watched him
taking a tack or two down the river, very clev-
erly for one who was used to rather more room
for his operations, he left the river bank quite
at ease with regard to his cherished dinghy and
its occupant.

When Peter reached the Broad there was one
other sail on it besides his own. It showed
white against the blue ripples of the water a
mile or more away at the other end of the
Broad. It was coming down towards him with
a free breeze, and he could not at first see who
was sailing it.

But after he had made a tack or two he saw
that the sheets and tiller were held by some one
in a white cap and jersey; — then that some one
was a girl; and then — !

When his heart gave its first incredulous
bound he was crossing the bows of the boat, and

88 BIG PETEB

faer face was bidden for a moment by tbe Bail.
He crossed to windward, and the other boat
came leaping towards him. Then he saw her
plainly.

The day of miracles was not over after alL
Big Peter was looking straight into the eyes of
the girl of the picture.

CHAPTER VII

THE GIRL OF THE PIOTUHE

X TES, it was the girl of the picture herself.

jf Her cheeks were full of colour from the

fresh wind, and her great dark eyes

looked straight at Peter, just as they had looked

oat from the picture, and pierced right down

to the very centre of his heart.

He kept his eyes on her face, until her boat
rushed through the water across his stern. He
had only time then to gaze and to wonder. But
he made such use of the time that she withdrew
her eyes from his with a slight change of ex-
pression, and then he realized that however fa-
miliar her face was to him, his was not at all
familiar to her, and he must have appeared to
her just a stranger staring rather rudely.

He tacked down to the end of the Broad with
his eyes always upon the other boat and the
white figure in it, which put about and heat to
and fro after him, until it was his turn to fly
before the wind and pass her again. This time
the girl did not look at him, and the fearful

90 BIG PETEE

thought came to him that she had been offended
by his stare, and that it would be out of the
question to challenge her to a race, as he had
half-formed the bold intention of doing, with
the object of beginning an acquaintance.

The nest time they passed he did not dare
to manoeuvre so as to come near her, for fear
that she would divine the intention. But how
long was this going to laatf He must do some-
thing. Now that he had so astonishingly found
her, hidden away from him on purpose, as it
were, in one of the most beautiful places he
had ever seen, he was not going to leave the
Broad without getting into closer touch with
her somehow. If a fellowship in sport was an
excuse not good enough, he must find some
other way.

The excuse was found for him in a somewhat
alarming fashion. He was sailing up the
Broad, and was getting near to her, at about
the point where a boathouse stood, with some
cottages on a little rise above it. The wind
was blowing more strongly than ever, and her
boat was heeling right over, and she was lean-
ing ont of it towards him in a way which
brought his heart to bis mouth. He had seen
that she handled her boat cleverly, but it was
foolhardiness to carry on with sail so close-
hauled and with such a wind as this on her

THE GHtL OP THE PICTURE 91

beam. He watched eagerly, edging closer to
her to see her go about.

Just as she seemed ready to do so, a sharp
gust struck his own sail and made his boat leap
forward faster than ever, and the next moment
the wind had struck hers, and before she could
cry out her boat had capsized and she was strug-
gling in the water.

Fortunately Peter was no distance from her,
but it seemed an eternity before he could come
up. The hull of her boat was drifting away
from her, and she was trying to swim towards
it. But her skirts clogged her, and as Peter
raced through the water he saw that she could.
not keep up much longer. He shouted to her,
and brought his own boat alongside just in the
nick of time, let loose the sheet and leant over
and caught her in his powerful arms. She
clung to him, frightened and gasping, and then
with difficulty he dragged her inboard over the
stern, and she sat down shivering, and trying
to laugh and thank him at the same time.

By the time they had reached the bank one or
two men who had seen the capsizing of the boat
were waiting for them, and a woman came run-
ning through the trees from the cottage crying
out and wringing her hands.

"Oh, my ladyl My ladyl" she cried, as
Peter ran the boat into the bank; and the girl

92 BIG PETER

stood up suddenly and said in a voice that
hardly betokened the respect due from a niece
to an annt :

"Don't be silly, Aunt Ann. I am perfectly
all right, thanks to this gentleman. I have only
had a ducking, and there's nothing to make a
fuss about."

Peter had not caught the strange form of ad-
dress used by the other woman, who now turned
on him with manifest disapprobation, as if he
had been the cause of the accident, and said,
"Thank you, sir, I will take care of my niece
now."

He had been helping her out of the boat, with
perhaps more attention than was absolutely
necessary, although it is true that her knees
were shaking, and she had by no means yet re-
covered from her sudden immersion.

Miss Parker — he found out later that that
was the name of the two ladies — was certainly
a somewhat remarkable contrast to her niece,
who in spite of her severely simple costume,
had the air and bearing of a young princess.
She was a plain woman of middle-age, with
sparse hair, plastered sleekly down on her head,
and a black gown rather more like what would
be worn by an upper servant than by a lady
of quality.

But Peter had no eyes for Miss Parker at

THE GIBL OF THE PICTURE 93

all. She might have been without hair entirely
and dressed in sackcloth, for all the attention he
paid her, for the girl was smiling at him now,
and he was holding her hand in his as she
thanked him sweetly for saving her, and said
good-bye to him for the present. Then she
went away quickly with her aunt, and Peter was
left to think it all over.

His heart was singing loud pxans as he sat
. in his boat again, after having helped the men
to recover the capsized craft floating in the
water, and housing her snugly.

What luck [ What immense, unheard-of luck !
She had been in danger, and he had saved her.
Perhaps he had even saved her life. She was
grateful to him. She had smiled on him, a
lovely radiant smile that had made her more
beautiful than ever, and driven away all that
sadness in her face which had so touched him.
He had spoken to her and she had spoken to
him. She had said good-bye "for the present."
He hugged those three little words "for the
present," What could they mean but that she
would let him see her again, and that she would
be pleased to see him I

The slow but sunny hours of the next day
went by until the time came when Peter might
make his call at the cottage. As he clicked the
white-painted gate and walked up the garden

H BIG PETEE

path, he saw that the parlour was occupied.
Miss Parker was standing near the window, and
when she saw him turned with a pinched ex-
pression towards a part of the room which he
could not see, and said something which he
could not hear. But it was evident from her
expression that if he received a welcome it
would not be from Miss Parker.

The landlady who opened the door received
him with a friendly countenance. There was
not an old woman in the world who could have
resisted Big Peter.

' ' The ladies will be glad to see you, ' ' she said,
and opened the parlour door with the announce-
ment, "Here's the gentleman come."

"Please come in," said Miss Parker, coming
to the door almost with the manner of a serv-
ant, and not offering to shake hands with him.

But he had no eyes for her. The girl of the
picture was lying on the sofa under a rug. She
looked pale, but she smiled at him in a friendly
way and put out a slender hand, which he took
gently into his big one.

"It is so good of you to come and see me —
to see us," she corrected herself. "We both
want to thank you for saving me from a watery
grave. We have come to the conclusion,
haven't we, Auntiet — that I should most cer-

THE GIRL OF THE PICTURE 95

tainly have been drowned if 70a hadn't come
up just at the right time."

She turned towards the older woman, as if
she were anxious to bring her into the conversa-
tion, and almost as if she were giving her in-
structions as to what to say.

Miss Parker set a chair for Peter by the
conch, and said rather primly, but not disagree-
ably, "I think we ought to be very thankful
that you happened to be there. I didn't think
enough last night how providential it was, and
how much we both owe you."

But Big Peter could never bear to be thanked
for anything. "Yes, it was a great piece of
luck," he said, in his big voice, which seemed
so much too large for the little room, and mean-
ing a good deal more than his words indicated.
"But to tell you the troth, I had an idea you
might be carrying too much sail. The wind was
blowing pretty strong. Ton have to be care-
ful, even on little bits of water like that."

"And I am afraid I wasn't very careful,"
she said with a smile. "Do you know what I
was really doing? I was racing you, although
you didn't know it. You had got ahead of me
by nearly half a tack. I thought I could sail a
boat with anybody, but you beat me handsomely
yesterday."

96 BIG PETER

Peter, enchanted by this confidence, declared
that his boat was bigger than hers, and that if
they had changed places, she would have been
just as far ahead of him as he was of her. Then,
greatly daring, he ventured to propose a regu-
lar sailing match when she should be ready to
go out again.

"Oh, but I hope you won't think of sailing
by yourself again after what has happened,"
Miss Parker put in. "I shouldn't get a mo-
ment's peace if you went out in that boat now."

The girl laughed at her. "I'll promise you
not to go, Auntie," she said, "when there's
such a stiff breeze. But-yon can't be so unkind
as to want to stop me from sailing altogether. ' '

Miss Parker did not seem able to issue a
prohibition, which she would obviously have
liked to do. She took up her work and sat for
the most part Bilent, while the two young peo-
ple talked.

When a man and a girl get into conversation
for the first time, it is generally the man who
does most of the talking, but it is the girl who,
unknown to him, directs the conversation, and
she usually directs it into a channel which will
give her information about him. Very soon
Peter was telling her about his life and adven-
tures in Australia, and she was listening with

THE GIRL OF THE PICTURE 97

her eyes fixed on his face, as if he were open-
ing out to her an existence of which she had
had no conceptions, hut could not hear too much.
In everything he said he revealed himself, dar-
ing and modest at the same time; bold as a
lion in face of danger; tender as a woman
where tenderness becomes a man.

Even Miss Parker looked up at him once or
twice from her work with something like ap-
proval on her thin face. He was a gentleman
through and through. It was quite plain that
he admired her niece, more than she would have
had a strange man admire her, but his attitude
towards her was irreproachable. There was
not the faintest trace of presumption in it, and
even towards herself he was considerate, for
he turned to her once or twice and included
her in what he was saying.

Presently the girl said to her, "I think we
might have tea now, Auntie. It is rather early,
but I want to hear such a lot more about Aus-
tralia that we must offer Mr. — " Then she hesi-
tated. "We most offer our guest some refresh-
ment."

"I haven't told yon my name," Peter said
instantly. "It is Peter — " and then he paused.
In this place he did not want his name to be
known at present.

98 BIG PETEB

"Mr. Peter," she said; "and my name ia
Margaret Parker. So now we are introduced
in proper fashion."

Peter had tea with her and looked around
him sometimes, wondering whether it could
really all be true, or whether he would not pres-
ently awake out of a heavenly dream.

They were already friends. He was as com-
pletely at his ease with her as it was possible
for him to be, considering the sweetly disturbed
state of his mind. He had come to the con-
clusion that she was far more beautiful than
her picture. Since they had been together that
pensive look had not once appeared on her face.
Her voice was very sweet, and as she spoke
she revealed to him a mind and a nature which
seemed to be fittingly allied with her beauty.
The picture bad lacked life, and yet he had
fallen in love with it. Now he knew her, he
was more in love with her than ever, for there
was twice as ranch to fall in love with, — her
face and her mind, too.

He did not leave her until an hour after old
Mrs. Geering cleared away the tea-things ; and
then he tore himself away with difficulty.

By this time Miss Parker had more or less
capitulated to him. She had watched her niece
constantly, and seemed to be gratified at the in-

THE GIRL OP THE PICTUBE 99

terest he bad aroused in her. When he took
his leave she said, in a more naturally cordial
tone than she had yet used to him, "Yon have
cheered us both up wonderfully." But she did
not invite him to come again.

But Margaret did.

"I want to hear a lot more ahout the Bush
and about the gold-fields/' she said as she shook
hands with him, half-raising herself from her
couch. "It is stupid of me to be lying down
like this, but I did get rather a shock yesterday,
and I still feel shaky if I try to walk. Come
and see ns to-morrow morning, if you have noth-
ing else to do."

So Peter walked back to his inn in such a
state of elation as he had never felt in his life
before. So far his luck had stood by him sur-
prisingly, and it rested with him now to use it.

He went to the cottage the next morning, not
too early, and found Miss Parker and her niece
sitting out under the trees of a tiny orchard
next to the garden, from which they could get
a view of the silver waters of the Broad.

Margaret was much better, she told him, and
quite hoped to be able to sail a match with him
the next day or the day after.

Again they talked together as if they had
known each other all their lives, while Miss

\%vyv

100 BIG PETER

Parker sat stitching, stitching at her needle-
work, and left them almost entirely to them-
selves.

Peter had formed a resolution during the
hours since he had last seen her. He wanted
to tell her something, but he did not want to
tell her while her annt was there.

Presently, however, Miss Parker, whose mind
now seemed to be set completely at rest about
him, rose and went into the house, saying that
she was going to fetch a glass of milk for her
niece, and Peter, welcoming the opportunity,
but not without some inward perturbation, said
at once, "I have got something to tell you, Miss'
— Miss Margaret. I am afraid that when I
first saw yon when you passed me in your boat,
I stared at you rather harder than I ought to
have done.*'

""Well," she said with a smile, "you certainly
did stare rather hard. I thought it was prob-
ably becanse I had been hidden by the sail,
and you had expected to see a man, and were
rather surprised to see a girl instead."

"No, that wasn't the reason," said Peter.
"The reason was that I had been looking every-
where for you and could hardly believe my eyes
when I saw it was really you."

She stared at him with a face from which
every vestige of colour gradually receded, until

THE GIRL OF THE PICTURE 101

it seemed to leave nothing but a pair of fright-
ened eyes.

Peter was terrified. "Oh! you're ill," he
cried, springing up. "What have I saidf
Shall I call Miss Parker!"

She seemed to make an effort to control her
emotion. "I felt a little faint," she said, "but
I am all right now. Tell me what you mean."

A little colour had come back into her cheeks.
She now looked at him steadily, as if she were
nerving herself for anything he might say, and
when he again asked if he should call her aunt,
said rather impatiently, "No, no, she will be
out in a minute. Tell me what you mean by
saying you were looking for me, before she
comes."

Peter, somewhat disturbed at this reception
of his statement, said, "If I had known your
name I might have found you before. It
wouldn't have been for want of looking. Miss
Margaret, do you know that at Buckingham
Palace, out in Kampurli, your portrait was
hanging up on the wall? It was the only picture
in the place, perhaps the only picture on the
whole field."

Her colour had come back to her now, and
she laughed, nervously, but still as if what he
had said had relieved her of some fear or other.
"What a curious coincidence!" she said. "I

102 BIG PETEE

suppose it is of some girl very much like me."

"No. It was yon, yourself. It was cut out
of some illustrated paper. You were sitting in
a high-backed oak chair, playing with a little
chain."

"Oh!" she said, with a change of tone, "you
mean it really was my portrait. But wasn't
my name underneath it!"

"I wish it had been," he replied. "It had
been cut off before I got it."

Again she laughed, this time more naturally.
"How very odd!" she said, "and you really
recognized me when yon saw me in the boat!"

"Yes," said Peter, "I wasn't likely not to."

He said it leaning forward a little, looking
straight at her. She was sitting in her low
wicker chair, looking out across the water, and
she did not turn to him to receive this state-
ment; but it almost seemed as if she felt his
eyes fixed on her face, for the delicate rose on
her cheeks grew deeper.

Peter was about to say more, but just at that
moment Miss Parker came out from the garden
carrying a little tray, and her niece said to
her, "Auntie, you are spoiling me. I don't
want all this feeding up. I am not an invalid ; ' '
and she went on talking as if sbe did not wish
him to pursue the subject.

So he kept silence about it, with a feeling

THE GIKL OF THE PICTURE 103

towards Miss Parker less friendly than hith-
erto.

But it seemed that the girl wanted to hear
more on the subject, for presently she said,
"Auntie, the whole of me is feeling terribly
lazy except my hands. Would yon mind fetch-
ing me that needlework that I haven't touched
yet, and I'll go on with it as we talk?"

Miss Parker rose at once, as if she were used
to running her niece's errands. "I am not sure
whether I unpacked it," she said, "but I will
go and find it."

Directly she was ont of earshot the girl said
to Peter, "What paper did that picture come
out of, and what was it doing in Buckingham
Palace!"

She mentioned the name of his late residence
with a little smile, and he took her question as
a challenge to declare himself further, and felt
a great disturbance of heart as she asked it.

"I don't know what paper it was in," he said.
"If I hadn't had the wonderful luck of finding
you here, directly I got back to London I should
have bought all the papers from a year back
and gone through them until I found it, and
found out who you were."

"Well, you needn't do that now," she said
rather hurriedly, "because you know who I

104 BIG PETEB

"Thank heaven, I do!" said Peter fervently.
"You can't think how much I wanted to know.
"Why, I have carried that picture about with me
wherever I have been. I have got it with me
in the inn now. The first thing I did when I
made that money I told you of at Kampurli,
and got down to a oity, was to buy the hand-
somest frame I could find for it. It was only
silver, and I couldn't get one large enough to
put the picture in without cutting it a trifle
more. If I hadn't been a fool I should have
taken down a bar of gold out of the Buckingham
Mine and had a frame made up out of that, for
that's what I felt like about your picture."

This was straight speaking indeed, and the
girl did not affect to misunderstand it, although
the colour dyed her face again as she listened
to him. She looked at him with her beautiful
eyes a little narrowed.

"I have never had a compliment paid me like
that before," she said. "Thank you very
much, Mr. Peter."

Again Miss Parker interrupted them, having
found her niece 's needlework much more quickly
than Peter had hoped for; and this time she
remained with them until he could no longer
put off his departure.

As he went away he made a desperate bid for
another near invitation. "I should like to show

THE GIRL OF THE PICTURE 105

you that book of Gordon's poems that I told yon
about," he said. "I am sure you will like
them. I shall be sailing on the Broad this
afternoon; may I bring them in to you!"

"Thank you, Mr. Peter," she said, as she
gave him her hand. "Come to tea this after*
noon and read them to us. I am sure I shall
understand them much better than if I were to
read them to myself."

So he had taken the first step. He had de-
clared his admiration for her, and she had not
rejected it. "Well, with Gordon to help him, he
hoped he might be able to get a little farther
that afternoon. Paint heart never yet won fair
lady, and although the faintest hint of offence
on her part would throw him out terribly, there
had been none so far. He got into his boat and
sailed up to Hollow Weir again, building all
sorts of castles in the air, all of which had for
their foundation the memory of a pair of beau-
tiful kind eyes and a sweet, low voice, and the
soft pressure of a little hand.

He spent nearly two hours with her that
afternoon. But Miss Parker did not leave them
alone together this time, and nothing could be
said, even if she had wanted it said, which was
perhaps a little doubtful, that would make
olearer the feelings with which he regarded her.

But their intimacy had certainly advanced,

106 BIG PETEE

and when he left her it seemed only natural
that they should arrange to meet again on the
morrow, when she promised, if she was well
enough, to sail again.

"When Peter got back to the inn and sat down
to his tea, the landlord came in to have a word
or two with him.

"You're not the only gentleman going about
on a walking tour in these parts," he said.
"There was another one here this afternoon,
and he seems to be interested like in the old
churches, the same as you are. He thought
there must be one here, and seemed surprised
when I told him that we were in Thaxted parish
and our church was a couple of miles away down
the Broad. He said he shouldn't have time to
see it, as he was going off in another direction.
But I told him it was worth seeing. You ought
to see it, too, you know. There's an old screen
in it with painted panels well worth seeing."

The landlord seemed almost excited at having
had another visitor. With such hospitality as
his comfortable old house and excellent fare
could afford, it was rather surprising that he so
seldom had demands made upon. it. He told
Peter that he liked to see a little life sometimes
and added proudly that when people did come
that way they generally stayed a day or two
if they had the leisure, and sometimes came

THE GIBL OF THE PICTUBE 107

again. "I have had artists more than once,"
he said, "and fishermen, but my little piece of
water is too small to bring many of them. I
wish there was more gentlemen like yon who
had the sense to walk through the country and
take their time about it. This other gentle-
man seemed in too much of a hurry; didn't look
like a walker, neither. A tall, thin man he
was, with a faoe I wouldn't trust too far. I
call him a gentleman, but he wasn't quite like
one, although he spoke soft and was dressed, —
well, rather too well for a walking holiday, I
should say."

Peter did not pay much attention to him as
he went rambling on. But something or other
that he said caused him to ask how long the inn
had been in the occupation of his family.

"Ah, yon may well ask that," said the land-
lord, "You're asking more than I can tell you.
There was a fire here once and it burnt all the
old books and papers. But IVe heard my
grandfather tell of it, and you may believe that
it's a tidy time ago since he died. I remember
he always used to speak as if we had had the
place long before that. Anyhow, everything
most that you see round you was put in here
new and has been here ever since. IVe been
offered a good deal of money for some of the
things, but I wouldn't part with them. They

108 BIG PETEE

have always been here and belonged to us, and
they'll stop here as long as I do."

"How far do your records go back!" Peter
asked him. "Would they give the names of
anybody who might have stayed here, say a
hundred years ago! "

"No. The fire must have been a bit since
then," said the landlord, "and we've kept a
visitors' book. I was thinking more of ac-
counts and things that had to do with the bit of
land that's always gone with this place."

"It can't have altered much in a hundred
years," said Peter.

"No, I doubt if it has. I should think if you
could look into this room a hundred years ago,
you might have seen my old grandfather stand-
ing talking to a gentleman staying here, just
the same as I am talking to yon. They'd be
dressed different, of course, but there wouldn't
be much changed in the room."

Then still in the same easy, droning voice
be said a thing that caused Peter to stop eat-
ing and to stare at him with open month, asking
himself if he could possibly believe his ears.

"Now I come to mention it, I remember my
grandfather talking of a young gentleman, just
the same as it might be you, who came here
for a day or two and stopped on for most of
the summer. I dare say they often used to

THE GIRL OF THE PICTURE 109

talk together in this very room. There's a
story about that, too, bat it had almost gone out
of my head, for it's many years ago since I
thonght of it. I'll sit down, if you'll excuse
me, while I tell it you."

"I should like to hear that story," said
Peter. "What waB the name of the young
man?"

""What was his name? Ahl there you've got
me. I know his name — and yet I don't know
it, if you understand. It 11 come back to me
when I'm not thinking of it. Well, whatever
his name was, he used to go fishing and sailing
on the Broad, just the same as you do. Well
now, there's another thing that he done like
you. He went courting at the very same house
as you've been at."

This fresh instance of similarity rather dis-
concerted Peter. "What, at the cottage on the
Broadt" he said, dropping his eyes for a mo-
ment. "But I have not exactly gone courting
there, you know."

The old man chuckled. "No more did he at
the first, ' ' he said. ' ' There was a pretty young
woman who lived at that house. Her name's
gone from me, too. Whatever was it? It was
a name I ought to know, for it belonged to folks
about here — was it Barrett, or Parr, or what
was it? I don't remember, but it will come

110 BIG PETER

back to me. Anyhow, this young gentleman,
who seemed to be pretty high op in the world,
stayed here most of one summer a-courting of
this young woman, who wasn't high up in the
world herself, you'll understand ; and there was
a bit of a talk about it. Then one fine day,
when my grandfather was thinking of anything
but Ms going away, he told him he was off the
next morning, and off he was. But when folks
began to look about a bit, they found that the
young woman had gone off, too."

"Yes," said Peter breathlessly, "but he had
married her, hadn't heT"

The landlord's face fell. ""Why, what ever
made you think of that?" he asked. "I was
just a-coming to it. Yes. He'd married her
all right. He had got the parson to do it one
morning, in the church, too, when nobody was
thinking anything of the sort. I suppose you
could do those sort of things in them days, and
it's true that the church stands where anything
might happen without folks knowing about it."

"And what was the end of the story!" asked
Peter.

"Well, there wasn't any end of it, except
what I told you. I don't know as they was
ever heard of again. But I remember my
grandfather laughing over it and saying that it
was the only time he had heard of folks being

CHAPTER VTTT

THE CHUBOH BY THE BBOAD

PETER went to bed, but be could not sleep.
The events of the day had been too ex-
citing.
For a time even the thoughts of the girl who
was sleeping not so far away from him were put
out of his mind by the discoveries he had made.
He had come to the end of his search; there
could be very little doubt of it. The young man
whose story the landlord had told him must
have been his great-grandfather and no other.
It was impossible to think otherwise. It was
in Thaxted Church, the Church on the Broad,
that he had been married. The next day he
would ask permission to examine the registers,
and get a certified copy of the entry he would
surely find. His heart leapt with joy as he
thought now of what he could offer to the girl
whom he so ardently desired to make his own.
He rose and went to the window and leaned
out to drink in some of the deep peace which
lay all about him.

THE CHURCH BY THE BROAD 113

It was past midnight. The earth was lying
in a deep sleep. The only sound to be heard
was the rash of the weir, which seemed to fill
the whole purple vault of night with music.
The sky was powdered with stars. There was
no moon, but the dark masses of foliage and the
misty white meadows could be plainly seen. A
bed of night-scented stock in the little garden
at the side of the inn sent up to him wafts of
sweet perfume. It was snch a night as seemed
to be made for lovers, snch a night as that on
which sweet Jnliet leaning out of her window
had whispered her love to the stars, and young
Borneo had breathed out his passion for her.

Peter stood for a long time at his window,
and his thoughts were filled with the sweetness
of his own love, which was so strong that it
seemed to overflow his whole being, and to be
part of all the warm-scented splendour of the
night.

He turned from the window and put on his
clothes. Then he stole downstairs and opened
the door, which was not even locked, so little
fear was there of any harm coming to this quiet,
sheltered spot, and went out under the stars.

He walked down the path by the river, and
presently quickened his footsteps. Almost
without knowing it he had formed an intention.
He would go and stand beneath the window of

114 BIG PETER

his love, and ease the sweet pain in his breast
by his nearness to her.

He made his way through the wood, and came
oat, treading softly through the wet grass, in
front of the cottage. The window of the room
in which he knew she slept was open. The
thought thrilled him that if she were lying
awake and he whispered her name, she would
hear him. But it was a thought that brought
him a certain amount of uneasiness, too. These
secret adventures of the ardent lover must be
kept even from the beloved one. It would have
covered him with confusion if she had sud-
denly appeared at the window and caught him
standing there gazing up at it.

He withdrew on tip-toe under the shade of a
great tree, and stood there for a long time,
feeding his mind on sweet thoughts, and stirred
by deep emotion when he thought that to-mor-
row he would see her.

A long time passed, and then at last, with
one more look at the open window, Peter moved
softly away.

But he was not yet ready for bed. It seemed
to him that he was more wakeful than he had
ever been in his life. His mind was in a fer-
ment, and the beauty of the summer night
seemed to make his thoughts still more tender
and to sink into his spirit in a way he would

THE CHURCH BY THE BROAD 115

never forget as long as he lived. He wandered
on through the wood, hardly realizing that he
was going in an opposite direction to Hollow
Weir, bnt taking that path probably becanse
the idea of going prosaically home to bed was
distasteful to him.

By and by he came ont on to the edge of the
Broad, and stood awhile looking over the still
water, in which the innumerable stars were mir-
rored almost as brightly as if they were shining
there instead of up in the sky.

There was just the faintest hint of coming
dawn in the east. It was hardly more than a
gradation of light from deep, velvety pnrple
to a fainter touch of grey. But it showed np
the dark mass of trees at the end of the Broad,
and the square tower of the charch above them.

Peter had wandered a long way from his inn,
and had just turned to retrace his steps through
the wood, when he turned round again sharply
and stood looking in the direction of the lonely
church. He had thought he saw a point of light
there; bat after standing for some time, came
to the conclusion that he must have been mis-
taken. Perhaps as he had turned away the re-
flection of some star brighter than the rest in
the water just below the church had caught
his eye. Again he turned away, and again he
caught the glimmer of light and stood still.

116 BIG PETEB

This time there was no doubt about it. The
light was not on the water; it was just where
the dark bulk of the church itself wonld have
been if it had been distinguishable from the
trees by which it was surrounded. It was mov-
ing, too. Some one was there, carrying a light,
and perhaps trying to find a way into the church
itself; though what he could be doing in the
very dead hours of the night in a place removed
by a mile or more from any other building, it
was difficult to imagine.

But Peter, as he had stood looking over the
water towards the church, had found time to
remove his mind for an instant from the sub-
ject that filled it, and to reflect that hidden some-
where in the dark recesses of that old building,
was the key to a problem of the most momen-
tous importance to him, and that before very
long it would be in his possession. He was not,
therefore, disinterested in what happened in
and about this old church, and thought he might
as well investigate the mysterious occurrence.

The church was at least half a mile from
where he was standing, and considerably far-
ther by the path round the shores of the Broad.
He set off at a smart pace, and presently broke
into a run. Supposing somebody should be
trying to break into the church, to tamper with

THE CHURCH BY THE BROAD 117

that very record which was of such importance
to him t But presently he slowed down again,
laughing at himself over his fears. The record
had lain hidden there, unknown to anybody con-
cerned, for over a hundred years. It was ab-
surd to suppose that any one should be taking
just this opportunity of tampering with it
Besides, who was there who could possibly want
to do sot

He walked on, however, at a quick pace.
Something odd was going on that he ought to
know about, because his interest in this par-
ticular church at the present moment was prob-
ably greater than that of anybody else in the
world. It was even a sort of proprietary in-
terest, and he must see that no harm came to it

As he neared the church he came upon the
road leading from the village down the river,
but kept to the grass by its side, unwilling to
run the risk of his footsteps being heard. Soon
he was able to see the south wall of the church
with its rows of tall windows ; but there was no
light in them.

He went into the churchyard under the old
lych gate, and, keeping to the grass, tip-toed
round the chancel end, to where the wall, jut-
ting out on the north side, showed either a
chapel or a vestry; and immediately he had

118 BIG PETER

tamed the corner he stopped abruptly and
caught his breath, for the latticed window im-
mediately in front of him was lighted up.

For a moment he felt a sensation of nervous-
ness, to which he was almost a complete
stranger. A dark churchyard in the dead of
night, round a lonely church far from human
habitation, was not the most soothing of spots
in which to receive a sudden shock. Peter be-
lieved in ghosts as little as any man. But there
is something in the human mind, however well
balanced, that responds to superstition, and it
was not until he had called himself to task that
he crept on round the heavy masonry.

The window which had faced him was just
too high for him to look through, without rais-
ing himself, and he would not do that for fear
of being seen by whoever was inside. But an-
other window, facing south, was lower, and as
he came round the corner he ducked his head
and then drew back to where he could see
through it without fear of being seen himself.
The glass was half opaque, and all he could see
was a candle flame. But he heard sounds which
seemed to show that whoever was inside had
left open the door by which he had entered,
and without losing time he went on round the
farther corner and came upon a heavy oak door
standing slightly ajar.

THE CHURCH BY THE BROAD 119

Again he stood a little way off and peered
through the aperture, and was rewarded by see-
ing a man kneeling on the floor, engrossed in
some task which there was neither light enough
nor space enough for him to distinguish. But
the man's back was towards him, and he crept
closer up until he stood right on the threshold
and could watch him as closely as if he had
been inside.

He was kneeling in front of a great, old chest,
closely bound with bands of iron, which stood
up against the wall of the narrow chamber.
By his side on the floor was spread an array of
instruments, which it was not difficult to recog-
nize as those of a locksmith, especially as he
was working with one of them at an elaborate
steel lock fixed to the lid of the chest. He did
not look like a burglar. He was well-dressed,
in dark clothes ; his hat, which lay on the floor
by the tools, was a new felt one ; the soles of his
boots, of which Peter had a good view, were al-
most new. But there was no doubt that he was
busily intent on an act of sacrilege, if not of
robbery, and Peter did not wait long before
making up his mind to stop him.

Standing out of sight, he pushed gently at
the door, prepared if it should creak, to step
in boldly. But it did not creak. He opened it
wide enough to admit his body, and then crept

120 BIG PETEE

in and stood right over the man, who had just
impatiently thrown down one instrument and
picked up another.

For a moment Peter stood there, so close
to him that he could have touched him without
taking another step forward. And still he
worked on, and Peter watched him.

He rapped out an oath of disgust, and said
aloud, "I don't believe it's to be shifted with-
out dynamite!"

Peter waited, and then said quietly, "No, I
don't believe it is. I should drop it if I were
you."

There was a long drawn gasp of agonized ter-
ror. The man crouched away from him and
looked up with his eyes starting out of bis head
and a face so contorted by fear that it seemed
hardly human. Every one knows the painful
shock occasioned by a human voice immediately
beside one, when one thinks oneself quite alone.
Imagine that shock increased a hundredfold,
and it is small wonder that the man Peter had
surprised should suddenly have fallen over side-
ways and collapsed in a swoon of terror.

^'Here, I say," said Peter, "this won't do.
Sorry to have disturbed you, but if you set out
to rob a church, you ought to have a bit more
nerve than that."

The man had not lost consciousness, and re-

THE CHUECH BY THE BEOAD 121

covered himself quickly j bat Ms face was still
livid, his breath came in gasps, and he could
only stare up at Peter with the face of a fox
brought to bay.

Perhaps it would be nearer to say with the
face of a wolf. The thin lips drawn back
showed teeth like fangs; the eyes were blood-
shot; the face seemed drawn to a point like that
of a desperate animal.

"Well," said Peter, "what have you got to
say for yourself T"

The man still crouched at his feet and looked
up at him panting. But his eyes insensibly
changed, and his gasps seemed to come more
regularly, but at the same time not so naturally.
In the rough life of the Bush, Peter had not
been altogether unused to desperate characters,
and he held himself on the alert.

"Hadn't yon better get up?" he said at last.
"You may catch cold sitting on those stones."

Yes, this was what he wanted. There was
no mistaking the glint in his eyes. Still with-
out speaking, he raised himself slowly to his
feet, and the moment he stood upright made a
dash for the candle, which was standing on an
oak table behind him. But Peter's foot hap-
pened to be in the way, and he came down heav-
ily, striking his head against the corner of the
table with a sickening thud. But he was up

122 BIG PETEE

again in an instant, and now made a dash for
the door. But Feter caught him by the shoul-
der, tamed him about roughly and threw him
against the wall, where he stood glaring fero-
ciously.

"No good trying on that game," said Peter.
"I've got yon, and I'm not going to let yon go
until I know what you're up to."

Now he had found his voice, and cursed
Peter furiously, with a malevolence that was
frightful to witness.

Peter took a step towards him. "Stow that,"
be said roughly. "Remember where you are.
What are you up tot What do yon want to
find in that chest!"

Again that blank stare of terror, real or simu-
lated, which did not disguise the springing up
of an idea behind it.

"I have done no harm to the chest," he said.
"You can see for yourself."

He turned bis eyes towards it, no doubt ex-
pecting Peter to do the same, as any one not on
the alert would naturally have done, and bis
hand went quickly behind him.

Peter sprang forward and grappled with him.
There was a furious struggle for an instant or
two, Peter using his enormous strength with a
will, and his opponent writhing and snarling
with impotent passion. The struggle ended by

THE CHURCH BY THE BHOAD 123

his being thrown once more forcibly against
the wall, and Peter standing back holding in
his hand a revolver, which he had torn out of
the thief's hip pocket.

"Now I think that's about enough," he said.
"I think you will have understood by this time
that I'm a good deal stronger than you, and
I've got my wits about me. You had better
come with me without trying it on any more.
Whatever you're after here, you're a dangerous
character to have about a place, and I shall
feel a good deal more comfortable when I see
you locked up in the police station."

The man was quiet now and looked half-
dazed. He had received some pretty rough
treatment, and the blood was oozing down his
face from a wound in his forehead where he had
struck the table. He was not an attractive
looking spectacle. But still he was surprisingly
unlike what one would expect a man to be who
broke into churches in the dead of night.

Peter cast an eye at the chest, which in spite
of its great age and the clumsiness of its elab-
orate lock, had triumphantly resisted the at-
tacks made upon it, and upon the tools which
littered the floor.

"I think we'll leave things here as they are,"
he said. "Nobody is likely to disturb them, and
they will show what you've been up to. Go

124 BIG PETER

and stand at the door while I blow oat the can-
dle, and if you try to clear ont — I "Well, you
had better not try to clear out!'*

The man did as he was bid. He had appar-
ently come to the end of his ideas for resistance
or escape, and moved as if he were half-dazed.

Peter blew out the candle and followed him.
"We'll shut the door," he said. "How did you
open it, by-the-byl"

There was no reply and he repeated this ques-
tion more sharply.

"I picked the lock," said the man sulkily.
He seemed to be recovering his wits, but his
voice was not pleasant to listen to.

"Oh, I see," said Peter. "Then we can't
lock it. But if we shut it tight, like this, I don't
suppose anybody who happens to come along,
if anybody does come along, which is unlikely,
will think of trying it."

CHAPTER IX

A LET OFF

THE dawn had stolen on, even in the short
time since Peter had approached the
church, and it was now light enough to
see everything outside without difficulty. The
birds had already begun to sing loudly, and a
light breeze was stroking the waters of the
Broad, which was spread out in front of them.

In spite of his adventure, and the serious-
ness of the matter in band, Peter experienced
a thrill of pleasure at this dawning of a new
day, a day which was to bring him so much
happiness. The tree-crowned cape, upon the
other side of which nestled the cottage on which
his thoughts had been exclusively fixed, until
his dealings with the man by his side had for
the moment changed their current, could be seen
from the churchyard path down which they were
walking, and not even the necessity of keeping
an eye on his companion prevented him from
turning his face towards it, and letting his
thoughts follow.

The pleasnre be experienced from his look

126 BIG PETEE

even softened his mind a little towards the man
whose evil intentions he had frustrated. He
had fought him and he had got the better of
him, and a man of Big Peter's character is apt
to feel not ill-disposed towards another man
whom he has beaten in fair fight, even if the
fairness has only been one-sided, as in this case.
Perhaps his late opponent, now walking de-
jectedly by bis side, regarded hi™ with leBS
good will. Bnt he did not show any rancour
when Peter asked him in a pleasantly conver-
sational tone, "Come now, what were you up
tot You don't look like a fellow who is ac-
customed to robbing churches."

The man, perhaps encouraged by an enquiry
made in a tone that was almost friendly, threw
a look at him, and then said in a low voice,
"You have got the better of me, sir. I am com-
pletely in your hands. It will be a terrible
thing for me to face the punishment you are
taking me to. You can see for yourself I am
not a common thief, and I swear to you sol-
emnly that I have never done a thing like this
before, and never will again, if you will be mer-
ciful and let me go. Yon have handled me
pretty roughly, and you have prevented me
doing the slightest damage. Can't you let
that be enough?"

If Peter had looked at him, he would again

A LET OFF 127

have seen that look in his eyes which betokened
an idea springing np. Bnt he was not looking
at him. "Well," he said pleasantly, "I can
quite believe that it's going to be very awkward
for yon, and it's quite true that yon don't look
like an ordinary thief. Come now, what were
yon np tot I don't suppose you want money,
and if yon did you wouldn't be likely to find
it where yon were looking. "What do tbey keep
in a cbest like that that's of any value? "

Then at last the idea suddenly struck him
that this was just the place where the particular
thing that was of value to him would be likely
to be kept. He threw a. suspicions glance at
his companion. "It isn't papers you were
after, is it?"

His glance was returned. " Papers T" re-
peated the man, with an air of bewilderment.
"What papers should I be likely to find that
would make me take the risk that I was fool
enough to take!"

"Oh, I don't know," said Peter, rather sorry
that he had mooted such an idea. "I was only
wondering what there could be of any value.
Come now, what was it?"

The other appeared to be ready to answer
the question now. "Will you let me go if I
tell you?" he asked.

"No, I won't," said Peter. "You seem to

128 BIG PETEB

be about as desperate a character as they make
'em. I am used to pretty strong language
where I come from, but I shan't easily forget
yours when I caught you. Besides, if I hadn't
had my wits pretty well about me, you wouldn't
have had any scruple in murdering me. That's
not a tiling a man forgets in a hurry, or for-
gives, either. You must have been up to some
desperate game to come prepared in the way
you did."

Suddenly as they were walking on side by
side, the man reeled and fell against Peter.
Peter sprang quickly away, fearing a sudden
attack, and then as quickly seized hold of him,
for if he had not done so, he would have fallen.
No doubt the mingled emotion to which he had
been subjected, the wound in his head and the
rough handling he had received had been too
much for him. He had not exactly fainted, but
he had gone very near to it.

At the side of the road just here there was a
stretch of grass bordering the waters of the
Broad, and on it waB a fallen tree-trunk. Peter
led his captive to this and fetched water in his
cap for his refreshment.

He soon came completely to himself once
more and said in a sulky voice, "I don't know
that I've ever fainted before in my life, but

you're going to do is <

lose control over himself."

it it oertainly going to be pretty twk-

you," said Peter, regarding Mm with

aversion on account of the very natural

Eneas he had shown. "Bnt there's no par- ■

ioular hurry. Tell Bit down here for a hit,

tad-'yon-ean tell me what yon were up to ;

though yon mustn't expect that you're going

v to persuade me not to give yon np to the po-

'3fce sun's face was quickly turned away, and
it fleam of aatisf action came into it He an-
tiMtud at once.

' **I dont know whether you've ever heard of
fl^p^tOMtor'a manU," he aaid. "It u a thing
'jlwn&i&n people strongly, and makes thorn do
t. WH Mia of foolish things. If I were to tell
« who I was— bnt nothing win Indtue me
;gb* up my name to the police — I dare say
^9B?d reoogniie me, if yon know anything
t such things, as a man who is known to
'of** «f the finest ooHeotions of ohnroh plate
j§j «rtain date in the oountry. Well, tan*
void silver oup belonging to that ohnreh.
jjtflflmwh vahte in itself, hut I would give
RK' to possess it; in fast, my des&efe*
Wtksmg Oat I have got thyself into your

""M

130 BIG PETER

hands, and now I suppose the whole of my life
will be spoilt, and I Bhall never be able to hold
up my head again."

Peter was the most guileless of beings where
anything was concerned that did not come
within the Bcope of life as he had had experi-
ence of it, and this story explained, as far as
it went, why a man of this appearance should
have been found robbing a church. Still, he
was not prepared to accept it entirely without
further question. Little as he knew abont such
matters it did strike him that this man, although
he did not look like a common thief, did not
look, either, like a man whose passion in life
was art in any form.

"Well, that's a pretty sort of thing to con-
fess to," he said. "What were you going to
do with it when you got it? If you had put it
in yonr collection it would have been recog-
nized."

The man turned to him eagerly. Peter had
not spoken as if he entirely disbelieved the
story. "Do with it?" he exclaimed. "Why,
keep it locked away to gloat over it. You don't
suppose that a collector who loves these sort
of things for their own sake, wants to show them
all about, do you? Haven't you heard of fa-
mous pictures being stolen that couldn't have
been worth a farthing to the thieves — that

A LET OFF 131

couldn't have been shown to a soul? That's
the Bort of risk people will ran to have things
of that sort in their possession. And I swear
to you that that is what I wanted. I'll swear,
too, although you may not believe me, that I
should have sent the value of the cup secretly
when I got hold of it. Look here, sir, you
stopped me committing this crime — for, of
course, I don't deny that it's a crime, whatever
my motives may have been — and the cup is safe
enough now; naturally, I've had enough of try-
ing to get hold of it—can't yon let me gof
Just think what it will be to a man like me to
be charged with robbing a church."

"Well, you were robbing a church, you
know," said Peter. "If you like to run the risk
of that sort of thing yon must put up with the
consequences. Besides, I don't know much
about the sort of people who have a passion for
church plate, but I shouldn't have thought they
had quite such foul language ready to their lips
as you had when you found yourself baulked ;
and I don't forget that you wouldn't have stuck
at murder as well as robbery if I hadn't been
a bit too sharp for you."

Then the man began to plead with him with
intense and painful eagerness. He had been
almost mad, he said, with the fear of being
caught and punished for this crime. He would

132 BIG PETEB

not deny that in his passion he would have shot
Peter if he could, and would not have cared
until afterwards if he had shot him dead. He
had been saved from that crime, and he should
never think of that afterwards without thank-
fulness.

He told Peter that he was a man of consid-
erahle wealth; that he had a wife and young
children, and was looked up to in the place
where he lived with respect. If he was sent
to prison his name was bound to come ont, and
the lives of his wife and his children would be
ruined.

"I love my wife," he said pathetically, "and
it would kill her if this were to become known.
If you are married yourself," he said, "you
must have pity on me, for her sake if not for
mine. Ton can't bring such disgrace and
trouble npon an innocent woman."

Peter was undoubtedly touched by this. He
cast his eye over the Broad, to the place where
that little thatched cottage was standing be-
hind the trees, and thought what it would be to
him if he were married to Margaret and had
done something that would part them, and bring
disgrace upon her.

He began to waver, and the man who was
pleading with him, his eyes fixed earnestly on

A LET OFF 133

his faoe, saw it^-saw the soft look which came
into Peter's eyes fixed upon the trees far down
the Broad, and redoubled the earnestness of his
plea for mercy.

At last Peter got np and said gruffly, "I
oughtn't to let you off, but I suppose I shall
have to."

The man covered him with unwelcome ex-
pressions of gratitude, which he cut short with-
out much ado. "Oh, I am not doing it for your
sake," he said. "You're a blackguard, whether
your story's true or not. Will you swear me a
solemn oath that you're not lying to me; that
you have got a wife and childrenf"

He swore with such fervour that Peter cut
him short again. "Well, all I can say is that
I pity them," he said. "The more I look at
you the less I like you. Come along with me
now and I will think what's to be done as we
walk along."

"But you won't give me up," pleaded the
man. "You said you wouldn't."

"Oh, I'm not going to give you up. I dare
say I'm a soft fool, but, after all, you haven't
got what you wanted, and I shall be able to tell
the parson here that he had better look after
his treasures a little more carefully. I'll take
your name and address, by the by, bo that if I

134 BIG PETEB

ever hear of anything missing from this church
I shall be able to tell them whom to suspect.
Have yon got a card on you J"

Yes, he had a card in his pocket and produced
it, stipulating that it shonld not be used unless
what Peter feared shonld come to pass, and
assuring him that it wouldn't.

The card bore the name of J. W. Morgan,
P.R.S., with an address in Hampstead, and it
happened to he the only one he had about him.

Peter took it and looked at it. "I don't
know what 'F.B.S.* means," he said, "but I
suppose it's some honour you've had done to
you. The people who gave it you would be
pretty surprised if they knew what sort of a
fellow you really were. "Well, 111 keep this for
my own interest, and it will rest with you
whether it is ever used for any other purpose.
I shouldn't advise yon, Mr. Morgan, to let it
he announced at any time that you have come
into possession of something particularly valu-
able in the way of church plate. Now 111 see
you on your way off the premises, so to speak,
and then I'll go and inform the parson of this
church that he had better send and see what's
happened here. I take it that you'll go straight
back to Hampstead and tell your wife and fam-
ily that your little walking tour in Norfolk has
come to an end. I suppose you're the man,

A LET OFF 135

by the by, that was at the inn at Hollow Weir
yesterday. The old landlord there would be
rather surprised if I told him that I had oome
across yon. He said yon looked rather like a
gentleman's servant, if I remember right.
Gentlemen don't keep men-servants to any ex-
tent where I come from, and I don't know that
I've ever seen one. Bnt I think you do look
rather more like that sort of thing than an
'F.E.S.' Here, what's upT You're not going
to faint again, are you?"

"I'm all right," said the man, whose face
had once more gone deadly pale. "It's only
that I'm so relieved at having got off, which is
much more than I could have hoped for. I
won't say any more to thank you, bnt if you
will leave me now I'll make my way to a sta-
tion and get back home as soon as I can ; and
you can go and do what you said you were
going to do."

Peter looked at him with a quizzical air, and
his eyes dropped. ' ' I think if you don 't mind, * '
he said, "I won't leave you alone in this par-
ticular spot. It is rather too early to call on
the parson. I will set yon a mile or two on
y our way. I suppose yon 're going to Heathside
station. Ill take you as far as the high
ground and see you well across the heath be-
fore I come back."

136 BIG PETEE

So any idea that Mr. Morgan may have had
of being left alone, within a stone's throw of
the church, either to take away the signs of
his attempt, or perhaps even to carry it out,
were destroyed.

As they set off along the road, Peter east
one look back at the church. "It doesn't look
as if any one had been near it," he said, "since
last Sunday, and I think we may safely leave
it an hour or two longer.*'

Heathside Station was rather more than
seven miles away. They trudged up out of the
valley for three miles or so, and came to a high-
lying heath, crossed by a ribbon of road that
could plainly be seen for the greater part of
its length. Neither of them had spoken a word
Bince they had left Thaxted Church,

"Now," said Peter, "if you will go on, I will
stay here, until I have seen you well out of
sight ; and you may thank your lucky stars that
you are not safely lodged in gaol by this time."

Morgan walked away from him without a
word. Peter stood watching him for a few
minutes, and then threw himself down on the
short grass by the roadside.

Morgan went on without looking back for
about half a mile. Then he turned and stood
in the middle of the road. Peter's figure must
have been hidden from him at that distance,

A LET OFF 137

but he probably remembered that he had an-
nounced his intention of staying there until he
was out of sight, and if he had had any inten-
tion of returning made up his mind to relin-
quish it.

He turned round and pursued his way again,
hut not before he had passionately shaken Mb
fist in the direction from which he had come.

Peter laughed at this display of feeling.
"Now there's gratitude for you!" he said.
"I'm not at all sure that I was right in letting
you go, Mr. Morgan, F.E.S."

CHAPTER X

DISAPPOINTMENTS

PETEB lay on the warm turf foT the best
part of an hour, busy with his thoughts,
which were not entirely taken up by his
late adventure. At the end of that time Mr.
Morgan's figure was a black spot in the far dis-
tance, which only eyes as keen as Peter's could
have distinguished at all. Whether he would
go back to London at once, as he had promised,
did not much matter now. He certainly would
not be able to get back to Thaxted Church be-
fore Peter had warned those responsible; and
it was pretty certain that he would not try to
get back. But it was still only about half-past
four in the morning.

However, Peter raised himself from the turf
and set out for the village, where he had learnt
that the Vicar lived. It was about two miles
from Thaxted Church, which stood quite by it-
self. The Vicar served the two churches.

Arrived at the village he went into the church-
yard to look about among the tombstones.

The Vicarage garden was divided at one place
from the church-yard only by a low oak fence,
and as he was busy peering about among the

DISAPPOINTMENTS 139

headstones, he was suddenly startled by a voice :
"Hallo, my man, what are you doing there T"

He looked up and saw a ruddy-faced gentle-
man in shirt sleeves and grey flannel trousers
standing in front of some rose bushes, and look-
ing over the fence at him. It was obviously the
Vicar himself, no doubt an enthusiastic rose-
grower, since he was up among his flowers be-
fore six o'clock in the morning.

"Well, if you're the parson of this place,"
he said, "I was hanging about till it was a bit
later and I could come and see you. I've got
something rather important to tell you."

The Vicar's face changed. "Oh, I beg your
pardon," he said, "I didn't see you were a gen-
tleman. Come in here," and he indicated a
gate from the church-yard to the garden.

Peter recounted shortly his adventure of the
night, and the parson's face became serious.
"You've let him got" he said, with an expres-
sion of disapproval.

"Well, yes, I did," said Peter. "The poor
beggar pleaded so hard, and I bad already given
him a bit of a doing. Besides he hadn't done
any harm, and he's not likely to try it on again. "

"But what on earth was he trying to break
open the old chest for!" exclaimed the par-
son. "If he wanted money he wouldn't expect
to find it there."

140 BIG PETEH

' ' I haven 't told yon all yet, ' ' said Peter. ' ' If
he had been an ordinary burglar, perhaps I
shouldn't have let him go, though I don't know
that what he wanted to do wasn't really worse.
He was after your famous old cup."

The Vicar looked at him in blank astonish-
ment. "What famous old eup?" he asked.

"Well, he said he was a collector of church
plate, and there was a famous silver cup be-
longing to that church which he had made up
his mind to have. He was one of those collect-
ing maniacs, and he ran all that risk for the
sake of something that he could never have
shown to a soul, and that must have made him
feel jolly uncomfortable whenever he looked
at it."

The Vicar's face was still completely puzzled.
"But there's no cup there," he said.

Peter looked at him and then burst into his
big laugh. "Oh! you don't keep it there!" he
exclaimed. "Then if he had managed to break
open that great old lock he would have found
nothing after all. By Jove! I wish I had just
stood by and seen his face when he got it open
and found nothing there. Still, I think you're
very wise, sir, not to keep such a treasure as
that in that lonely place. I suppose you've got
it safely locked up here."

"I don't know what you're talking about,*'

DISAPPOINTMENTS 141

said the Vicar. "There's no plate of any sort
belongs to Thaxted Church, and none of any
value that belongs to this church."

It was now Peter's turn to look serious. "By
Jove I" he cried out, when he had stared for
some time in blank amazement at the Vicar.
"Then the blackguard cheated me after all I
He told me lies from beginning to end, unless
he was mistaken himself. Isn't there anything
of value, sir, in that old chest 7"

"There's something of considerable value to
antiquarians," said the Vicar. "There's a reg-
ister which goes back to the year 1660. But why
that should tempt a thief, I don't know. I
can't help wishing you hadn't let this man
go."

The mention of the register aroused Peter at
last to some activity, of thought. Supposing
after all that it was that that this man had been
trying to get hold of !

"I wonder if we could catch him still!" he
said. "I saw him out of sight on the road to
Heathside station. When is the first train there
that he could get away by?"

The clergyman looked at his watch. "There's
one at six o'clock," he said, "to Norwich, and
it's a quarter to, now. There's not much object
in following him either, as you have fortunately
been able to prevent him doing any harm.

142 BIG PETEE

Didn't yon find out who he was, or anything
about him!"

"He gave me hie card," said Peter, taking it
ont of his pocket after a moment's hesitation.
"I made him do that in case I heard anything
further about him that would make me want to
follow him np. I said I wouldn't let his name
be known unless he gave me some reason. But
I don't think I need be as particular as all that
now. Here it is."

The parson took it and looked at it. "It's
quite nnlikely to be his own card," he said, "but
we can easily find that ont. If he's a Fellow
of the Royal Society his name is very likely to
be in "Who's Who"; and we might be able to
find out at once. Come inside, sir. I shall go
down to Thaxted Church before breakfast, and
you might like to come with me."

They went into the clergyman's study, where
there was water already boiling over a spirit
lamp. Evidently this parson did not insist that
his servants should emulate his own zeal for
early rising.

He took a red-covered book from his writing-
table and turned over the leaves. "Here he is,"
he said. ' ' How old did you say your man was t ' '

"Oh, about forty," said Peter, "more or
less."

The parson laughed. "Mr. Morgan is — let

DISAPPOINTMENTS 143

me see — seventy-eight," he said. "He was —
Oh ! of course, I remember his name now — he
is the famous Egyptian scholar. There's a good
deal about him here, but I don't know that it's
of any particular interest to us. I don't think
we need trouble to enquire of Mr. Morgan what
he was doing last night. It's pretty obvious at
his age he wasn't breaking into Thaxted Church,
and if he had done he wouldn't have expected
to find anything bearing on his particular line
of research. No, I am afraid your friend was
after the register, but what he wanted with it I
don't know. However, these old registers do
sometimes contain entries that people would
give a good deal to have expunged. It's a curi-
ous thing that an antiquary stayed here for a
few days, a year or so ago, and examined that
one at Thaxted Church with great interest. He
was writing a book about parish registers, and
said he had got more curious information out of
it than any he had seen. He also told me, now
I remember it, that there was an entry in it of
a marriage that had taken place about a hun-
dred years ago, which might change the suc-
cession to a peerage, and he was going to inves-
tigate it when he got back to London. He
wouldn't tell me what the names were and I
haven't had the curiosity to look it up. As a
matter of fact, he was rather a garrulous old

144 BIG PETEE

gentleman, and I didn't pay much attention to
all that he said; but" — he broke off in his prep-
arations over the stove, and looked at Peter.
"I say," he said, "it's just occurred to me —
perhaps that is what your friend wanted from
the chest!"

Peter had come to that conclusion long ago.
He was immensely chagrined at having let the
pseudo-Morgan escape him, and greatly dis-
turbed in his mind at the discovery that the
facts about the Chandos marriage were known,
and known apparently to people who would
make no scruple in destroying them. He gave
vent to an expression, customary enough in the
society of the Australian Bush, but which made
the Vicar exclaim in expostulation.

"I beg your pardon, sir," he said. "I'm a
rough sort of fellow and I was forgetting whose
company I was in. But this is a very serious
business for me. I have been in search of the
record of that marriage for a good many weeks
past. By Jove! if I had known how near I was
to losing it last night ! But who on earth can
this man bet"

"You have been in search of itf" exclaimed
the parson. His offence at Peter's language
was done away with by the interest of this state-
ment. "Then who are you may I ask?"

"Well, I hadn't meant to say who I was,"

DISAPPOINTMENTS 145

eaid Peter, "until I had found out what I have
been looking for; and there are particular rea-
sons just now why I don't want it generally
known. Would yon mind keeping it to yourself
if I tell yout"

"Certainly," said the Vicar, on whom Peter's
frankness of speech and manner had made a
favourable impression. "I'll keep it to myself
until you give the word. Are we going to be the
centre here of an exciting contest for a peerage,
and are you going to be the claimant!"

"Well, I haven't quite made np my mind
about it yet, ' ' said Peter. ' ' It will depend upon
a good many things, and therefore I want noth-
ing known about it at present. At any rate, I
want to get hold of the proofs first, if the proofs
exist."

The Vicar was all eagerness. Peter hesitated
for a moment, and then said, "My name is Peter
Chandos. I have lived all my life in Australia,
where my great-grandfather emigrated a great
many years ago. He had always been supposed
to be the natural son of the Earl of Cambray of
those days, born before his marriage. But if
my information is correct, the register in your
charch will show that his father did marry his
mother, and in that case it was the next heir
who was the natural son, by a bigamous mar-
riage ; and my great-grandfather was really the
Earl of Cambray."

146 BIG PETER

The Vioar was deeply interested. "Why,
it's like a story out of a book," he said. "Drink
your coffee and let's go down to the church at
once, and see if we can find the record. Of
course, that's what that man wanted to steal.
I wonder who on earth he was? Certainly some-
body who wants it hidden up. Why do yon
think the marriage took place at Thaxted, "by
the byl"

Peter told him of the story that he had heard
from the landlord the evening before.

"Holdenl" exclaimed the Vicar. "Why, of
course, that's a well-known name in this village.
And do you know, now I come to look at you,
you're extraordinarily like an old farmer who
lives not far from here of that name. It has
been puzzling me ever since I saw yon to think
who it was you reminded me of. He's a great
deal older than you, but you might have been
his son. Well, really, Mr. Chandos, this is very
exciting. Would yon like a wash or anything
before we go off!"

Peter refused this offer. He was all eager-
ness to get back to Thaxted Church, and the
Vicar seemed hardly less eager than he was.

They set off and walked quickly, and in half-
an-hour came to the church. " It ' s a lonely spot,
isn't it?" said the Vicar, as they approached it
through the trees. "It was an extraordinarily

DISAPPOINTMENTS 147

good piece of fortune that yon happened to take
a fancy for a midnight walk. , Why, anybody
might break into the church in the full light of
day without running much risk of being
seen!"

They went into the vestry, through the door
which had been broken open. There were the
locksmith's tools all scattered over the floor,
and everything was just as Peter had left it
after his struggle with the would-be thief.

The Vicar unlocked the chest with an un-
wieldy key, and took out of it an old parchment-
covered book, carefully wrapped up in a water-
proof cover. He laid it down on the table and
turned the pages easily. The entries for each
year were few, and it was not difficult to turn
to the right one at once.

Suddenly he exclaimed, "Why, what's this!
Here's a jump of two years, just about the time
we want too. You haven't got the exact date,
have you J"

Before Peter could reply he cried out again,
"There's a page missing. See here — it has been
cut out with a knife I"

The two men looked at one another in con-
sternation. Peter's disappointment was acute.

"Then he got it after all," he said. "And he
was fooling me all the timel"

But the Vicar said, "Didn't yon tell me that

148 BIG PETER.

you interrupted Mm before he opened the
chest!"

"Yea, I did," said Peter. "Certainly he
hadn't opened the chest. He must have sneaked
back and got it. But he couldn't have done
that either. I'll take my oath I saw him three
miles away, and he was pretty well done."

"Besides," said the Vicar, "if he had hur-
ried hack and managed by a miracle to pick the
lock of the chest at once, he certainly wouldn't
have taken the trouble to put the book back
exactly as it was before, when be knew that
every minute was of value."

"No," said Peter, "I am perfectly certain
he couldn't have come back and done it in the
time. You're quite sure, I suppose, that a
page is missing! "

The Vicar showed him where it had been cut
out, very neatly, close to the binding; and the
dates of the two pages that now came together
showed a break of juBt two years.

"Besides," said the Vicar again, "I remem-
ber this page that has gone quite well. Not
many months ago I looked up all the entries
that had to do with this family of Barrett^-you
see this entry here of a marriage. They are
still in the village, and I remember quite well
that the entry on the top of the nest page was
of the birth of a son, and on the page after there

DISAPPOINTMENTS 149

was the death of the young mother. I remem-
ber it all as well as anything, and I've got the
copies in my house. I can show them to yon
and prove that I am right. No, somebody has
had the register and cut out that page since I
saw it. What a wicked thing to do I If I find
out who did it I'll prosecute him."

Bnt there seemed no possible way of finding
ont who had done it. It was not even clear
how the register had been got at. The lock
was absolutely uninjured, and if it had been
picked, it must have been by a far more expert
hand than that of the thief of the night before.
The whole thing was a mystery. Peter felt that
he was wading in deep waters, since there were
two people besides himself who wanted that
register, and neither of them had apparently
stuck at foul measures to get it.

His disappointment was almost sickening.
The cup had seemed to be actually in his grasp;
by a piece of good fortune almost unbelievable,
he had seemed to have foiled one attempt to
wrest it from him, and now came the discovery
that that had been no piece of good fortune at
all. If he had never chanced to be passing the
church the night before, the man he had sur-
prised would have broken open the chest at last
and found himself disappointed, just as Peter
himself was.

150 BIG PETEE

At present, however, there seemed nothing'
to he done. He could only go away to think it
all over, and leave his friend, the parson, also
to think it over, and see if any steps would sug-
gest themselves to him of tracing the missing
page.

Peter went back to Hollow Weir, and gave
what explanations occurred to him of his noc-
turnal disappearance. He did not tell the land-
lord of anything that had happened. And pres-
ently he almost forgot about it himself. For
now the time had come when he was once more
to see Margaret, and nothing that had happened
had altered his intention of telling her of his
love and pleading for its acceptance.

He sailed down to the Broad in the boat in
which he hoped she would come out with him.
As he sat in the stern sheets with tiller and
sheet in his hands, an idea came to him which
encouraged him enormously. The register was
gone — or at any rate that part of it that con-
cerned him. But the man who had first come
upon it — the antiquary — had almost certainly
made a copy of it. He would have found him
out long before if he had had any idea where to
look for him. But his friend, the Vicar, would
know; and he wonld be able to testify that the
page had gone, but had certainly been there.
And surely, with that and the antiquary's copy
of the entry, his case would be as good as ever;

DISAPPOINTMENTS 151

he would still have rank, as well as wealth, to
offer to the girl who would become them both
so well.

He came to the cottage. There was no one
about, and it had an air almost deserted. He
knocked at the door, and waited for some time
without hearing any voices. Margaret and her
aunt must be out somewhere he thought, al-
though it was odd that they should be so, be-
cause it had been arranged that he should come
at that hour. He knew that old Mrs. Qeering
was a little deaf, and after knocking several
times went round to the back of the cottage,
where he found her busy in her outside wash-
house. When she saw him she threw up her
hands, and he asked her with a strange sinking
of heart where the ladies were.

"Oh! haven't you heard, sirt" she said.
"They've gone. They went off last night — all
in a hurry, and I was so flummoxed about it I
hardly knew what I was doing I"

Peter could only stare at her with his heart
sinking lower and lower. Gone! They certainly
had had no idea of going when he had seen them
last! What could be the meaning of it?

"Didn't they leave any word for met" he
asked.

No, they had left no word for him, and they
had left no address.

Mrs. Qeering became voluble about it. Miss

152 BIG PETER

Margaret had gone oat for a little stroll in the
wood soon after he had left them the eve-
ning before. She had never gone oat before
without her aunt, but Mrs. (Jeering had
heard her tell her that she didn't want her
to come with her. She seemed to want to be
alone-like.

Peter's heart contracted at this. Didn't it
mean that she had wanted to be alone to think
of him, just as he loved to be alone to think of
her!

Well, she had come in looking frightened to
death. Mrs. (Jeering had seen her, and she had
been so white that the old woman had cried out
that she must he ill, and Miss Parker had come
running down, and they had gone away together
and talked for a long time. Then to Mrs. Geer-
ing's intense surprise, Miss Parker bad come to
her and said that they mast leave that evening;
she was to get a cart to take them and their lag-
gage to the station. She had given no explana-
tion whatever, but had insisted upon paying her
for the rooms for an extra fortnight. They had
been gone out of the house within an hour of
Miss Margaret's coming in. All Mrs. (Jeering
could think of was that she must have met some-
body who had frightened her like, though who it
could be in that place she didn't know. None
of the men about wouldn't have done such a

DISAPPOINTMENTS 153

tiling, and there was no strangers ever came
near; it was sueh an out-of-the-way spot.

So she chattered on, and presently expanded
still further and told Peter that she never
wished to have two nicer ladies staying in her
house, but she couldn't help feeling there was
something queer about them. They had not had
a single letter since they had been there, and
neither of them had ever written one; they had
never let out a word as to where they had come
from, and as to telling her where they were
going to when they left in such a hurry she knew
no more than the man in the moon.

It was evident that the old lady was working
up a mystery which would by and by reach
alarming proportions. Without much hope that
his intervention would be successful, Peter told
her that he would make it worth her while to
keep what she had told him to herself; and pre-
sented her with a sum of money that must at
any rate have persuaded her that he was in
earnest in hia request.

Then he left her, sick at heart over the second
disappointment that had befallen him that morn-
ing, for he did not believe in Mrs. Geering's
theory that Margaret had seen anybody whom
she must at all costs avoid; — unless it was him-
self.

CHAPTER XI

PBTEB IS LONDON

PETER went to see old Mr. Fearon directly
he got to London. He wanted to take his
advice about the surprising discoveries he
had made, bat he did not mean to tell him any-
thing yet about his meeting with the girl in the
picture and her sudden disappearance.

The old man looked grave when he heard his
story.

' ' There 's only one man in the world, ' ' he said,
"to whose interest it is to have that record de-
stroyed, and he is the last man you will be able
to get information from."

"You mean Lord Cambrayf "

"I do. He has heard the story, and he has
paid to have the leaf of the register stolen."

"Who could he have heard it from?"

"From Walker. There is nobody else. You
said that that antiquary who first made the dis-
covery was dead, didn't you!"

"Yes, the Vicar told me that. It was a very
great disappointment. But who was the man I
caught — the man who called himself Morgan?"

PETER IN LONDON 155

' ' We can find him, I think. He must have been
somebody whom the real Morgan met and got
into conversation with. I will make enquiries
at once."

Mr. Fearon did so. The old gentleman whose
name had been used so unscrupulously told him
that he had met an intelligent man travelling
up in the train from the West country, had got
into conversation with him and given him his
card. The stranger had not returned the com-
pliment. But the journey on which the two had
met had been made from that part of the coun-
try in which Cambray Castle was situated.

"I thought so," said Mr. Fearon. "You had
better go down there, Peter, and make a few
enquiries. You may come across the gentleman
— probably will."

But Peter was not ready to do that yet. He
had another search to make. He would willingly
let all chances of assuming his title go by if he
could find Margaret by doing so.

His only cine was the picture, and he set
about finding the paper from which it had been
cut ont in the way he had told her he should
have done if he had not met her. He got a
ticket for the British Museum and spent every
day in looking through the illustrated papers
of the past five years. When he should find the
one he was looking for he would know who Mar-

156 BIG PETER

garet was. Then he would have something to
go upon.

He searched and searched, for days that ran
into weeks, bnt conld not find what he was look-
ing for. He began to get sick at heart, and even
to lose flesh. This was the unhappiest time in
his life.

One Sunday afternoon he went to see Mrs.
Saunders and little Tommy, whom he found
making wonderful progress with his brush and
pencil. But there seemed to be something wrong
about Tommy's mother. She seemed unhappy;
and yet she told Peter eagerly that she was do-
ing well and wanted for nothing. There were
signs of poverty about her too, which certainly
ought not to have been there. She had no serv-
ant, and did all the work of the house herself
as well as her dress-making.

Peter left her disappointed. His visit had
seemed to cheer her, and she thanked him for
coming. But she did not press him to come
again, and he went away with the impression
that she did not want him to come too often.

Peter dined that night in a restaurant, and
walked home to his rooms in Bloomsbury.

As he was turning a corner, he almost ran
into two men walking along arm in arm and both
of them the worse for liquor.

"Steady on, now!" said Peter, and then in-

PETER IN LONDON 157

stantly recognized one of the roysterers as
Walker.
Walker recognized him at the same time and
his face showed the utmost horror at the meet-
ing. He turned to run away, but Peter had him
by the collar of his coat. His friend set np a
drunken shout, and, immediately, a policeman
came round the corner and wanted to know what
it was all about.

Unfortunately, Peter could not tell him what
it was all about without making his whole story
public, which he was not yet prepared to do.

"I have reason to believe that thiB man is
concerned in a felony," he said, using language
he had heard from Mr. Fearon, and speaking
impressively. "I want him kept under observa-
tion, and his address taken."

"It's a lie," said Walker, indignantly. "This
man has assaulted me. You saw him do it, con-
stable. Take his name and address."

The policeman happened to be new to the
force, and hardly knew how to act. But the tak-
ing of names and addresses he did understand,
and produced his pocket-book for that purpose.

Walker's companion, who was rather more
under the influence of liquor than Walker him-
self, now took part in the proceedings. "Take
the constable's number," he said, solemnly, and
Walker produced his own pocket-book and did

158 BIG PETER

so, with some difficulty, as the shock of meeting
Peter, which had sobered him for the time, was
beginning to wear off.

It was the only note that was made. The po-
liceman, possibly outraged at the idea of his
number being taken by a half -drunken man, pnt
up his book and said, "Here, you all of you
move along, or you'll get into trouble."

Walker instantly took advantage of the order
and made off, his companion lurching after him. ■
Peter expostulated and was for following them,
but the policeman said, "You'd better go home,
sir. I saw you catch him by the collar, and if he
liked to have you up for assault I should be
obliged to tell what I saw."

Peter turned on his heel and strode off, too
angry to make any reply.

CHAPTER XII

A CONSPIRACY

ON the evening of the third day after his
departure Lorrimer came back. Lord
Cambray had rung the bell for the foot-
man who had taken his place, and Lorrimer
walked into the room, the same soft-footed,
capable attendant that he had always been. But
his face was pale ; there were dark rings under
his eyes, and on his forehead there was a livid
mark.

"Oh! it's yon at last," cried his master with
an oath. "Why on earth didn't you send me a
telegram! You've bungled it I can Bee. What-
ever made me put such an affair in the hands of
a clumsy fool like yon 1 ' '

Lorrimer was pretty well used to theBe in-
sults, in regard to which he seldom showed any
signs of resentment. But at this reception his
face flushed a dull red and he said with subdued
passion, "If I had been the fool yon say I am,
I should have been safely lodged in gaol by this
time. It 'a true that I have failed. There isn't

160 BIG PETEB

a man in the world who wouldn't have done 80
under the circumstances, and there are precious
few men who could have got away as I have."

"Oh, of course, I am vastly relieved at seeing
you back," said the old lord, with an ugly sneer.
"Nothing much matters as long as you've saved
your skin. I've been in a terrible state of mind
for fear that something might have happened
to you."

Lorrimer kept his mouth doggedly closed, and
busied himself over certain little duties that his
keen eyes showed him that the footman who had
taken his place had neglected. Presently Lord
Cambray grew tired of girding at him and said,
' ' Well, let 's have your story. I don 't say I shall
believe all of it. You've failed, and of course
you will put up the best excuse for yourself that
you can."

Upon this not very encouraging invitation
Lorrimer told his story. He had bought an ord-
nance map and studied the whereabouts of
Thaxted Church carefully. He had approached
it from a station twelve miles away, so as to
cover his tracks if anything should go wrong.
He had stopped for an hour in the evening to
have a meal at the inn at Hollow Weir from
which Mervyn Chandos had written those let-
ters which had put them on the track.

' ' What on earth did you want to do that for 7 ' p

A CONSPIRACY 161

grumbled the old lord. "Yon take immense
pains to put them off the track, and then yon
show yourself in the very place."

Iiorrimer told him that Thaxted Church was
some miles away from Hollow Weir, and that
he had made enquiries of the landlord as to
quite a different route. He had also got out of
him without asking any questions about it, the
fact that Thaxted Church stood in a lonely place
quite by itself, and that nobody ever went near
it, except on Sundays. He had thought himself
quite safe. He had gone off and lain hidden in
a wood until he knew that every one anywhere
near wonld have been long since in bed and
asleep. Then, with great difficulty, he had picked
the lock of the vestry door, and had made tip
his mind that if the register was in the church
at all it must be in an old chest that was in the
vestry itself. He had worked at the lock of the
chest for half an hour, without making the
slightest impression upon it. It was a very old
lock that had been well looked after, and noth-
ing he oould do would shift it.

"For half an hour!" exclaimed Lord Cam-
bray. "Why didn't you break the chest opent
I would have had the register out of it and been
half way home by that time."

The chest was one of the strongest he had
ever seen, said Lorrimer, of thick oak as hard

162 BIG PETEB

as iron, and bound everywhere with steel. It
was just as strong as a modern safe.

Then he told him how he had been surprised
by a man coming in and standing over him;
how he had tried to escape, and how the man
had thwarted his every attempt, and even torn
his revolver out of his hip pocket. He told this
story in such a way that even Lord Cambray,
with a sneer always on his face, was convinced
by it. Besides, there was no donbt about the
ugly mark on his forehead, which so far cor-
roborated him.

"Who was this man?" asked the old lord.
"What was he doing there at that time of
night f"

Lorrimer did not know. He looked like a gen-
tleman on a holiday, — fishing or something. He
did not belong to that country, because once he
had said something about coming from another
place. No doubt he was up to some mischief of
his own, being about at that time of night, but
what it was Lorrimer couldn't say, although he
did not refrain from making some vile sugges-
tion, with a curse at his ill-luck at being foiled
in that way.

He described his assailant as a man of unusual
strength, and Lord Cambray sneered again and
said, "Oh! I've no doubt he was a sort of Sam-
son, or he couldn't have got the better of you."

A CONSPIRACY 163

Then Lorrimer went on to tell him how his
captor had determined to give him np to the
police, and how he had worked upon bis feelings
and told him a yarn which had persuaded him
to let him go. Evidently he took great credit
to himself for the story he had invented, and
Lord Cambray did not deny that it was a smart
trick.

Going up in the train Lorrimer had read in
a snippety paper a story of a man who had
stolen a valuable piece of plate ont of a church,
just for the sake of possessing a unique speci-
men, although he could never exhibit it in his
collection; and he had appropriated that story
and told it to the man who had caught him. He
had also, some time before, during another jour-
ney, got into conversation with an old gentle-
man who had given him his card, and that card
he fortunately had had with him, although he
had got rid of all marks of his own identity.

He told how he had tried to get rid of Mb
captor, so that he could go back to the church
and finish his work ; but it had been no use. He
had watched him out of sight for miles and
miles, and he was so done up by all he had been
through that if he had had the opportunity he
would not have been able to get back before the
alarm was given and the tools he had left in the
vestry had been removed.

164 BIG PETEE

When he had heard the story oat, Lord Cam-
bray instantly dismissed it as without impor-
tance at all. "The fact is youVe failed,'* he
said, "and now there's nothing to he done but
to wait for that little brute to shoot at us, and
then try and buy him off."

There did indeed seem nothing to be done.
One piece of projected villainy was foiled for
the time being, and the other, that had been dis-
cussed between this precious pair, was discussed
no longer. Whether Lorrimer had given up all
hopes of being able to get bis way with his mas-
ter's daughter there was nothing to show, but
at any rate he made no mention of her, and Lord
Gambray seemed to have forgotten altogether
that she had left her home, and that nothing
had been heard of her whereabouts. Perhaps
he thought that she would turn np again in her
own good time. Perhaps he did not care wheth-
er she turned up again or not. Her maid, who
had been with her ever since she was a child,
was with her now, wherever she was, and what-
ever paternal anxiety he might have felt on her
behalf could not be acute since she was in the
care of the invaluable Parker.

Two days after Lorrimer had returned to
Cambray Castle, Lord Cambray, who was sit-
ting on the teTrace reading the morning paper,
suddenly exclaimed forcibly at something which

A CONSPIBACY 165

caught his eye, and then rang his bell violently
for Lorrimer. When the servant came he fixed
hipi with a glare.

"Look here, what does this meant" he cried.
"You've been playing me false, you dog!
Ton've got that register after alL By G- — I
if yon play any of yonr games upon me I'll pun-
ish you for it if it costs me everything I 've got. ' '

Lorrimer *s blank stare of surprise was not
without its effect upon the furious old man.
"Here, read that," he said, giving him the
paper, "and tell me what it means."

He pointed to an advertisement in the Agony
Column, which was to the effect that a page of
an ancient register, containing entries of such
and such dates, had been cut out and stolen
from Thaxted Church, Norfolk. A reward of
five hundred pounds was offered for its return,
and for information which would lead to the
conviction of the thief. Application was to be
made to Messrs. Pearon & Son, Solicitors, of
Old Jewry.

Lord Cambray's attention had been drawn to
this advertisement by an article in the paper
itself, pointing out how valuable some of these
ancient parish registers were and how care-
lessly some of them were kept.

Lorrimer laid down the paper, still with an
air of complete bewilderment.

166 BIG PETER

"Don't stand there looking like a fool!" said
his maBter. "What is the meaning of it?"

Lorrimer had nothing to say. It was so plain
that he did not know that even Lord Camhray
relinquished his hastily formed idea that be had
after all got it himself.

"Somebody mnst have stolen it," said Lorri-
mer.

"Oh! yon think that, do you?" sneered the
old lord. "You've got an extraordinarily in-
ventive brain. Did that fellow who gave you
such a hiding steal it? Who was he? It has
occurred to me once or twice that it's just pos-
sible he may be that Australian fellow, who has
come over here to claim the title. From what
you have said of him, he sounds rather as if he
might have been a colonial. Could he have taken
it?"

Lorrimer gained a slight revenge for the in-
sults with which any remark or suggestion of
his was generally met. "Perhaps you will tell
me,*' he said quietly, "why he should want to
steal the register. I may be a fool, but I should
have thought that it would only have been of
use to him if it was in the church."

"H'm, ha!" said Lord Cambray. "No, I
don't suppose he could have taken it, whoever
he was. I don't suppose you have either, al-
though I did think at first that yon were playing

A CONSPIRACY 167

some game with me. But who would want to
have it destroyed, except met There's no doubt
about its containing the very entry we want;
the dates given here show that."

"If I may venture to say so," said Lorrimer,
"the only person who is likely to have stolen
it is Walker, and yon will hear from him pretty
soon I should think, with another offer."

This prophecy was fulfilled in a few days*
time. A letter came from Walker which ran as
follows :

"My Lord:

I have secured a certain document which
was the subject of conversation between us,
when I had the honour of waiting npon your
lordship. I shall be pleased to hand it over
on receipt of four thousand pounds, which
is the lowest price I am prepared to accept.

I am your lordship's obedient servant,
Robert Wa]

"Now we've got him!" exclaimed his lord-
ship in fierce glee. "What we haven't got un-
fortunately is the modest price he demands ; but
as I am the only possible purchaser he can find,
I dare Bay I can persuade him to let me have it
at my own price, which is five hundred pounds,
as I have told him. Write and tell him to come

168 BIG PETER

and see me. I don't know why lie hasn't done
ao: I told him not to write."

"I don't think it's in the least likely that he
will let it go for that sum."

"Why not? What good is it to him if he
doesn't sell it to met"

"Well, there is a reward offered of five hun-
dred pounds."

"He couldn't claim that without giving him-
self away."

"Don't you think he would be clever enough
to make up some story which would clear him-
self and get him the money?"

Lord Cambray considered this. "He seems
to be a pretty resourceful sort of rascal," he
said. "Certainly he was clever enough to suc-
ceed in doing what you failed to do. Well then,
what do you suggest?"

"I suggest," said Lorximer quietly, "that
you should leave me to deal with Mr. Walker.
If I succeed in getting the paper off him the
bargain we made is to hold as before."

This suggestion was received with a terrify-
ing scowl, but was then discussed, Lorrhner
sticking doggedly to his opinion that the only
way of getting the paper out of Walker was
either to pay him his price, or something pretty
near it, which was out of the question, or else
taking it by force.

A CONSPIRACY 169

"Oh I but yon can't do that here," said Lord
Cambray at last "The fellow would kick up a
hullabaloo, and everybody about the place would
know that he had been robbed."

Then Lorrimer disclosed his scheme.

It was one which showed the cold-blooded in-
genuity of this resourceful villain. He was to
write to Walker on behalf of Lord Cambray to
say that he would not give the price that Wal-
ker demanded, but that he would give a sum
very much larger than he had originally offered.
But he would do nothing at all unless Walker
came down to discuss it with him in person.
Walker was to write making an appointment,
and be was to return this letter as a guarantee
that it would not be made use of. He was not
to discuss the arrangement in his letter, or to
write about it again under any circumstances.

Lorrimer was also to write in his own name,
and tell Walker that he was in his master's
counsel, and thought he could persuade him to
better the offer he was prepared to make. But,
naturally, if he put Walker up to getting a great
deal more money than he would be able to get
by himself, he should expect to share it. He
could not leave the castle for long without his
lordship's knowing of it; but if Walker would
come up from the station, not by the main drive,
where there was always a certain amount of

170 BIG PETBB

traffic, but by a footpath through the wood,
which he gave him directions how to find, he
would meet him somewhere near the house,
where they could talk unobserved, and there
was no reason why they should not come to an
agreement after a few minutes' conversation.
This letter Walker was also to return, as a
guarantee of good faith. If he did not do so,
Lorrimer would not meet him, and he might
make the best bargain he could for himself with-
out his help.

Lord Cambray grunted appreciatively over
this precious effusion. "I am not sure though,"
he said, "that an invitation to meet you in a
wood, where nobody is likely to disturb you, is
calculated to give him much confidence. I know
I should think twice before I met you in a wood,
if I had once set eyea on you ; especially if I
were a little fellow like this Walker."

Lorrimer smiled with appreciation at this
compliment, which had been made in a tone of
good temper. "I think," he said, "that the
touch about getting a bit for myself will per-
suade him that no harm's intended."

"Well," conceded Lord Cambray, "I dare
say that may bring him. Being a rascal him-
self he will have a fellow feeling for another
rascal. We can but try it on. I don't see in
what way the invitation is to be bettered. It's

A CONSPIRACY 171

annoying having to write these things, but after
all he can't do much against ns without doing it
against himself, and he will probably see the ad-
visability of complying with oar request that
the letters shall be sent back."

In due time Walker's answers came back, to-
gether with the letters that had called them
forth, and which were immediately destroyed.
That to Lord Cambray was a short acceptance
of his offer for a conference. That to Lorrimer
was longer, and showed the kindly appreciation
of a thief invited to enter into a deal with an-
other thief. He should be pleased, he said, to
hear of any way by which they might "diddle"
the old man together, and he proposed a divi-
sion into thirds of any extra sum he might be
able to secure by Lorrimer 's help; he to take
two-thirds and Lorrimer one.

"I think you will say," he wrote, "that this
is a generous offer, and I quite hope we shall
be able to do business together."

"Very well then," said the old lord, whose
brows had drawn together at the disrespectful
reference to himself. "Now you have got your
chance again, and dont miss it this time. Don't
take a revolver — that's a fool's game — no one
carries firearms in this country, and although
the wood is lonely enough, if you had to use it
you might be heard."

172 BIG PETEE

Lorrimer's shifty eyes dropped, as the black
wicked ones of his master were bent on him.

"Get that paper," said the old man, leaning
forward and glaring at him with evil intensity.
"Ill give you five hundred pounds for it when
it's put into my hand. You can hand that on to
Walker, or do what you like with it. Make a
bargain with him. I don't care. I shan't en-
quire any farther about Walker. But— get— >
that — paper!"

He sank back in his chair, overcome by the
expression of his own eagerness. Lorrimer had
to wait upon him with the skill and the attention
of a trained nurse, and as he went about his du-
ties his face bore something of the evil intensity
of that of the wicked old man who had just
incited him to — what I

CHAPTER Xm

IN THE WOOD

CAMBEAY CASTLE stood on a deeply
wooded rise, and could be seen from the
south over many miles of country. Be-
hind it was level ground, over many acres of
which stretched its beautiful gardens ; and then
the woods enclosed it once more.

The village was at the bottom of the hill,
many hundred feet down, and the drive wound
up through the trees, taking clever advantage
of the inequalities of the steep hill. But if you
entered the wood through a gate some way from
the main entrance, you could go up by a Bteeper
path, which was sometimes quite near the road,
and sometimes at a considerable distance. It
was shorter than the drive, but even then cov-
ered a distance of something like a mile.

About halfway down this wooded path was a
rustic bridge, crossing a stream which had its
rise in the springs of the lake that lay behind
the castle at the top of the hill. And leaning
over the parapet of this bridge, looking down

174 BIG PETEB

into the water, Lorrimer stood and waited for
Walker.

He had some time to wait, and showed impa-
tience — something like fear, too, for his lips
were dry and his face was white, and he never
remained long in one position.

Bat when at last he heard a footstep, and
presently round a curve in the trees Walker
came and caught sight of him, he was leaning
over the bridge in a careless attitude, and his
face was composed, as he straightened himself,
and said in 'a careless tone, "Your train must
be a bit late. I've been waiting here for some
time."

"I don't think my train was late,'* said Wal-
ker. "I have been walking at a tremendous
pace. Are we anywhere near the top? This
path seems as if it would wind on for ever."

"Not far off now," said Lorrimer. "Bot we
shall have time to have onr talk. His lordship
told me to see you first and prepare yon for his
offer. He's in a pretty bad state of health just
now, and he doesn't want a very long interview
with you."

"Sorry to hear he's indisposed," said Wal-
ker. "He's an amiable old gentleman and I
should think you have a pretty easy job with
him, don't yout"

Lorrimer smiled at this pleasantry. "Ah!

IN THE WOOD 175

you take things lightly," he said. "It's well
to be you, Mr. "Walker, with all your time to
yourself and a handsome deal in prospect, by
which you will be able to make a small fortune. ' '

"Walker's eyes lit up with cupidity. "Is he
prepared to come down handsomely?" he asked,
and then looked rather suspiciously at Lorri-
mer. "I'd no idea," he said, "that he was go-
ing to let anybody else into the secret. I sup-
pose you can be trusted to keep things to your-
self."

""Well, considering he can't write a letter
with his own hands, ' ' said Lorrimer coolly, ' ' and
I've been his right-hand man getting on for
thirty years, you mustn't he surprised at my
knowing as much about things as he does him'
self. If you've got any idea of holding back
anything from me, Mr. "Walker, you may as
well put it out of your mind at once. I'm in
this deal, and I propose to make something out
of it."

"Ha, ha, hal" laughed "Walker, as if at an
excellent joke. "I thought you were the right
sort from your letter. Come now— I don 't know
what your name is — "

Lorrimer told him.

""Well, Mr. Lorrimer," he said, "what are
we going to make out of thist "What's the old
gentleman prepared to pay t He ought to come

176 BIG PETEE

down pretty handsomely, for I've ran a great
risk of getting myself locked np for a pretty
long term of imprisonment, trusting to him to
do the right thing when I brought him what he
wanted."

"How did yon get it?" asked Lorrimer, who
seemed anxious to keep the conversation off the
purpose for which they had come together as
long as possible. "Did you get the whole book
or only a piece of it!"

"Oh! we will talk about that when we've fixed
up our little business," said "Walker. "What's
the old boy prepared to pay?"

"I say," said Lorrimer, suddenly showing^
anger, as if his nerves were- on the stretch and
he could not control his irritability, "that we
will make certain about having what we're bar-
gaining for first. I dare say you and I will get
on all right together, but I may say at once that
I don't trust you any farther than I can see yon,.
Mr. Walker, and I would like some account of
how you did the trick."

"Oh well," said Walker, hastily, showing
some surprise at his change of tone, and prob-
ably anxious to keep him in a good humour, "I
don't mind telling you how it was done if you
want to know. The Church is quite a long way
from everywhere, and nobody ever goes near it.
I walked over from a place some miles away

IN THE WOOD 177

and got there about three o'clock in the morn-
ing when nobody was likely to be about. I didn't
go at night because I should have had to nse a
light, which might have brought somebody I
didn't want, just to see what I was up to. I
know a little about opening locks that I don't
happen to have the keys of, and I got into the
church quite easily and shut it up after me again
when I left There was an old chest where I
judged the register would be, if it was kept in
the church at all, and I got that open. But I
can tell you it was a teaser. It took me longer
than any lock I have ever tackled. Well, there
, was the register all right, wrapped carefully up
in a nice little bit of mackintosh to keep it from
the damp, and there was the entry. I didn't
want to take the whole book, so I cut out the
page, as neatly as ever I could, and put every-
thing back as I found it; and unless anything
quite unlikely happens it may be years before
anybody discovers that there's a page missing
in that old register at all. "

Lorrimer had listened to this recital with his
head turned away and a frown upon his face.
This man was a cleverer villain than he was.
It was just because he had not taken thought
over that small matter of the light that he had
brought upon himself the notice that Walker
had escaped.

178 BIG PETEB

"You were quite wrong about its not being
missed," be said shortly.

""Wbatt" exclaimed "Walker.

"It's been missed already, and there's a re-
ward of five hundred pounds for the man who
will find the thief."

' ' Well I never ! ' ' exclaimed Walker, in the ut-
most surprise. "And it's only a week ago that
I got hold of it Well, anyhow, I don't think
there's much chance of the thief, as they call
him, being found. There's not a soul who saw
me within five miles of the place, and I don't
suppose you want to give me up, Mr. Lorrimer,
— eh I Well, now, we're wasting time here.
What's the offer 1"

"The offer," said Lorrimer, fixing him with
a look that changed Mr. Walker's expression
from one of self -satisfaction to one of surprise,
not unmixed with alarm, "the offer is that you
give up that sheet you stole to me now; then
you can go back where you came from and noth-
ing further will be said about it."

After a moment's pause Walker professed to
treat this speech as a joke. He laughed, but
without mirth, and said, "Is that the handsome
advance that Lord Cambray is prepared to make
on his original offer!"

"Lord Cambray has nothing to do with it,"
said Lorrimer. "This is a little enterprise of

IN THE WOOD 179

my own. Lord Cambray is prepared to give
five hundred pounds for that sheet of paper
yon stole, and if I bring it to him, he'll give me
the five hundred pounds. I don't want to be
hard on you, Mr. Walker ; I am quite ready to
divide that sum with you. We'll divide it into
fifths — I to take four-fifths and you to take
one."

Walker had somewhat recovered himself. He
laughed again, rather more naturally. "I see,"
he said. "And if I'm not prepared to give up
what I've risked so much for, for a hundred
pounds — which isn't anything like what I'm al-
ready out of pocket over this deal — where Bhall
you be then, Mr. Lorrimerf"

"Oh, then," said Lorrimer coolly, "I shall
be better off by a hundred pounds, for I shall
claim the reward offered on my own account,
and of course yon won't expect me to share any
of that with you."

"I see," said Walker again. "And where
does Lord Cambray come in!"

"Lord Cambray wouldn't come in at all,"
said Lorrimer. "As I said, it would be a little
speculation entirely on my own account. I
shouldn't mind leaving Lord Cambray *s service
if I could get five hundred pounds added to what
I've been able to save."

"Well, it's a very pretty idea," said Walker,

180 BIG PETEE

"But there are a good many things yon have
forgotten. However, we needn't discuss them.
If you have really got some suggestion to make
to me, of sticking the old man for a bit more,
as I've said I'm quite willing to share. If not
we'll end this interesting conversation, for it's
qnite time I went and kept my appointment with
your master."

Lorrimer's aspect changed suddenly. "Yes,
It's quite time we ended this," he said roughly.
"Where's the paperf Let me see it."

Walker took a step backwards. Lorrimer had
approached him threateningly with the big stick
he was carrying gripped firmly in his hand.

"Here, don't you go trying that sort of game
on with me," he said boldly. "You'll get your-
self into trouble, yon know." But his face was
pasty white as he shrank back against the para-
pet of the bridge.

Lorrimer controlled himself and let his hand
fall. "Look here," he said, in a voice that was
almost pleading. "Don't play the fool. Take
your hundred pounds— 111 make it two hundred
— no, two hundred and fifty; well go halves —
and go away in safety."

"Not me!" said Walker with uneasy trucu-
lence. "I'll have my four thousand."

"You'd better, you know," said Lorrimer,

IN THE WOOD 181

still in a tone of appealing reasonableness. "I
don't want to do yon any harm, but I'm going
to have that paper. I'm stronger than yon, and
I 've got this stick. I'm going to have that paper,
and if you don't give it np I'll take it from you. "

Walker, now obviously terrified, gave a hoarse
cackle of laughter. "You don't snppose I should
be such a fool as to have the paper on me when
I was going to trust myself in this den of
thieves, do yout" he said. "Mr. Lorrimert —
Mr. Lorrimerl — what are you thinking oft"

He crouched down under the railing and held
np his arm in defence, for Lorrimer had come
towards him with his stick raised in his hand,
and a murderous light in his eyes.

"What!" he cried in a fury. "You haven't
got it with you!"

Then in uncontrollable passion, he raised the
heavy stick high above his head and brought it
down with all the force of which he was capable
on the head of the defenceless man crouching
before him.

Walker put np his arm to save his head, but
the blow battered down his defence and struck
his head. "Don'tl Don't!" he cried. "I can
get it for you. I swear I'll get it for you!"

Lorrimer was raining blows on him like a
madman, frenzied with rage. His eyes were

182 BIG PETEE

starting out of his head, his hatchet-like face,
pale as death, was as that of a savage beast fired
with murderous Inst for blood.

Walker, crouching lower and lower on the
ground, tried to run in at him; but he sprang
back, and changing the direction of his furious
blows, struck at him sideways and found his
face undefended. "With a wailing cry that welled
up through the silent wood, the wretched man
turned and tried to run from him, and with his
teeth bared like fangs, and his breath coming in
horrid gasps, Lorrimer ran after him and dealt
him one fierce blow after the other until he had
felled him, and he lay writhing on his face on
the ground. Then he struck at him again and
again murderously, and his struggles to pro-
tect himself grew weaker and weaker.

At last they ceased. Lorrimer had always
been a wicked man. Now he was a murderer.

CHAPTER XTV

A CHANGE IN THE SUCCESSION

LORRIMER crept up to the castle. Al-
though the sun was shining brightly, the
sky seemed to him quite grey, and he shiv-
ered as if with cold.

He went straight to the room where his mas-
ter lay on his sofa by the window.

Lord Cambray received him with a curse.
"What have you been doing all this time?" he
asked. "Well, have you got it?"

Then his face changed as Lorrimer came for-
ward into the light. He lay staring up at him;
a look of horror came into his. eyes, and his
tongue refused to speak.

Then he seemed to bethink himself, and said
in an unnatural voice, "I suppose you've had a
fight to get it. I didn't tell you to do that
Where is it?"

Lorrimer 's anger awoke at this speech. ' ' You
didn't tell me to du it?" he cried. "It was all
your i.ault 1 You he there and keep your hands
clean and set me on; and then you curse and
swear at me and treat me like a dog! I won't
stand it! I tell you, I won't stand it 1"

His voice broke in a sort of querulous wail

184 BIG PETER

and Lord Cambray said sharply, "Lorrimer!
Lorrimer ! Look ont what you're saying — some-
body will hear yon ! Sit down and calm your-
self. Yon had a fight with the fellow. All right
There's nothing so dreadful in that You've
got the paper and now you 11 get your reward.
Where is the paperT Let me see it"

Lorrimer sat down, his hysterical excitement
quelled by his master's authoritative manner.
He took no notice of the second part of his
speech, bnt began in a high voice :

"He made me angry. God knows I didn't
want to do him any harm. I'll swear to that.
But he made me angry, and I lifted my stick to
threaten him, and he looked such a coward that
I hit him once with it and then he tried to run
away — "

"Yes, yes," said Lord Cambray. "You had
a fight. I don't want to hear all about that
You got the better of him. That's enough.
Where's the paper?"

"Then he turned to run," Lorrimer went on
as if he had not been interrupted at all, "and
he looked just like a rat trying to get away, and
I was so angry that I hit him again — "

Lord Cambray half raised himself on his cush-
ions. His fierce old eyes flashed fire. "Be quiet,
I tell you!" he shouted at him. "I won't hear
any morel"

A CHANGE IN THE SUCCESSION 185

Lorrimer stopped and frowned darkly at him.
"Yon've got to hear about it," he said. "I've
got to tell somebody, or I shall go mad!"

It was the first time that he had ever shown
himself entirely unaffected by Mb master's grim
personality, although he had screwed up his
courage to appear unmoved when he had made
his demands on him. His indifference roused
the old man to fury.

"I have got to listen to you!" he repeated.
"I have got to do this and that! I won't hear
a word more. Keep your tale to yourself."

But Lorrimer was quite beyond caring for
him. The angry impatience, which was his
habitual way of expressing himself, only aroused
an answering fury in his own brain, and he
sprang up from his chair and stood over him
threateningly. "Don't yon talk to me like
that!" he said. "I have had enough of it, and
I am never going to stand it again from you as

long as I live. By 1 yon had better look

out for yourself. Do yon want another murder
donet"

No one had ever doubted the physical courage
of Lord Cambray; but he cowered at these
words. Whatever he may have guessed and
tried to prevent the telling of, that terrible word
"murder" broke down all pretences; and he
was completely at the mercy of the man who was

186 BIG PETER

standing over him with an almost insane light
in his eyes ; for he could hardly move without
help, and could have offered no more resistance
to an attack than if he had been bound hand and
foot

Bnt his shrinking was only momentary. There
was hardly a change in his voice as he said,
' ' Sit down ! And don 't play the fool. Anybody
may come in and hear yon. Tell me about it,
then."

Lorrimer told his story and found some relief
in sharing his guilty knowledge. Lord Cam-
bray's eyes were fixed upon him all the time,
and showed disgust, but no particular horror.
Be even asked questions as to how he had dis-
posed of the body, and where, and if he had cov-
ered up all his traces.

Then at last, when Lorrimer had unburdened
himself, he said, "He was a mean little cur and
nobody is likely to miss him. You're safe
enough if you saw nobody going or coming, as
you say. What you've got to do iB to pull your-
self together and behave as usual. You were a
fool to do it, because you could probably have
got bold of the paper without. Still, now it's
done, there's no use crying about it. Put it out
of your mind and never so much as mention it
again."

"Oh! it's all very well for you to talk," said

A CHANGE IN THE SUCCESSION . 187

Lorrimer, rudely. "Yon incite a man to com-
mit murder and then tell him not to worry about
it. I wish you had had the doing of it yourself I
I wish I had never seen you 1 I was a good man
before I came to you and got mixed up in all
your vile schemes."

"Well, you're a good man now," said the old
lord, encouragingly, "if you'll only show a little
pluck. Quite natural you should be upset, but
don't let it take hold of you, or you're done.
You've talked enough about it — put it out of
your mind. It's nothing so dreadful after all.
You didn't kill the man in cold blood, and as
far as I'm concerned, I respect you more for
showing some devilry and being carried away
by it, than if you'd been the cold-blooded fish I
always thought you. Now leave it alone and
show me the paper. Yon needn't give it up un-
til I have done what I've promised to do. Ill
keep to my bargain. You've already paid the
price."

"I've told you," said Lorrimer impatiently,
"that be hadn't got the paper and that's what
made me so angry. And I don't want anything
more said about that other business. I've got
enough on my conscience now. I'll never do
another wicked deed as long as I live. I'll go
away somewhere and bury myself where they
can't find me — somewhere a long way off; and

188 BIO PETEE

I'll change my name so that nobody will know
who I am; and 111 live a good life and — "

He had spoken as if the purpose for which he
had gone down into the wood to meet his victim
was now of no importance at all and could be
pat on one side, and was startled by the voice
in which his master cried, ""What ! You haven't
got the paper after all I You mean to tell me
that you've killed a man for nothing?"

Lorrimer looked up, annoyed at being aroused
out of his dream of escape and future content-
ment. "Oh I am I to go on saying the same
thing again and again! "he said irritably. "He
told me how he cut the leaf out of the book, and
I tried to bargain with him, and when he
wouldn't I said I was going to take it from him.
And then he told me that he hadn't got it. That
was what made me go for him."

"Of course he had got it," said Lord Cam-
bray. ' ' That was only bluff, you drivelling fool I
It's on him now, and you've left it there for any-
body to find if they come across his body. What
you've got to do is to go down as soon as it gets
light enough to-morrow morning and get it
Do you hear!"

Lorrimer shuddered violently. "I wouldn't
go there again," he said, "for anything in the
world I"

Then the old man lost his temper and raged

A CHANGE IN THE SUCCESSION 189

at him with fierce imprecations, and called him
a coward, with all the scorching opprobrium of
which he was capable ; and when Lorrimer, tak-
ing no offence at his words, only shook his head
obstinately and repeated bis refusal in the same
words, he made a monstrous effort to rise from
his couch, shaking his fist at him and threaten-
ing to kill him if he did not do as he was told.

Lorrimer's face grew dark again, and he was
just about to retort with abuse in his turn, when
the old man fell back on his pillows gasping;
his face grew purple, and he was taken with
one of those seizures which only the skilful and
attentive Lorrimer could deal with.

But Lorrimer sat looking at him with a sneer
on his lips, and as his master helplessly rolled
his eyes at him in unspoken appeal, laughed sav-
agely in his face and sat still in his chair.

The old man tried to say something, but he
was on the point of unconsciousness and the
sounds he made were quite unintelligible. But
suddenly Lorrimer sprang up, and with a scared
face busied himself over the remedies he knew
so well how to use. Whether his master had
meant to warn him against being responsible
for another murder or no, that was what had
come into his mind. How would it be with him
if Lord Cambray should die, with his attendant
in the room with him?

190 BIG PETEK

For the rest of the night he was in close at-
tendance upon his master; and the next day,
and for many days afterwards he hardly left
him.

The doctor, who came constantly to the cas-
tle, praised him for his unremitting care, and
told him that he would do hims elf an injury if
he did not take rest.

As for the evil old man who lay silent and
motionless hour after hour, day after day, night
after night, on his great canopied bed of state —
what thoughts must have passed through his
mind, to which he would no more be able to give
expression! Whatever they were, they were
hidden even from his attendant. All except one ;
Lorrimer knew from his look whenever he went
near him, that his pride and his courage had
broken down. There was a look of fear and ap-
peal in his eyes that had never been there be-
fore. He was afraid of the man who was nurs-
ing him in a way that no woman, not even one
trained to wait on suffering mankind, could have
excelled.

If Lorrimer had wanted revenge on a man
who had set him on to commit the crime for
which he now felt such bitter remorse, he could
have devised none greater than this, that the
wicked Earl of Cambray, who had been so bold
in evil, so overbearing in his haughty insolence

A CHANGE IN THE SUCCESSION 191

to all those dependent on him, should be living
his last days in mortal and abject terror of a
servant.

When it was seen that he would not recover
from his last attack, there were those in the
house who said that his daughter must be Bent
for. But no one knew where she was. Since
the day when, accompanied by her maid, she had
left the castle, no word had been heard from
her. Lady Marlow was written to, and was
greatly distressed at the news that her niece's
whereabouts was still unknown, if she bore with
equanimity the news that her brother-in-law
could not be expected to live much longer.

She had a carefully worded advertisement put
into the newspapers, but it brought no reply,
and the household at Cambray Castle had an-
other topic to discuss, besides their dreaded
master's mortal illness. He had driven his
daughter away from him, they said, and now he
was going to die and she would not be with him.

The end came late one night, just at that time
when nature seems to be most wearied and most
sad.

Lorrimer was asleep on the sofa at the foot
of the bed. Tired out with his continuous vigil,
he was sleeping more peacefully than he had
done ever since that dreadful day.

Suddenly he was startled, and sprang up,

192 BIG PETEB

sweating with fright, to see the white figure on
the bed sitting up making horrible grimaces at
him and striving to say something. The sonnda
that came from the blackened lips were horrible
and meaningless, and had pierced even through
his soothing dreams.

As he sprang up and then stopped, unable to
move through terror at that awful sight of the
figure that had lain so long helpless and speech-
less, now Bitting up and uttering those horrid
sounds and undergoing those grotesque contor-
tions, Lord Cambray lifted a shrunken arm and
pointed at him, and made a violent effort to say
something, but only gibbered unmeaningly.
Then, as if he had given up the attempt, he
broke out into a screech of laughter, which rang
fearfully through the sleeping house and woke
some of those in rooms far distant. Those who
heard the sound said afterwards that it was
more terrifying than any sound they had ever
heard.

With that unearthly mocking laugh on his
lips, and his hand still stretched out with its
pointing finger, Lord Cambray fell back upon
his pillows, and there fell a silence never more
to be broken by wordB or sounds from him.

The death of the Earl of Cambray did not call
forth much comment in the public press. In all

A CHANGE IN THE SUCCESSION 193

his long life he had done no public service, un-
less a few years in the Household Brigade can
be counted as such. He had been a mean and
grasping landlord; he had come into possession
of wealth and rank in his early youth, and he
had spent everything he had on the gratification
of his own pleasures and vices. There was noth-
ing good to say of such a man, and the bad that
was known of him was allowed to rest.

One point of interest in his death was the suc-
cession to his ancient title of his daughter, Lady
Margaret Chandos. The paragraphists all pro-
duced their little lists of peeresses in their own
right, to whom the Countess of Cambray's name
was now added, and then the subject dropped.
Very little was known, even to the society jour-
nalists, of Lady Margaret. She had not been
seen much in fashionable society, and it was not
possible even to produce photographs of her in
the illustrated papers. Applications to her
ladyship for permission to do so were left un-
answered, as were sundry other communications
addressed to Cambray Castle to the new peeress.

For two days after Lord Cambray's death
there was still no word from his daughter. The
family solicitor came down to the castle and
took in hand the arrangements for the funeral
and the succession to the estates.

Then at last there came word from Lady Mar-

194 BIG PETEK

garet. She was with her aunt, Lady Marlow,
in her house in the country. She wished to come
down to the castle, but before she did so desired
that certain instructions should be carried out.
Amongst them were some relating to the house-
hold staff. All the servants who wished to do
so, were to stay on for the present, with the ex-
ception of the late Earl's attendant, Lorrimer.
He was to be dismissed at once. This order was
peremptory.

Lorrimer did not seem to be surprised at this
decision nor did he seem so averse to leaving
the house where he had lived for so many years
as might have been expected. On the day on
which notice was given him he went away, and
the same evening the Countess of Cambray ar-
rived with her maid, and took up her residence
in the castle which was now hers.

She paid one visit to the room in which her
father's body lay, but it was a very short one,
and she did not repeat it. Nor did she follow
TiJT" to the grave in which he was laid with all
the pomp that befitted his rank, and in the pres-
ence of a large concourse of people, among
whom there was not one to shed a tear for him,
or to feel anything but a sense of relief that his
long bad reign was over, and hope that the new
reign juBt begun would be a very different one.

CHAPTER XV

THE HOME OP HIS FATHERS

THE day after Lord Cambray's remains
had been deposited with all pomp and
ceremony in the family vault, Peter went
down to the village of Tnnsted, which was about
two miles from Cambray castle. He did not
go to Chartsedge, in which parish the castle
was situated, because, always with the idea in
his mind that some day be might come to reign
over this property, he was unwilling to make
his first appearance there as a stranger in the
village inn. He wished as far as possible to
keep quiet, and not to be recognized while he
was making his investigations, and for that rea-
son he called himself not Mr. Peter Chandos,
but Mr. Peter, and felt absurdly pleased at be-
ing addressed by the name, because he had first
been called by it sitting in that little paradise
of an orchard by the Norfolk Broad.

The inn in which he took up his quarters was
a pleasant, old-fashioned, rambling house that
had seen better days. If it had not been for
his experience at Hollow Weir, he would have

196 BIG PETEE

thought it as good a specimen of an English
country inn as he could very well have come
across. It was kept by a buxom widow, who
was quite ready to gossip with him, and he
learnt a good deal from her before he had been
there an hour. She brought him in his tea her-
self and stayed to talk to him just as the old
landlord at Hollow "Weir had done.

She was, of course, full of the grand funeral
that they had had at Chartsedge the day be-
fore. It had been a godsend to a neighbour-
hood where, as she told Peter, nothing ever hap-
pened. And as there had been no call to grieve
for the person chiefly concerned In it, it had
been taken frankly as a welcome entertainment,
and enjoyed as such.

"There wasn't a soul among the gentry all
round who would have anything to do with
his lordship when he was alive," she said, "at
least not latterly — for his goings on were some-
thing awful. But they all sent their carriages
—I dare say more out of respect to her ladyship
than anything — and as for the flowers, why, I
never see anything like 'em, not even when the
countess was buried, and lucky for her, poor
lady, that she was took when she was; for he
never brought her anything but sorrow, and he
would have brought her more still if she'd lived.
He was a thorough bad one, was the earl —

THE HOME OF HIS FATHERS 197

thought of nothing but spending money on his
own pleasures, — and pretty awful pleasures
they were, too,— and let his property get into
a frightful state. "When yon go about this
country, sir, just you look at the farm buildings
and cottages. Why, some of them are a posi-
tive disgrace! Nobody could get anything
done. It's my belief he'd just as soon see 'em
tumble down as not, as long as he got some
sort of a rent out of them, and didn't have to
put his hand in his pocket for repairs. Well,
it's to be hoped it will be different now, though
where the money's to come from to do anything
I don't know."

Then Peter asked her what the new countess
was like.

"Well, it's a funny thing," said the land-
lady, "but although I have lived here for over
ten years, I have never once set eyes on her.
When I first came she was mostly abroad with
her ladyship, who was in a decline — at least
that's what they called it, but it's my belief she
was just suffering from a broken heart. Then
after the countess died, till she was grown up,
she was living mostly with her aunt. They say
she never wanted to come here at all, but his
lordship made her; and I suppose she was so
ashamed at the sort of things that used to go on
at the castle that she wouldn't willingly let it

198 BIG PETES

be known that she lived there. Besides, the
people at Chartsedge are a rough lot; they can
hardly get decent tenants to come to such a
place. She wouldn't be likely to go about
among them much. There are just one or two
farms which have been in the same hands for
many years that she's been used to go to oc-
casionally, but not even that lately. I don't
believe for a year or two she's been outside
the castle gates when she's been down here, ex-
cept just to go to church; and of course the
grounds and the woods all about the castle are
so big that she needn't ever have left them if
she didn't want to be seen. Still, everybody as
knows her speaks well of her, but they say
shell never be able to live here unless she mar-
ries somebody with a great deal of money; and
if she does that he's likely to have a fine place
of his own. They say there'll be nest to noth-
ing for her when everything is settled up, and
she'll be almost as poor as if she were a simple
farmer's daughter, instead of a lady with a
title of her own and some of the proudest blood
in the land."

"Ah! well," said Peter, "I hope it won't be
as bad as all that. And if she is a nice lady,
I dare say she will marry well and forget all
her troubles. Do yon know anything about the
servants at the castle? I suppose the old man

THE HOME OF HIS FATHERS 199

had somebody to look after him all the time he
was bo broken up?"

*'He was broken up with his bad ways," said
the landlady severely, "and as for being looked
after, he was looked after by a man who was
just about as bad as he was. His name was
Lorrimer, and any wicked prank that my lord
wanted to play up with Mr. Lorrimer helped
him. I could tell yon some stories about that,
only they're hardly fit for a woman to tell to
a gentleman. Oh, yes, Mr. Lorrimer looked
after his lordship all right, and after himself,
too I They Bay that whatever money has been
left he will very likely get his share of it. But
it's a funny thing that though all the rest of
the household was there at the church yester-
day, he wasn't. I did hear that he's took him-
self off already, and I dare Bay it's quite true,
because it isn't likely her ladyship would want
him there."

Peter asked a good many questions about Mr.
Lorrimer, and the landlady was able to give
him a description which made him prick up his
ears and consider whether it might not be as
well to send a telegram to Mr. Fearon without
delay.

For it seemed certain that this man, who had
the reputation of being at hia master's beck and
call for any evil service that was required of

200 BIG FETEB

him, was the man he had surprised in Thaxted
church, and had allowed to escape him.

It was rather disturbing to learn that he had
already left the neighbourhood. It looked
rather as if another opportunity might have
been lost. It might be as well to get on to his
track at once.

He thought, however, that he would find out
a little more first. The landlady did not seem
to be quite certain whether Lorrimer had ac->
tually left the castle. It was only that some-
body had told her that he had, when she had
remarked about his not being present at the
funeral. He might be still there, and in that
case he would get an unpleasant surprise, after
Peter had paid a viBit to the nearest police sta-
tion. He wanted to make quite certain of his
man first, and not let himself in for another
fiasco.

When he had had his tea, Peter strolled out
and took the road towards the hill upon which
Cambray Castle stood. When the road got to
the top of the hill it took a turn away from
the castle and skirted a high wall, behind which
must have been a good many acres of level
ground, half park, half woodland. By and by
he came to a gate flanked by a pair of stone-
built lodges ; but the gate was apparently never

THE HOME OF HIS FATHERS 201

used, for grass was growing up against it, even
on the roadway itself, and the lodges looked as
if they were unoccupied.

He walked on a little farther, until suddenly,
as is sometimes the case where a great park has
begun to be elaborately enclosed, the high stone
wall gave place to wooden fencing. This was
everywhere in a ruinous condition, and looked
as if it had not been touched for years ; and the
park, so completely shut in where the wall had
been built, was open to any one who liked to
enter it.

It was not a park here, though, except in
name; it was a thick, close wood. With a
glance around him, Peter crept in through a
gap in the fence and began to wander through it.

By and by, the wilder growth of the wood
gave place to more artificial planting, and pres-
ently he found himself in a well-defined shrub-
bery walk. He followed this for some distance.

Suddenly he stopped. His .keen ears had
caught the sound of voices, some distance away,
but andible in the still evening air. They were
the voices of a man and a woman, and as he
stood trying to locate them, his face grew puz-
zled, because somehow they did not sound like
the voices of people in ordinary conversation.
He stood still for some time, straining his ears

202 BIG PETER

to listen. And by and by there eotdd be no
doubt that he had come upon something in the
nature of a scene.

The man's voice grew louder and, as it
seemed to him, threatening. He was much too
far off to be able to distinguish any words.
The woman's voice told him nothing; it was no
more than a murmur at that distance, and prob-
ably ears less keen than his would not have
heard it at all.

But with a suddenness that was positively
startling, both voices were raised, the man's into
anger, the woman's into terror, and before
Peter could form any decision in his mind as
to what to do, there was a loud shriek, and he
sprang forward and ran down the shrubbery
path as fast as he had ever run in his life.

As he ran the commotion still continued and
increased. Rhododendron bushes grew thick
and tall between him and the place from which
the voices came. He ran along beside them,
expecting to find another path or an opening of
some sort, and presently did so ; and as he ran
out on to a wide lawn at the head of a sheet of
water, which he had not expected to find there,
he heard the man's voice say threateningly,
"You shall say yes before I let you go, or I'll
let out everything."

Half facing him, backed by the dark green

THE HOME OF HIS FATHERS 203

of shrubs and trees, was the marble facade of
a Grecian summer-house, and on the grass be-
tween him and it, was the white-robed figure of
a girl, struggling in the arms of a man who had
seized and was holding her, while she battled
with him with all her strength and sent shriek
after shriek into the air.

In a moment Peter had seized the man by the
collar, had torn him away with such force that
the girl, suddenly released, fell on the grass
on her knees, and had flung him violently down
on to the ground.

And then he stood staring, with all power to
speak or move for the moment taken away from
him. For the girl whom he had rescued was
his own adored girl of the picture, and the man
from whom he had saved her was the man whom
he had already once treated with violence in
Thaxted church.

CHAPTER XVI

BT THE LAKE

PETER had do time to take in all that this
surprising discovery might mean. He
was aware only of the girl on her knees
on the ground, and of the man some little way
off where he had violently thrown him. Sud-
denly the wild rage that sometimes seizes npon
the mildest mannered of men, got hold of him,
and with a sort of fierce snarl he sprang npon
the man, seized him by the throat, lifted pirn
np as easily as if he had been a small child,
and shook him as a terrier shakes a rat.

The man was powerless in that grip of iron.
His eyes started out of his head ; his teeth chat-
tered as he was shaken furiously to and fro;
the attempts he made with his hands to loosen
the grip on him were of no more avail than
those of a baby would have been. Peter would
have killed him then and there, would have
choked the life out of him before he had come
to himself, and without knowing what he was
doing in his blind fury.

BY THE LAKE 205

There was only one voice in the world that
could have pierced through to his brain at that
moment, and it was the voice of the girl who
now clung to him and implored him to desist.

"Yon will kill himl Yon will kill him!" she
cried.

At last he threw him from him again, more
violently than before, and he lay on the ground
gasping and staring, utterly unable for the mo-
ment to move hand or foot.

"And I MJtW kill him," cried Peter, turning
to her with a terrible look in his eyes, from
which she did not quail. She still clung to him
and pleaded, with her eyes fixed upon his, and
gradually his madness left him, and the real-
ization of her toueh stole into his brain.

"Let him go," she said. "You have saved
me, and he will never trouble me any more."

But as for letting him go, not even she could
persuade him to do that. She did not know
everything.

"I have let him go once," said Peter, "and
I shan't let him go again. I have been looking
for him ; and now I have fonnd him, the swine I
He shan't escape me again!"

But still she clung to him, while the man on
the grass at their feet lay stupidly staring np
at them. "Have yon been looking for him!"
she said. "Did you know that it was because

306 BIG PETER

of him we had to leave that quiet place where
yon knew us!"

No, Peter did not know that. A flood of
light came to him and brought with it a flood of
joy. He looked at her with eyes more like those
kind eyes which she already knew. But lie
said, "Did you know what he was up there fort
Did you know I found him breaking into Thax-
ted Church in the middle of the night? And
he told me a pack of lies and I let him go. I
shan't let him go a second time, and if I don't
handle him myself for what he has done to you,
it is only becanse he'll be worse off when I get
him punished I"

But she pleaded hard. "For my sake," she
said. "Think what it would be to me to have
all this come out 1 He is a servant. How can
I bear to have it known that he dared to come
and make love tome!"

She shuddered and turned away her head
with a gesture of loathing.

Peter was shaken. "Made love to yon!" he
cried. " If I did let him go I would break every
bone in his body first!"

The man on the graBS had recovered himself
a little. He raised himself on his elbow. He
was a horrid spectacle. His face* pale and wild,
wore a look almost like madness, and when he
spoke, his voice was hoarse and cracked, and

BY THE LAKE 207

full of fear. "If you will make him let me go,"
he aaid to the girl, "111 never trouble you any
more. If yon let him take me 111 let out every-
thing—for then I shan't oare what happens."

Again she shuddered, and then turned on him
passionately. "Oh I if you will go right away
and I never see your horrible face any more,"
she cried, "I think I might know some happi-
ness."

She turned to Peter and said, "If you keep
him here and everything becomes known, I think
I shall die of shame."

Then Peter, with a sigh, made a great re-
nunciation. "For your sake," he said, "I will
let him go."

He turned upon the man, who had risen un-
steadily to his feet, and, with his teeth clenched,
said, "Yon had better go before I can change
my mind; and for your own sake yon had bet-
ter go right away, for if ever I come across you
again anywhere in the world — I"

He did not finish his speech, for with furtive
tread, like that of some cowardly wild beast,
the man had disappeared among the thick trees,
and they could hear his footsteps crunching on
the dry leaves as he ran stumbling through the
wood.

Then the girl went with unsteady steps
towards the temple, and sinking down on the

208 BIG PETER

marble seat, buried her face in her hands and
wept bitterly.

Peter sat down by her side in the deepest dis-
tress and made rough efforts to console her.
"Don't cry," he said, in a tone as if he were
comforting a child. "You're safe now. Ill
never let any harm come to you."

By and by he managed to get one of her little
hands into bis as she still sobbed uncontrollably,
and she let it lie there until the storm of shame
and bitterness that filled her soul had abated.
Then she withdrew it gently and dried her eyes.

"I'm all right now," she said, "and oht I'm
so thankful that you came just when yon did.
It's so hateful to be weak and in the mercy of
a horrible creature like that! If I had been
strong enough I think I should have killed him,
as you threatened to do. But it is so much bet-
ter that he should have gone away, and that I
shall never be troubled with him again."

"I don't think you need fear that," said
Peter, grimly. "Whatever lies he may have
told, he spoke the truth when he said he wouldn't
run the risk of crossing my path again."

As she became more composed, Peter's curi-
osity began to awaken, and the realization came
to him that again he had been marvellously
blessed by fortune in finding her here.

BY THE LAKE 209

The same thought seemed to have struck her
at the same time; for she smiled shyly at him
and said, "This is the second time that yon
have rescued me. Do you go about the world,
Mr. Peter, looking out for girls in distress, and
always coming to their help just at the right
time?"

"I think if you were in trouble," said Peter,
looking boldly and yet tenderly into her eyes,
"and were to call out to me, — wherever you
were in the whole world, — I should come."

Her delicate skin flushed a pale rose colour
and she looked away from him, but immedi-
ately faced him again and asked, "How did
yon come to be here, of all places in the world?"

"I am afraid I was trespassing," said Peter.
"I have come to stay near here for a bit, and
I got into the wood and thought I would like
to catch a glimpse of the gardens. You won't
tell the Countess, will you?"

Again the rosy flush, and the head turned
quickly away. "I might have to tell her," she
said, "how you had to come to my rescue. But
no, I don't think I will. I want never to tell
any one how that man has persecuted me."

"Who is he?" asked Peter. "You said he
was a servant. Is he Lorrimer, Lord Cam-
bray's servant?"

210 BIG PETER

She looked at him, as it seemed, with alarm
in her eyes. "Yea," she said. "He is Lor-
rimer. How did you know that! "

"I was hearing this evening," he said, "that
there was such a man, and that he had gone
away directly after his master's death."

"We thought he had gone away," she said
quickly. "Lady Cambray sent him away. She
hates him. Oh! how she hates him I"

She clenched her hand and spoke with deep
passion. "Is Lady Cambray a friend of
yours?" asked Peter. "Are you staying here
with her, Miss Parkerf"

She paused for a moment before replying,
and then smiled at frim, "You remember my
aunt?" she said. "She was Lady Cambray's
nurse. She would never leave her for long, al-
though she need not remain in any sort of serv-
ice if she did not wish to. I have known Lady
Cambray all my life ; we are great friends. We
have the same name, and I have very often been
with her."

The explanation seemed quite natural to
Peter, and explained to his satisfaction things
that had puzzled him about Miss Parker and
her niece.

"Sometimes," she went on rather hurriedly,
"I was here at Cambray Castle with her. But
my aunt did not like it to be known ; and I don't

BY THE T,ATOi] 211

want it known that I am here now. Ton will
not tell any one, will youl"

Peter gave the promise easily enough. A de-
lightful feeling of intimacy was beginning to
steal over him. Everything else was forgot-
ten, except that he was here alone with her, and
she was content to be with him and to confide
some secrets to him.

"I will tell you about this horrible man," she
said, "because I owe you that; and then let ns
never mention his name again. The last time
I was here he spoke to me, and I was so much
ashamed that I made my aunt take me away
for a time where he could not come near us.
Some friends of hers had once stayed for a
week or two in that cottage where you knew us,
and we went there, meaning to stay there
quietly for the whole of the summer. And then
one evening, I was walking alone in the wood,
and to my horror I saw this dreadful man, and
I thought he had found us out. So we ran
away, and I am afraid you must have thought
us very ungrateful for leaving no word for you
after all your kindness. But indeed, I was so
upset that I could think of nothing."

"It is very extraordinary," said Peter, "that
yon should have gone just to that place. It
was just a chance that you should have caught
sight of him. He had not come there to find

212 BIG PETER

you. It was a chance that I should have come
across him, too."

"Oh! don't let's talk ahont him any more,"
she said, with the shudder without which she
had not yet mentioned his name. "I want to
forget him."

Peter had heen going to tell her of his en-
counter with Lorrimer in Thaxted Church. But
he now bethought himself. He would have to
do a good deal of thinking before he told even
her anything that had to do with his search for
the register. Most surprisingly, she was a
friend of the Countess of Cambray, whose title
and property he was about to claim. That
might help him, or it might not. He had had
no time as yet to consider it. Besides, he had
let Lorrimer go. It was possible that with that
act he had finally done away with all his
chances. That also would have to be consid-
ered. But no consideration that affected only
the business of his claim could for a moment
damp the always increasing joy with which he
found himself once more seated at her side,
talking to her, and sometimes raising his eyes
to her sweet face.

He thought she looked pale and sad, and
thinner than when he had last seen her. When
she smiled at him, as she had done once or twice,
his heart leapt. But it had never been the gay

BY THE T.ATTTC 213

smile that ought to have been on the face of a
girl of her years. That was, of course, not to
have been expected just now, after the shock
she had received. But there was something
about her smile which seemed to show that it
was never gay. Even when they had been to-
gether np in Norfolk, and she had been for the
moment free of the vile persecution which it
even now enraged him to think of, there had
been that note of sadness in her face and man-
ner.

She was dressed in white, bnt all the ribbons
about her simple dress were black, as they had
not been when he had seen her before. No
doubt it was merely complimentary mourning,
which every one in Cambray Castle was now
wearing, however little cause they might have
had to show grief for the death of its lord.

But whatever she wore and however she
looked, she was beautiful, more beautiful than
any one Peter had ever seen. He had so hun-
gered for her that, now he had found her, he
could hardly take in his own happiness. He
did not know what to say, and just at the mo-
ment he did not want to say anything, but just
to sit there with her and drink in with his eyes
the beauty of her face, and with his ears the
music of her voice.

But the sun had long since Bet, and now the

214 BIG PETEE

dusk was coming on. She sprang up from the
marble seat and said, "I nrast go in now. They
will be wondering where I am."

Peter, recalled to himself, said, "Oh, bnt I
can't let yon go like this. I have been looking
everywhere for you, and I haven't even begun
to say all I want to say."

She looked at him with her little faint, rather
melancholy smile. "It is getting dark," she
said, "and I can't stay out here any longer;
somebody will be coming to look for me, — per-
haps my aunt, perhaps Lady Cambray herself,
— and that wonld be terrible, for yon know you
are trespassing."

Certainly, thought Peter, he did not want
Lady Cambray to appear and find him there.
"Bnt I must see yon again," he said. "Yon
can't mean that you want to say good-bye to
me nowl"

Still with the same faint smile, and with that
flowerlike blush added to it, she said, "Perhaps
if you were to trespass again to-morrow eve-
ning, you might find me here."

And then her flitting white figure disap-
peared behind the shrubs on the other side of
the temple.

The next evening Peter made his way to the
temple by the lake in a frame of mind that may
be well imagined. He did not want to run any

BY THE LAKE 215

risk of being last at the rendezvous, and conse-
quently had a considerable time to wait in the
company of the swans that sailed placidly on
the lake, and the birds that were twittering
good night to one another in the trees by which
it was surrounded.

Bnt presently she came from among the trees,
and stood on the grass by his side. She had
been so long coming that he had begun to feel
she would not come at all, and now she was
here he had nothing to say that seemed to fit
the occasion. He could only look at her in a
way that must have shown her at any rate that
her presence was welcome.

"I can't stay very long," she said, giving him
her hand, and smiling at him with a face far
less troubled than she had worn the night be-
fore. "Bnt I wanted to thank yon again for all
yon have done for me."

He was jnst a little chilled, in spite of her
smile. He did not reflect that she mnst want
some little excuse to herself for coming out to
meet him there in secret.

They sat down together on the marble seat,
and Peter had the chance he had looked for-
ward to np on the Broad, if he had been able to
get her to come sailing alone with him.

Bnt he did not realize that in these matters
it is not exactly the things that a man may have

216 BIG PETER

intended to say that get themselves said, — at
least not unless the woman is ready to hear
them. And apparently she was not ready this
evening, for they talked about quite ordinary
things, or things as ordinary as the somewhat
unusual circumstances of their common experi-
ences permitted.

She told him that she loved this retired spot
in the gardens, and often came there when she
wanted to be alone. Nobody else ever came
there at all, except once in a way a gardener;
but the gardeners had bo much to do, and were
short-handed besides, that it was very seldom
any of them came to this part of the grounds
at all.

Peter was pleased enough to hear this, and
asked if Lady Cambray didn't come there some-
times.

"Why!" she smiled at him. "Are you
afraid of her finding us here and ordering you
off the premises? You needn't be alarmed.*'

"Tell me what she is like," said Peter. "I
was hearing about her to-day. They say she
is very proud, and that hardly anybody about
here has ever seen her."

She looked down on the marble floor. "I
don't think she is very proud," she said. "I
am afraid she would say she had not much to
be proud of. She is often very sad, and per-

BY THE T.ATTF, 217

haps that is why she has been so little seen when
she has been here. She has very few friends."

"She has yon," said Peter simply. "Since
I have known yon I have thought that yon often
looked sad, too. Is it because she is your
friend and yon are sorry for herT You ought
not to be sad on your own account."

Once more she smiled at him and seemed to
shake off her mood of melancholy. "I am not
going to be sad now," she said. "I want yon
to tell me things, as you did up in Norfolk.
Tell me all about the free, happy life you led
out in Australia. I have often thought about
it since. It has made me wish sometimes that
I could be a man and get away from all the
troubles of this old country, and live a life like
that. Why did you ever leave itf Don't you
like it better than being heref "

"No," said Peter stoutly, with his eyes fixed
upon her.

Sbe gave a little nervous langh, but blushed,
too, as she said hurriedly, "Well, I suppose you
will go back some day. Now tell me some
stories about the Bush, and give me something
to think about."

He could have given her a good deal to think
about if he had told her who he was, and an-
swered her question as to what he was doing in
England. But he had made np his mind thajt

218 BIG PETER

be conld not do so as yet, so he allowed him-
self to be drawn away from the sort of talk
he would have preferred, and amused her with
his yarns of adventure. And she sat with her
chin in her hand, looking ont over the water,
or leant back against the marble with her hands
clasped in her lap, listening to him, or perhaps
thinking abont something quite different, but
at any rate content to be there with him, and,
if her face showed anything, for this hour, at
any rate, in peace. Then, just as on the night
before, she sprang up suddenly and said she
must be going, and again Peter remonstrated
and said he had not began to say to her what
he wanted to say.

"Why, we have been talking for nearly an
hoar," she said, "and yon have been doing most
of the talking." And then, fearing perhaps
that be would say something she was not ready
to listen to, she pnt up her hand and said with
that sweet smile he loved so much, "PerhapB
we might have another talk to-morrow evening
if yon care to risk it," and again she was gone,
leaving him to stand there, with his heart flut-
tering like a bird in his great, strong body.

She came to him next night with a serious
face, and when they had talked together for a
little he asked her what was troubling her ; for
she did not seem to be attending to him much,

BT THE T.AKffi 219

and he was fearful lest tins time she had only
come because she had promised to do so, and
would soon want to leave him.

When he asked his question she looked at him
searchingly, and then said some words that
were as sweet to him as any he had ever heard
from her lips: "You have been a very good
friend to me. I think I will tell yon, and ask
your advice."

Then before he could speak, she added hur-
riedly, "It is not my own difficulty, it is Lady
Cambray's. But I know you will tell nobody,
and she has so few people to advise her."

Peter was a little disappointed that he was
not to help her out of a trouble of her own, but
only a little, because whosever difficulty it was,
it was her confidence that she was giving to
hhn. He hardly reflected that Lady Cambray
was something more to him than he had admit-
ted to the girl who was her friend, until she
said, "The most extraordinary thing has hap-
pened. Lady Cambray's solicitor came down
from London to see her this morning and told
her that there was a claimant to her title and
her property. He had not been given all the
details, but he had been told on the authority
of a man whose word he could trust that the
claim was a good one, although there might be
some difficulty in establishing it. He had been

220 BIG PETER

told to ask her whether she would undertake
not to resist it, if she could he satisfied about
it, and if she were given very handsome com-
pensation."

So Mr. Fearon had already begun to move.
Peter hardly knew whether he was glad or
sorry. But he did for the moment feel very
uncomfortable at having this confidence thrust
upon him. However, he reflected that what-
ever he might hear, no harm would be done to
Lady Cambray, and that if he knew how she
felt about it, it might even help him to take the
steps that would be most advantageous to her.

"If she were to get a very handsome com-
pensation," he said, when he seemed to be ex-
pected to speak, "and the claim is really a good
one, she might be better off than if she fought
it."

This matter-of-fact way of looking at it did
not seem to please her. "But don't you think
it's a most extraordinary thing," she said, "that
this should happen? How can the claim be a
good onet I don't know how it would be about
the property, but surely nothing that any one
could do could deprive her of the title which
is hers by right."

"Is she very keen on the title?" asked Peter.

This did not seem to please her, either. ' * The
title will be nothing by itself," she said, "but it

BY THE LAKE 221

is hers by right. It means that she belongs to
a very ancient family, and anybody has a right
to be proud of that."

"Oh, yes," said Peter. "But she would still
belong to it, wouldn't she, even if she wasn't
head of it? Did they say anything about who
it was that was claiming it!"

"They said it was a man whom she needn't
be ashamed of recognizing as the head of her
family; and a rich man who would act very
generously towards her."

"Oh, I expect he's a decent fellow enough,"
said Peter, greatly pleased at this testimonial.
"Of course he wouldn't want to be hard on
her; no man would in his position."

"You seem to take it lightly enough," she
said. "Don't they think anything of such
things in Australia? She has looked upon this
beautiful place as hers all her life — at least,
as going to be hers when the time came for her
to succeed to it all. Is she to give it up to a
stranger without a word, and to go and live
somewhere else where she will never see it
again?"

"I did hear," said Peter, "that she wouldn't
be able to live here, anyhow. I heard that her
father had played such havoo with the prop-
erty that there would be very little left for
her."

222 BIG PETEE

"Ah!" she said with a deep sigh, "I am
afraid that is only too true. She is only just
beginning to find out how difficult everything
will be for her." She threw out her hands.
"Ohl" she cried, "I think if I were she I should
be content to give it up for the sake of a little
peace and contentment in life. It isn't much
to ask. I have thought of her while you have
been telling me of the freedom of that country
where you come from. I have thought perhaps
that out there, away from all the trouble that
seems to come to those whose families have
grown so old and perhaps worn out, living for
so many generations in one place here, she
might begin a new life altogether, and never
for a moment regret the old one. She might
have to work with her hands perhaps, but no
woman minds that if — "

She broke off in confusion. If Peter had
only known what was being said to him! But
all he could find for an answer was, "From
what you say I am afraid she has been very un-
happy. I have heard a good deal about her
father, and I don't wonder at her being Bick of
it all. He must have been a terrible kind of
man to live with."

She sprang up from the seat and said to him
with cold displeasure, "Her father is dead.
You must not speak of him in that way. Now

BY THE LAKE 223

I mnst be going; I have stayed here too long."
He saw that he had displeased her, but had
no idea why. It could not be because she had
any affection for her friend's father. That can
only have been an excuse. Bat he could not
let her go like this.

"No, no," he said, patting ap his hand to
keep her back. ' ' If you go away now you won 't
come back to me. I can't do without you. It
is not only your friend who is sad. I am sure
you have your sorrows, too, although you are
brave about them. Tou are disturbed about
something to-night, and I haven't said anything
to comfort you, because I didn't know what to
say. But I'd give everything I have to save
you from the least little bit of trouble. I know
I'm a rough fellow, not worthy to tread the
same ground as you do. But I believe I love
you more than any man ever loved a woman
yet. Come to me and let me take care of you.
I'll spend my life in trying to make you happy.
Oh! I can't say it as I ought to say it, but you
must know how much I love you. Oh! how I
love yout I couldn't tell you how much if I
talked till midnight."

His words had poured out in a passionate
Btream. Once or twice she had tried to stop
him, bnt she had not tried to go away, and at
the end she stood looking at him, her face

224 BIG PETER

flashed and her eyes shining, because even in
his deep emotion he looked magnificently strong
and sincere, and he was offering her the best
that a man has to offer to a woman — himself
and his whole devotion.

Now she said softly, "I am glad yon have said
that to me. Thank yon very much. I shall
never forget it. But I can't say what you want.
Yon don't know everything about me; and be-
sides — "

She did not finish her sentence, and Peter
began to plead with her again. But she cut him
short and spoke with more determination.
"No,'* she said, "I cannot listen to you. You
mustn't ask me to. And I must go now."

"Then you must come back," he said. "You
went away from me once before, and I thought
I had lost you. I have found you twice by
chance. I can't let you go again unless you
promise to come back. Will you come here
again to-morrow? Oh! but why can't you say
what I want you to say now! Why must you
go at all T If you go, let me come with you, and
tell them that you belong to me and that I am
going to take care of you. I can, you know.
I am strong enough, and I can give you more
than you think, perhaps."

She stopped him again, or he might have
blurted out everything. "If I can," she said,

BY THE T. A7TF! 225

"I will come here again to-morrow. I can't
be quite certain, but I will promise yon this, I
will come to yon again. I won't promise that
I will say what you want me to say, but I won't
try to stop yon from saying it if you will let
me go now. I want to go — you won't try and
keep me here against my will."

This was just the plea that would prevail
upon Peter, — the plea of weakness to strength.
He looked at her closely and longingly. "If
yon make me a promise," he said, "I know
that yon will keep it"

And then she left him to wonder whether he
had prevailed with her at all

CHAPTER XVH

AN ABBEST

PETER stayed some time longer by the
lake. And then instead of going back by
the way he had come, he followed the path
which the girl had taken. It was already get-
ting dark. There was small fear of his being
seen if he should explore a little farther into
the privacies of these spacioas gardens. He
had no idea at all of following her np. He was
sure that she had gone back to the house. But
he wanted to know more of the ground that was
so familiar to her ; and so far he had not pene-
trated closer to the castle than the spot on
which they had been together.

The path led on a long way through the
shrubberies, and then suddenly came out on to
a wide, open space and skirted something like
an acre of lawn, at the other end of which
loomed the great bulk of the castle itself.

Peter drew back into the shade of the trees,
because some of the windows in front of him
were lighted up, and although it was getting

AN ARREST 227

dusk, it was not too dark for him to be seen
if he had followed this path.

He went back a little way and found another,
which ran behind the trees, and followed it
until it began to descend the hill on the oppo-
site side of the castle to that by which he had
entered the grounds. Presently he came to a
little bridge t)ver a leaping stream and leant
over it for a moment contemplatively, drawn
by the fascination of the running water, which
sang musically under his feet.

But a vague uneasiness seized him. The air
was close and unpleasant here, and seemed to
be full of flies, which buzzed about him horribly,
and reminded him of unpleasant experiences in
the Australian Bush.

Just as he was about to move on again he
thought he heard voices, and stopping to listen
realized that somebody was coming up the path
towards him. So he stepped off it and went
down among the. trees by the river. He went
on a few yards and got behind a thick bush,
until the men whose voices he had heard had
passed on. They came up the path and passed
over the bridge quite close to him.

"There must be a dead rabbit or something
about here," said one of them. "It gets worse
and worse."

They seemed to pause for a moment, and

228 BIG PETEB

Peter drew back farther into the bosh against
which be was standing. Something heavy fell
out of it at his feet, and when the men, who
seemed to be grooms or indoor servants from
the honse, had passed on again, he picked it up
and found it was a thick walking stick almost
as heavy as a cudgeL

"Now I wonder how that got here," he said
to himself. "As nobody seems to want it I
may as well take it with me."

The next day the rain came down heavily and
Peter's spirits Bank accordingly. He could
hardly hope for a meeting in the temple by
the lake, but he went there nevertheless and
stayed until it was dark. Bnt she did not come.

And this evening, to add to his discomfort,
he was caught by a keeper getting out of the
wood on to the road, and questioned as to his
intentions. He did not want to have any
trouble of that Bort, and gave the man a sover-
eign, which may or may not have quieted any
suspicions he may have had, but sent him away
touching his hat.

The next day it was fine again, and Peter
went for a long walk into the country, wishing
all the time that the hours would fly away and
bring him to that quiet evening hour of which
he now hoped so much. But in spite of the sun
and the blue sky and the exhilaration that ought

AN ARREST 229

to have come from brisk movement, depression
hang about him heavily, and he could not tell
why.

He had his superstitions, and it seemed to
him that, just as before, he had had astounding
lack which was turning into disappointment.
He buoyed himself with the memory of her
promise. She would certainly come to him
again, in the tree-shaded temple by the still
water. Bnt do what he would he conld not re-
cover the lightness of his spirits, although he
had many moving memories on which to feed
his thoughts.

"When he got back to his inn in the afternoon,
he was met with the news of a gruesome excite-
ment that had taken place during his absence.
A dead body had been discovered in the woods
below Cambray Castle. It was unrecogniz-
able, but all the signs pointed to a terrible mur-
der. The whole neighbourhood was buzzing
with it.

The news chiefly concerned Peter because of
the effect it would be likely to have on the in-
habitants of Cambray Castle itself. He went
again to the temple by the lake and again was
disappointed.

The next morning he heard that Lady Cam-
bray had left the castle. It was the centre now
of disagreeable talk, and there could be no pri-

230 BIG PETER

vacy anywhere about it, with everybody for
miles round coming to see the place where the
murder had been committed, and all the police
in the countryside, and some from London be-
sides, searching for clues.

The next morning it was rumoured that a
clue had been discovered and the murdered
man identified.

Peter went out for another long country
walk. When he got back to the inn in the after-
noon he saw two or three policemen standing
outside it talking to the landlady, and as he
came striding up they drew together with all
their faces turned towards him. He heard one
of the policemen say, "Yes, that's the man,"
and the next moment one of them stepped for-
ward and said, "John Peter, I arrest you for
the murder of Robert "Walker, and I warn you
that anything you say now will be used in evi-
dence against yon."

Peter drew back, startled out of his five wits.
"Robert "Walker!" he exclaimed. "Is he the
murdered mant What have I got to do with
itt"

Then his eyes fell upon the policeman who
had pointed him out. It was the young man
new to the force whom he had run against in
London that night on which he had met Walker.

"Oh! it's you, is itt** he said angrily. "The

AN ABBEST 231

man who saw me with Walker. Didn't I tell
you I wanted him kept under observation!"

"You was assaulting Walker when I come
up," said the policeman quickly.

The whole set of incriminating circumstances
presented themselves in a flash to Peter's mind
and rousedhim to a frenzy of anger. He had
been fighting his depression all day. Nothing
had gone right with him, and now in this place
of all others in which he most wished to stand
well in the eyes of everybody, he was to be
absurdly accused of foul murder. His face
grew dark, and he half-raised the thick stick
in his hand.

But the police were all on the alert, and the
moment he exhibited these signs they were on
to bim with one accord. There were three of
them, and the concerted attack just put the
spark to his fury. He dropped his stick and
fought them with both hands. One of them
went flat down with a blow straight from the
shoulder. With the other two clinging on to
him he struggled fiercely, while the woman
standing in the doorway shrieked, and people
came running up to watch the unequal contest

But unequal as it was, if it had only been a
question of that fight, of one man against three,
Peter would have won. It lasted no more than
a few seconds, but at the end of them he bad

232 BIG PETER

broken free and could have got away from his
captors.

Bat flight was not in his mind. It was only
blind rage that had seized him, and that was
dissipated as suddenly as it had sprung up by
the realization that his victory was of no use
to him. He stood where he was, and began to
expostulate. But the men whom he had treated
so roughly were in no mood to listen to him.
In a trice he was handcuffed and at their mercy;
and then he doggedly shut his mouth and would
say nothing.

Fortunately for him the inn was on the out-
skirts of the village, and the police station was
the next building to it. He had not to suffer
the indignity of being led through a crowd of
people to his incarceration.

As they led him off one of the policemen
picked up the stick he had dropped, and pointed
to the end of it.

"Look here," he said in a shocked voice,
"this is what he did it with."

CHAPTER XVm

PETEE was sitting in his prison cell in
Carchester gaol, committed to take his
trial at the next Assizes for wilful murder.

The police court proceedings had been short
enough. The murdered man had been identi-
fied from bis pocket-book, which had been found
on the body; and the man who had been in his
company on the night Peter had met him in
London bad testified to Peter's attack on him
then. The policeman had been found through
the number written in this same pocket-book,
and had also given evidence of the murderous
threats Peter had used. The very stick with
which he had attacked the police had been
shown to have had sticking to it traces of blood
and hair, which was no doubt that of the mur-
dered man.

Peter had listened to the evidence as to a
sort of horrible dream. But he had said noth-
ing. He would give no account of himself at
all, nor would he summon legal help. One de-

234 BIG PETER

termination he kept all through. By no word
of his would be make it possible for his name
to come ont to be seared with this shame.

It was a determination not very closely rea-
soned. For if it was possible for him to with-
hold his real name now, it would not be possible
to keep it secret when he should come to stand
his trial.

But he seemed incapable of logical thought.
The shock had been too great. He could only
stand there and suffer, as the dreadful evidence
was piled up against him; and unless he was
prepared to tell everything nothing that he
could say would avail him. He would not say
what be was there for at all, and the evidence
of the keeper who had found him lurking about
in the woods behind Cambray CaBtle was only
one of the lesser circumstances that went
strongly against him. As he said nothing,
but simply pleaded "Not Guilty" and re-
served bis defence, the police court proceed-
ings were very short, and he was lodged in
Carchester gaol almost before he had awoke to
the full realization of what had happened to
him.

He was sitting on the edge of his plank bed
when his door was unlocked and a warder came
into his cell followed by a tall man in the dress
of a country gentleman, who held out his hand

PRISON 235

and said quietly, "Well, Peter, you seem to
have got yourself into an awkward mess."

The light was so dim that Peter could not
at first recognize his visitor, but the voice
seemed familiar, and in a moment he found
himself grasping the hand of his late part-
ner on the goldfields, the man whom he had
always known as the Swell.

"I can leave you here for a quarter of an
hour, Sir Lawrence," said the warder. "My
orders is not for longer, so you must say what
you've got to say without wasting time." Then
he went ont and locked the door behind him.

"How did you eome beret" exclaimed Peter.
"By Jove, though, I'm glad to see you. There
isn't a man in the world I would rather see
than you!"

The Swell, who now looked indeed like a
swell, and no longer in the least like a gold-
miner, took his seat by Peter's side on the
plank. "They don't offer you much accommo-
dation here," he said coolly. "Well, we won't
waste time by talking about me. I happened
to be here when you were brought to this not
very satisfactory place of residence, and I rec-
ognized you. The Governor of the prison
served in my regiment, and I found out all
about you from him, and got bim to stretch a
point and let me Bee yon for a bit. What's it

236 BIG PETER

all about, Peter I Did yon come across that
scoundrel and lose your temper with himf"

Peter Btared at him. "What, Walker!" he
exclaimed. ' ' You don *t think I murdered
Walker, do youf"

The Swell looked a trifle uncomfortable,
which was unusual with him, and murmured
something about manslaughter.

Then Peter told him the whole story and at
the end of it he drew a deep breath of relief.

"Well," he said, "you have taken a weight
off my mind. I was going to stand by yon,
anyhow, but there's no nse denying that I
didn't think it was an entire mistake your being
where you are. I have seen you lose your wool
once or twice 'out there,' and I know you don't
think much of consequences when that happens.
I thought he might have gone for you, perhaps
with a gun or something, and that you had
gone for him in return. However, I never
thought it was really like you to attack a man
with a stick, and in fact, old fellow, I apologize
for thinking anything about it at all. And now
let's leave that and think what's to be done."

"It's. what I have been thinking of all the
time," said Peter. "I know who murdered
Walker. I have had him in my power twice
and I have let him go. Now I have given my

PBISON 237

word; if I had him here now I couldn't do any-
thing."

"Well, if it's only the understanding you gave
to that charming young lady," said the Swell,
"I should think the last thing in the world that
she would wish would be to keep you to it."

"My word is my word," said Peter, "and un-
less she releases me from it I will say nothing."
And then he broke out fiercely, "Think of her
knowing that I am here in priBonl — charged
with a brutal murder I What must she think of
me 1 Perhaps she thinks as yon did, that I killed
him, though I didn't mean to, and that all the
time I was talking to her I had his blood on my
hands, and his dead body was lying within a
mile of us. Oh ! I believe it's the end of every-
thing. I don't care what happens to me. I have
almost made up my mind to put np no defence
at all, and let the law end it in its own way."

"Well," said the Swell coolly, "I suppose
absurd ideas of that sort do come into a man's
head when he's shut np in a beastly place like
this, without anybody to talk* to. Haven't you
sent for your solicitor or anything? You ought
to have legal advice. Some circumstances are
against you in a most extraordinary way. But
the case is much weaker than it looks at first
sight. I found out all about it that I could. The

238 BIG PETEE

man had been dead at least a fortnight, accord-
ing to the medical evidence, and I suppose yon
can show where yon were all that timet"

"Yes, I can show where I was if I let out who
I am," said Peter.

""Well, my dear fellow, yon've got to do that
It's no good putting your head in a bash and
trying to keep it there. If you don't tell them
who you are, they will find it out for themselves.
Very likely they are trying 5 to do so now; and it
won't be so difficult. You have given a false
name down here, like a fool, and of course that
will go against you until you tell your reasons
for it ; but you have hidden your true one up in
London or wherever else you have been, and of
course you will be identified."

"I am not so sure," said Peter. "I know
very few people in England, and lately I have
changed my rooms in London; or rather I have
left my rooms and put my things in store until
I went back again and took others. I don't be-
lieve there's a soul that will miss me, except my
lawyer, Mr. Fearon."

"Well, that's the very man you ought to have
had with you," said the Swell. "He will advise
you better than I can. "Why haven't you sent
for him f"

"I will," said Peter after a pause. "He'll
find me out for himself if I don't, for he knows

PRISON 239

I came down to these parts and will be wonder-
ing why he hasn't heard from me. The fact is
I have been ashamed to do it before. I conld
hardly believe that this has really happened to
me, and I don't seem to be able to think straight
about anything."

"Give me his address," said the Swell, "and
I will go tip to London and see him. And pnll
yourself together, Peter, my boy. Fate has
played a dirty trick on you, but youll pull
through in the end. You have found your girl
and you've got your pile; and you'll get your
title and your castle very soon. We shan't be
far off each other when you do. For I've come
to live in this part of the world. Why, we shall
be shooting with each other next autumn."

Peter looked at him with interest. ' ' Who are
you, Swell?" he asked him. "You've never told
me, although we've been good friends. What
did the man call yon when you came in — Sir
Lawrence?"

"Towers," added the Swell, — "Lawrence
Towers. I was that when we were digging to-
gether, but I played the fool when I was a young
fellow, Peter. Got rid of everything. Well,
there was a woman in the case. But I am cured
now. Australia cured me, and now it has given
me back what I lost, and more besides."

The sound of a key in the door showed that

240 BIG PETEE

the permitted time had come to an end. The
two men parted with a warm grip of the hand,
and when the door was once more locked upon
him, Peter felt that everything might not be lost
after all.

Mr. Fearon came to see him the next day.
The old man was scandalized, and rebuked Peter
severely for not having sent for him. Bat his
severity conld not last long under the circum-
stances, and he soon applied, himself to the con-
sideration of Peter's defence.

Rut first of all he had a piece of news to give
him.

"A most surprising piece of newsl" he said.
"If only you had not come down here — I How-
ever it is too late to think of that now, unfor-
tunately. I have the missing leaf of the reg-
ister."

"What I" cried Peter. "Pouhaveit! Then
what was "Walker murdered fort He hadn't
got it after allt"

"Yes, he had," said the old man, "and that's
the most surprising thing about it. A fortnight
ago he left it in charge of his wife, not telling
her what it was. It was in a sealed envelope.
Bnt she opened it, and when she saw what it
contained she brought it to me. The sheet con-
tains, of course, what we have always thought
it would contain, and with her affidavit as to

PRISON 241

how it came into her hands I don't think we
shall have any difficulty now in proving our
case."

"I didn't know Walker had a wife," said
Peter. "Why did she give him awayt"

"Because," said Mr. Fearon, with his eyes
fixed on him, "she hated her husband, and
wanted to do a good torn to you."

"Why should Bhe want to do a good turn to
met" asked Peter. "I don't know anything
about the poor woman."

"Yes, you do," said the old lawyer. "You
have known her under the name of Mrs. Saun-
ders, which was her name before she married
that rascal."

"What!" Peter again exclaimed, in utter as-
tonishment.

"You did a very good turn for yourself when
you befriended that lady," said Mr. Fearon.
"And she has shown her gratitude. Poor
woman I We needn't waste much time over her
story. Her husband was a brute to her, and
when they lived in Australia hardly came near
her except to sponge on her. For the sake of
her boy, she scraped hard to get enough money
to leave him and come over to England, where
she thought he would never find her. You know
that part of her story. Unfortunately, he met
her by chance, and began to sponge on her again,

242 BIG PETER

though he never lived with her over here, and
she managed to keep all knowledge of him from
her boy.

"She knew he was up to some rascality, but
he never told her what it was. Then one eve-
ning he came to her and put this envelope in
her hands, and threatened her with all sorts of
things if she should say a word of it to any-
body. He said he might come for it at any day.
Well, I suppose her woman's curiosity got the
better of her, and she found a way of opening
the envelope ; and when she found ont what his
game was she came straight to me. She guessed
from the name and from something Walker had
once let drop about yon, that you were con-
cerned in it."

"Well, that's a most -surprising coincidence,"
said Peter. "Poor woman! Fancy her being
the wife of that rascal! And she must have
run some risk, too, in bringing it to you. Was
it before she heard that he had been mnrdered f ' '

"She doesn't know that yet," said Mr. Fea-
ron.

' ' Doesn 't know it 1 " exclaimed Peter. ' ' Isn 't
it generally knownT"

"When she gave me the paper," said Mr.
Fearon, "she made certain stipulations. She
was, as you say, running a great risk in giving
away her husband, and she had come to the con-

PRISON 243

elusion that there was no possibility of her any-
longer continuing to live in comfort in England.
She is on her way back to Australia now. I
promised not to tell you anything about it until
she was out of reach. I wish now very much
that I hadn't made the promise. But of course
I had no idea then how important it would be
to have her evidence. I made her take the re-
ward. I knew you would wish that. Unfortu-
nately she chose to go out round the Cape in a
sailing ship for the sake of the child's health,
and there will be no means of getting at her for
some months."

""Well, it is just like everything else," said
Peter with a sigh. ' ' One has a surprising piece
of luck, and then something happens to spoil it
all. But anyhow, now that I have had time to
think of everything, it seems to me that it will
be a very dangerous thing to mix up the claim
with whatever defence we can put up against
this charge. It's like this: Walker is proved to
have had the stolen register, and I am proved
to be the man most concerned in getting it from
him. Won't that go against me more than any-
thing else wouldf "

"I don't know," said Mr. Fearon. "I should
think not, if all the story comes to be known.
But I have thought of it, of course, and I am
quite prepared, as long as it is possible, to hold

244 BIG PETEE

back what yon don't want known. I tell 70a
frankly that I don't think it will be possible, be-
cause the extraordinary circumstances which
have mixed you up with Walker want an expla-
nation, and I doubt if we can get an acquittal
without them. But well try. Except locally,
the murder has not aroused much attention.
Nobody knows anything about Walker, and no-
body knows anything about John Peter. 80 far,
there has not been anything to connect him with
Peter Cbandos ; and there has been nothing to
connect the murder with Peter Chandos's claim
to the earldom. We will keep the two things
apart as long as we can, and in the meantime
we will try and find Lorrimer, who seems to
have disappeared entirely. Sir Lawrence Tow-
ers has told me everything, and of course you
are quite right in thinking that Lorrimer is the
murderer."

"But he ought to have told you," said Peter,
"that I won't have anything to do with bring-
ing it home to him; and if he has told you why,
perhaps he has told you something else, which
explains what I was doing down here, and why
I didn't write to you."

Mr. Fearon did not seem to want to discuss
that subject, and, indeed, during the whole of
his interview with Peter, he seemed to be keep-
ing something back, to know more than he talked

PEI80N 245

about, and to have formed decisions which he
had no intention of submitting to his client.

"Yon will put yourself entirely into my
hands," he said a little stiffly, and then melted
again into kindness as he added, ''As for any
fear that you will be found guilty of this crime,
you must not let yourself think that, even in
moments of depression. You will most certainly
be acquitted. The only thing we have to think
about is as to whether it is possible to get an
acquittal without letting out what we want to
keep to ourselves."

Soon afterwards Mr. Fearon left him, with.
a great deal to think over.

So Mrs. Saunders was really Mrs. "Walker;
and another of those astounding coincidences
had come about of which his life latterly bad
seemed so full. Once more a piece of good for-
tune which could never have been looked for,
had been followed immediately by a stroke of
fate that had robbed it of all its value.

But he found time to think with gratitude
about the woman who had paid him back so fully
and unselfishly for all that he had done for her.
He remembered how she had once, in thanking
him, said that he had cast his bread upon the
waters. She had spoken more truly than he had
known.

Mr. Fearon had told him that she had refused

246 BIG PETER

to receive any more of the money he was en-
trusted to expend on her behalf, and had gone
back with her child to take up the struggle once
more in the country where she had known such
nnhappiness. Peter could not quite make out
why she had done this, and pat it down to a mis-
taken sense of pride. But that at any rate
could be altered. When she reached Australia
she should, if she wished to do so, come straight
back to England again, now that all fear of
molestation was removed by her husband's
death. Peter was not going to be robbed of the
pleasure of watching over young Tommy's for-
tunes ; and surely now that his mother had done
him such a good turn, she could not refuse to
let him continue the help that she had already
accepted from him.

But, alas! these thoughts belonged to the
future. Poor Peter, languishing in his prison
cell, was hardly in a position to make plans for
the benefit of his friends, and he soon turned
his attention again to his own troubles.

"When the night fell, he had not succeeded in
thinking of a way out of them ; nor was he able
to encourage himself overmuch with the mem-
ory of Mr. Fearon's assurance that they would
soon be over.

CHAPTER "XTX

THROUGHOUT the long day Peter had
been standing in the dock listening to the
evidence which tried to show that he was
a cruel and cold-blooded murderer.

But he was not alone in the dock. Separated
from him by the stalwart form of a police con-
stable there stood — Lorrimer.

Surprising things had happened, and he had
known very little about them until this morning,
when be had stepped out of his prison cell into
the shameful publicity of the court. Mr. Fearon
had kept away from him. Another solicitor had
been entrusted with his case, who had briefed
Counsel on his behalf, and had had one or two
perfunctory conversations with him, but had
told him little more than that Lorrimer had been
caught and had been committed for trial along
with him.

He had, however, told Peter to be of good
heart. "We shall bring you through," he had
said confidently. And because Peter had not
wished to discuss with him matters that he had

248 BIG PETER

disclosed to Mr. Fearon, not knowing how much
he knew of them already, he had not pressed
him to be more explicit.

When he had entered the dock, he had thrown
one look at his fellow prisoner, a look of scorn
and utter detestation ; and Lorrimer had tried
to meet his look with an answering one, but had
failed, and cast his eyes down on the ground.

Lorrimer looked frightful. His face was
deadly pale, aged and lined ; his eyes were blood-
shot and staring, and seemed as he gazed wildly
round him to have the light of madness in them.
Peter never looked at him again as long as they
stood there together, with the watchful police-
man between them, to see that no sudden out-
burst of rage from one or the other should
break in upon the orderliness of the court.

But Lorrimer looked at him sometimes with
a furtive look full of malevolence. Accomplices
they might have been in the view of those re-
sponsible for placing them in the dock together,
but no one marking that look could have thought
that there was anything but deadly hatred on
the part, at least, of one of them; and the whole
court buzzed with subdued excitement to hear
the story unfolded of how those two men, so dif-
ferent in appearance, came to be standing there
together, both charged with the same foul crime.

Certainly the proximity of this haggard,

THE TRIAL 249

hnnted-looking creature did nothing but good to
Peter, who stood upright and unmoved, a mag-
nificent figure of a man, though paler than one
of his open-air look should have been, from his
confinement.

Mr. Fearon had told Peter that public inter-
est had not been greatly aroused over this case.
Little was known of the murdered man and noth-
ing of him who was charged with having mur-
dered him.

But all that had been changed. A story such
as the public loves, — a story of mystery, in
which the names of those high in the land were
concerned, — had been added to this story of
common and apparently motiveless crime. And
now the whole country was talking about it, and
as many people as could possibly find a way of
getting into the court, and following its devel-
opment, had done bo.

For with the discovery and arrest of Lorri-
mer it had come to be known that this was no
motiveless crime, but that the murdered man
bad held possession of a secret on account of
which he had met bis death.

A mysterious claimant bad sprung up for the
Cambray earldom and estates. No one knew
anything abont bim, no one had ever seen him ;
but bis claim had been founded on an old mar-
riage register which this man Walker had got

250 BIG PETEE

bold of, and which others had tried to get from
him. Who those others were it was not difficult
to imagine. The last holder of the title was
well known by repntation as a man who wonld
have stack at nothing, and this Lorrimer had
been for years his attendant spirit of eviL The
question was whether the proof of what every-
body had made up their minds had happened
would be strong enough to condemn him.

As for the other prisoner, there was very
little interest in him. Most probably he had
been Lorrimer's accomplice, possibly bis dupe.
It was not unlikely that his had been the hand
which had actually dealt the blow. Speculation
with regard to him rested itself mainly npon
whether, on the chance of saving his own skin,
he would give away any of the secret which
would identify his accomplice with the crime.

To Peter, listening through the long hours,
there seemed to be a sense of unreality over the
whole proceedings, as far as they applied to him.
The evidence already produced at the police
court had been repeated, but it had not been
pressed unduly, and his own Counsel, for a man
of his eminence, had appeared to cross-examine
the witnesses almost perfunctorily.

A sense of weariness came over him. Was it
then so hopeless as that? Was there nothing
to be said in his favonr? Were all these unreal

THE TBIAL 251

coincidences to be left to carry their weight
with the minds of the jury, and send him to his
shameful doom!

The only point at which Peter's Connsel
seemed to wake up and cross-examine a witness
as if he meant to make something out of his
admissions, was when he pinned the doctor who
had made a post-mortem examination down to
the date at which the murder must have been
committed. But having got his clear statement
that it could not have been less than a fortnight
before the discovery of the body, which agreed
with the time at which the murdered man had
been proved to have left his lodgings in London,
he seemed again to lose interest in what the
witnesses were saying, and to relax once again
into an attitude almost of indifference.

But where Peter's Counsel was almost sleep-
ily dignified, it was very different with his
learned brother who was there in defence of
Lorrimer. He was a little man, with a sandy-
coloured beard, and limbs that seemed to be
strung on live wires. He was forever jumping
up and expostulating, and when it came his
turn to cross-examine the witnesses he seemed
to pounce on them like a fierce little terrier,
ready to worry them with voice and teeth.

From information received, Lorrimer had
been arrested at Liverpool, as he was just about

252 BIG PETER

to Bet sail for America. "When warned that any-
thing he might say would he used in evidence
against him, he had said at once, "That man
Peter murdered him, and he 'sin custody. What
have I got to do with it!"

After that he had kept silence, and at the
police court had reserved his defence.

The whole court had remained in breathless
silence when the story had been outlined upon
which the prosecution rested to identify Lorri-
mer with the case. Lorrimer listened to it him-
self with a face like that of a trapped animal;
and Peter listened to it with the same air of
bewilderment that he had worn throughout the
case. How could it have come to be known that
Lorrimer had written to Walker proposing an
interview in the wood. How could it have been
known that Lorrimer had been ready to go be-
hind the back of whoever was inciting him, and
to agree upon a Bum of money, out of which he
was to get his share, for the delivery of a cer-
tain secret!

What that secret was was also unfolded by
the prosecution, and aroused a thrill of excite-
ment that was presently echoed throughout the
country.

Walker had had in his possession and had evi-
dently stolen, a page of an old parish register
which seemed to show that the possession of

THE TRIAL 253

the Cambray title and estates should not have
been in the hands of their then holder. And it
was plainly indicated that this was the secret
which Walker was trying to sell, and which the
prisoner Lorrimer was endeavouring to get hold
of, partly — as it must unfortunately be admit-
ted,— on behalf of one who was no longer alive
to answer for his deeds, and partly so that he
might disloyally profit by it himself.

Later on, old Mr. Fear on had gone into the
witness box. He was a solicitor acting for the
Claimant to the Cambray title and estates. He
had offered a large reward for the recovery of
the missing register, and it had been brought
to him by Walker's wife* to whom he had paid
the reward after he had taken down her affidavit
as to the circumstances under which the stolen
page had come into her hands. This had hap-
pened before it had become known that her hus-
band was murdered, and because she was afraid
of him she had immediately sailed for Australia,
where she had originally come from.

In the same envelope as contained the regis-
ter there had been copies of sundry letters,
which included those last two written by Lorri-
mer that Walker had sent back to be destroyed.
But he had been far too astute to destroy all
record of them.

And now, if Lorrimer's Counsel had only

254 BIG PETER

known a little more than he did, or had hap-
pened to ask some question which wonld have
put him on the scent, it would no longer have
been possible to have kept from the knowledge
of the court Peter's connection with the reg-
ister.

Probably old Mr. Fearon was quite ready
to tell everything about him if those questions
had been asked. He had claimed a free hand,
and had promised only to keep the secret as long
as it should be safe to do so. But his cross-
examination brought forth none of these facts.
He was known to be acting for the Cambray
Claimant ; it was he who had offered the reward
for the recovery of the register. He was
pressed by Lorrimer's Counsel to disclose some-
thing as to that mysterious personage, but
blandly refused to do so, and his refusal was
upheld by the judge. There was nothing to show
that he had ever had anything to do with the
other prisoner, who seemed to be almost for-
gotten while these revelations about Lorrimer
were being brought np. It certainly ought to
have been known to the Counsel for the prosecu-
tion that when Peter had been first committed
to prison Mr. Fearon had come down to see him
as his legal adviser. But if it was so known,
the knowledge was not made use of, and Mr.
Fearon left the witness box quite unruffled by

THE TRIAL 255

the attacks of Lorrimer's Counsel, and with the
effect of his evidence very little damaged. Pe-
ter's Counsel did not cross-examine him at all.
He sat by as if he had nothing whatever to do
with all this evidence.

A footman from Cambray Castle was called
to prove that the stick which had been found in
Peter's possession when he was arrested had
belonged to Lorrimer. But he was so severely
dealt with in cross-examination, that the net
effect of his evidence was that it was something
like one he had seen Lorrimer use, but not very
like it.

This was the case against Lorrimer.

Peter's Counsel got up with extreme delibera-
tion, swung his eye-glasses by their cord and
looked at his papers. Every eye in the court
was upon him. He had not so far acquitted him-
self in a way to enhance his reputation. Appar-
ently he had not taken much trouble about the
case, and had left his client very much to him-
self, to stand or fall by the rather damning
weight of evidence bronght against him. But
now the listeners expected to hear him say
something that would indicate whether he had
any defence to put up at all.

What he did say made the profonndest im-
pression that had so far affected the court.
Without a word of preliminary address he

256 BIG PETEE

looked up at the usher of the court and said,
"Call the CounteBS of Cambray."

There was a slight pause; even the judge
looked up over his spectacles in surprise. And
then Lorrimer's Counsel jumped up in indig-
nant expostulation. His learned friend ought
to have given him notice of the line his defence
would take. If this lady who had been called
had been a witness of the prosecution they
would have given him warning, and been able
to meet any evidence she might give that was
detrimental to his client. Surely, Counsel joined
with him in defence should have done no less.
It was most irregular.

His learned brother was quite unmoved by
this plea. He explained shortly to the judge
that they had been trying for weeks past to find
Lady Cambray, who had been travelling from
one place to another abroad. They had only
succeeded in finding her at the last moment. She
had known nothing of the charge brought
against the prisoner, Peter, but directly she had
heard of it she had hurried home to give her
evidence, and had arrived in England only that
morning.

While this passage of arms and subsequent
explanation was going on Peter had stood with
his air of bewilderment more marked than ever.
What could the Countess of Cambray have to do

THE TRIAL 257

with the caae, unless everything had been let
out that had bo far been concealed? And why
should she be coming here to testify on his be-
half f

A slight figure, dressed in deep mourning,
stepped into the witness box and raised her veil
to take the oath. The warder at Peter's side
sprang to attention as he made a sudden sound
and movement of surprise. And again the un-
permitted buzz of voices filled the court, as his
attitude was observed.

Peter was standing like a man in a trance;
but there was a light in his eyes not wholly of
surprise, which transformed him from the de-
jected, almost callous-looking prisoner he had
been all the day long, into a handsome eager
man, whom it was difficult to think of as hav-
ing committed the crime with which he was
charged.

For if this was the Countess of Cambray,
then anything might happen. And nothing that
had happened hitherto did Peter understand in
the least For she was also the girl whom he
had enshrined in his heart, long before he had
ever set eyes on her; the girl he had saved from
drowning on the Norfolk Broad; the girl he had
saved from the insults of a scoundrel; the girl
he had made love to in the temple by the lake.

And now it was her turn. She had come here

258 BIG PETEE

to brave all those carious eves and gossiping
tongues to save him.

For one moment her eyes met his steadily,
and with a look that set his heart beating with
such happiness as not even the knowledge of
where he stood and what he might have to suf-
fer could lessen. What matter now if the whole
world thought him guilty of this crime ! That
look had changed everything for him. For it
meant, as certainly as if she had spoken the
wordB, that she loved him, and was not ashamed
to send him that message of the eyes which
would tell him so, even in the place of shame in
which he stood.

Her voice, as she began to tell her story, was
music in Peter's ears, and, low as it was until
she gained some confidence, it was listened to
with hardly less eagerness than his by every one
else in the crowded court.

On the evening of a certain date she had been
walking alone in a retired part of the gardens
at Cambray Castle, when she had been fright-
ened by the prisoner Lorrimer springing out
from among the bushes and addressing her.
She had had reason to dismiss him immediately
after her father's death, and at first refused to
listen to anything he had to say. But she was
all alone in a lonely part of the grounds, and he

THE TEIAL 259

was so wild in his demeanour that she was forced
to listen to him.

She had been too frightened at the time to
take in all that he had said. She now remem-
bered it perfectly well because she had after-
wards found corroboration of it.

He had told her that an enemy of her father
had got hold of a secret against him contained
in some paper that Lorrimer had undertaken to
get from him. He had hinted that this had been
done, and by violence. But he had become so
violent himself, and his manner towards her was
so terrifying that she had not understood what
he had plainly been hinting at. She had been
bending all her mind towards getting away from
him. She had cried out, and fortunately there
was some one near who had come to her rescue.

She hesitated for a moment and Counsel
asked her to tell the court who it was that had
come to her rescue.

When she mentioned the name of the man
who stood in the dock, beside the man whom she
was accusing, there was an immense sensation;
but any fresh interest that was aroused in the
prisoner Peter had to be left tmgratified be-
cause, after she had told shortly how he had
dealt with her assailant, she was taken on to
another part of her story, which disclosed a fact

260 BIG PETER

so startling that every other feature of the case
was forgotten for the time being.

A few nights later, she had been looking
through an old escritoire in the room mostly
nsed by her father; in it she knew that he kept
his most private papers. It had borne evident
signs of having been completely ransacked, and
this had aronsed her suspicion.

Many years ago, when she was a child, her
father had shown her an ingenious secret recep-
tacle in this escritoire, and had told her that
only he and she knew the secret, and she was
on no account ever to tell it to any one else.
But if he wanted to leave her a secret message
to be read after his death he should put it
there.

She had almost Forgotten the whole episode,
because latterly there had been little confidence
between her and her father. But it had come to
her mind when she had seen all the papers in
disorder. She had opened the secret receptacle
and there found a paper addressed to her in her
father's hand.

Counsel passed her a paper, and she identi-
fied it as the one she had found.

Then she stood with her eyes downcast and
the colour coming- and going on her cheeks, as
the contents of this extraordinary document
were read out

THE TRIAL 261

It was written in large sprawling characters,
and bore the date npon which Walker had been
mnrdered. It began without any preamble: —

"If Lorrimer annoys you after my death
yon can hold this over him. He has gone
ont at this moment to meet Robert Walker
at the little bridge in the wood and get from
him the paper he tried to steal, bnt Walker
stole first. Very likely he will murder
Walker."

That was all. But if instead of five lines,
traced with difficulty by a hand half -paralyzed,
there had been as many pages, it would have
been impossible for the effect of this brutally
cynical statement to be increased.

When Counsel had read it in a slow clear
voice, and had laid it down in front of him, a
gasp of horrified astonishment went up from
the whole court, which instantly swelled into
audible confusion as Lorrimer, who had listened
to it with eyes nearly starting out of his head,
reeled and fell on the floor of the dock in a dead
faint.

It was some time before the wretched man
was brought to, and the court had to be ad-
journed.

When he was brought into the dock again his
face was that of a man deprived of all hope.

262 BIG PETEB

Already he mast have felt the dreadful shadow
of the gallows; and in nothing that followed did
he take any more interest than if he had been
already dead and beyond the reach of the con-
demnation of man.

So the wicked old lord had wreaked his venge-
ance on him even from beyond the grave. The
man whom he had betrayed had committed
crimes for him. If he had ever had in bis com-
position qualities which might have led him to
choose the good rather than the evil, it was his
master who had destroyed them. Even as those
very words were being painfully traced, the
crime was being committed to which he himself
had undoubtedly incited him. But he had had
no mercy and no pity. His dupe had dared to
cross him once in his long life of service, and to
deal a wound to his pride. And this was his
revenge, surely a fearful one even for a man
of such a character as Lord Cambray.

And what must it have meant to Lord Cam-
bray's daughter to stand up in that crowded
court and to hear those words read out which
must cover with perpetual shame the old name
she bore! Small wonder that, as she proceeded
to tell in a faltering voice when she had read
that dreadful message from the tomb, and when
the very next morning the news came of the dis-
covery of the dead body in just that spot so

THE TRIAL 263

plainly indicated, she bad fled to hide her head
where no news could reach her that would com-
pel her to come forward and publish to the
world the story of her father's shame.

She had told her story; but she mtiBt have
known that her ordeal would by no means end
there.

Counsel for the prosecution asked her a few
questions, tending only to strengthen her story,
and asked them in a sympathetic manner, as if
anxious to spare her as much as possible. But
when Counsel who was defending Lorrimer
arose to cross-examine her, every one knew that
her trial had only just began.

Nevertheless she faced him steadily. Her
face was very pale, but her eyes were bright
and her mouth was firm.

If he felt, as he adjusted his gown over his
shoulders, and paused for a moment before put-
ting his first question, that he was fighting a
forlorn hope, and that in extracting from the
witness further details which it could only pain
her to disclose, he would be playing a part which
would remove from him the sympathy of those
before whom he stood, there was nothing to
show it in his manner. He had to do the best he
could for bis client, even where his client by bis
demeanour seemed to publish to all beholders
the fact that his guilt had at last found him out.

264 BIO PETER

His first question came short and sharp.

""What was it that the. prisoner, Lorrimer, con-
fessed to yont"

She answered the question as well as she was
able, giving as many of his wild words aa she
could remember, and Counsel did not interrupt
her, but let her struggle on, and then said
sharply, "In fact you ask the jury to believe
that he came to yon and confessed to having
committed a murder f"

"He seemed to hint," she said steadily, "at
some crime of violence, to which he had been
incited."

"Incited by whom!"

The answer came as steadily aa before: "By
my father."

"And you now believe that crime of violence
to have been this brutal murder t"

"Yes."

"And did you not hesitate before yon came
here to tell us that your father, who has been
dead so short a time, was morally guilty of the
very crime that the prisoners are charged
witht"

"Yes," she said simply.

Her answer and the tone in which she gave
it seemed to make the question stand out in all
its brutality. The judge leant forward and
said, ' ' I think it must be plain to everybody that

THE TBIAL 265

the witness has come here under a very strong
sense of duty to tell the truth at all costs to
herself; and I think she should he spared all
unnecessary pain in doing so."

"Oh, I know, my lord," said the Counsel,
irritably. "My duty is also a very hard one,
and no question I shall put to the witness will
be put with the idea of causing her pain."

The judge leant back again and Counsel con-
tinued.

""We have it from yon that the prisoner Lor-
rimer made this confession which implicated
your father, who at that time had been dead
only a week. What reason did he give you for
coming to you, of all people, with such a story
at such a time?"

She did not shrink from it for a moment. She
must have known that it would come ; but her
face was paler than ever, and her voice broke
once or twice with a little gasp as she replied,
"My father's servant wanted me to marry him.
He threatened that if I would not listen to his
suit he would make public what my father had
done."

There was a gasp of astonishment at the
words, and at the splendid courage with which
they had been uttered.

When she had said them she seemed to break
down for a moment, but recovered herself

266 BIO PETER

quickly; and there was no one who did not feel
that in acknowledging the odious blow to her
pride, not only of rank but of womanhood, she
had for ever robbed it of its sting. Perhaps
Counsel felt it too, for he accepted the state-
ment without comment. He must have felt, at
any rate, that with such a witness it was impos-
sible to make any effect by discrediting motives.
Nevertheless his next question seemed to be de-
signed to that end.

"When the prisoner Peter came to your res-
cue, was he in the castle grounds at your invi-
tation f"

There was a murmur of indignation at this
question, to which she simply answered, "No."

Bat Counsel tried again, and this time got an
answer that probably surprised him.

"Had you any acquaintance with him before
he suddenly appeared on the scene that eve-
ning t"

"Yes, I had known him before."

Then followed a long cross-examination as to
where she had known him. She gave her an-
swers quite simply and straightforwardly. He
had been staying at a place where she also had
been staying during the early summer, and had
rescued her when the boat she had been sailing
in had been capsized. Thus their acquaintance-
ship had sprung up.

THE TRIAL 267

Her answers aroused extraordinary interest.
A romance was scented, and a very remarkable
one, between a lady of title and a mysterious
man apparently known to nobody, who was
standing there in the dock accused of murder.

But whatever interest this new conjecture
may have aroused, there was absolutely nothing
in her answers to connect Peter either with the
murder or with the affair of the register that
had led up to the murder. Perhaps Counsel
took pity on her; perhaps he felt that in every
answer she gave him she was only creating the
opposite effect to any he may have wished made.
For suddenly he desisted and sat down, and her
ordeal was over.

That it had been a terrible one nobody could
doubt, in spite of her brave demeanour. What-
ever might be said of her evidence, it had un-
doubtedly the effect of fixing the memory of her
own father with the conception, if not with the
carrying out, of the crime which had been com-
mitted. As she turned to leave the box, she put
her hand to her brow, stumbled and would have
fallen if she had not been saved by a middle-
aged woman, dressed in the sober clothes of a
confidential maid, who had stood just by the
witness box all the time she had been under ex-
amination.

Lady Cambray and her maid left the court at

268 BIG PETEB

once, and immediately the door closed behind
them there arose a wild commotion, which star-
tled and terrified every one.

The prisoner Lorrimer, who had kept his eyes
fixed upon her all the time she had been giving
evidence against him, with a frightful look
which had seemed to be mixed up of hunger and
despair and all terrible passions, suddenly
shrieked out unintelligible words, and then fell
heavily on to the floor of the dock, where he lay
writhing and shrieking, while the attendants of
the court knelt about him and a doctor hurried
up and joined them.

He seemed to have been seized with some aw-
ful kind of a fit. Those who saw his face shud-
dered at it Fortunately they were only few,
but every one oonld hear the words that came
from those tortured lips; and before he had
been borne out of the court he had shrieked out
a wild confession of his own guilt.

Once more the court was adjourned, but not
for long. There was a breathless silence as the
judge once more took his seat with a very grave
face and said to the jury: "Gentlemen, I have
to tell yon that the prisoner Lorrimer is beyond
the reach either of your acquittal or condemna-
tion. He has died from the illness which seized
him in your presence. "We now have to go on
with the case against the prisoner Peter."

CHAPTESE XX

THE VERDICT

THE Counsel for the prosecution now inti-
mated that his instructions were not to
press the case against the prisoner Peter.
He said shortly that circumstances at first sight
had been against Peter, and he had himself to
thank for the position in which he had been
placed. He seemed to have come from nowhere,
and the investigations that the police had been
making had failed to elicit any information
about him. If he had given the information that
he ought to have given when he was first put on
trial for this murder he would probably have
made it plain that he was innocent, and would
have been spared the ordeal which he had al-
ready undergone. He had not chosen to do so
and no blame could be attached to any one but
himself for the belief that he had been concerned
in the crime.

Then Peter's Counsel stood up, and for the
first time seemed to have something of interest
to say. The signs of indifference which he had

270 BIG PETER

worn throughout the trial had disappeared, and
he spoke quickly; and directly.

There had been no intention, he said, of keep-
ing his dent's identity secret longer than was
necessary in his own interests. But it had so
happened that until they had been successful
in procuring the evidence of Lady Cambray, the
very fact of his identity, if it had been known,
must have gone against him.

"Gentlemen of the Jury," said Counsel, "my
client's name is not John Peter simply. It is
John Peter Chandos. It is he whom you have
read about, and no doubt talked about, as the
mysterious Cambray Claimant— mysterious no
longer. He has been the victim of a set of cir-
cumstances hardly credible, and he must not
leave this court without the truth being placed
before you and his name cleared from every
trace of suspicion.

"If my learned friend, who addressed you on
behalf of the prisoner Lorrimer, who has now
gone to his account, bad pushed his enquiries
farther with certain witnesses, he might have
got near to the truth. But if he had done so I
fear it would have had a had effect upon your
minds, unless you knew all that be could not
have known."

He then shortly told the story of Peter's dis-
covery of Lorrimer in Thaxted Church, and

THE VERDICT 271

touched upon his generosity in letting Lorrimer
go after he had rescued Lady Cambray from
him, because she had pleaded with him to do so,
although at that time he knew that Lorrimer
had lied to him in Thaxted Church and must
have thought that, even if he had not the reg-
ister himself, he knew where it was.

"So you see, gentlemen," he ended up, "that
if these facts had been placed before you, before
you had known their real significance, they
would undoubtedly have appealed to you as im-
plicating my client far more seriously than he
was implicated already. Ton would have
thought, and you would have been justified in
thinking, that he had a motive for getting hold
of the register, at least as strong aa those of
others who were trying to get hold of it. You
would have known that Lorrimer and he had
met before, as you already knew that "Walker
and he had met before; and the impression on
your minds would have been that, whereas
there was some evidence to show that he had
murdered Walker, but his motive for such a
deed could not be guessed at, now that you know
all about him the motive was plainly to be Been,
as well as the suspicious circumstances of which
you knew already.

"I have only to add that yet another remark-
able coincidence has come to light, which would

272 BIG PETER

also, if it had been known to yon before, have
prejudiced yon against my client. Walker's
wife, through whom the facts came to light
which implicated Lorrimer, had been befriended
by my client in the most generons fashion, he
not knowing that she was Walker's wife, bnt
having travelled home with her from Australia
when she had gone by another name. That fact
also it was necessary to keep back so long as
it might appear that he was in some way in
league with those to whom this extraordinary
set of circumstances pointed as the guilty par-
ties. My client's advisers have now thought it
well that all the facts should be laid before you,
so that you may know that you have before you
a man who has been in a remarkable way the
sport of fortune, but whose troubles we now
hope are at an end."

This story had been listened to with breath-
less attention. Peter had made no sign while
it was going on, but had stood with his eyes
sometimes on the ground and sometimes fixed,
almost indifferently, upon Counsel's face.

His thoughts were far away. He saw in his
mind's eye, not the crowded court, with its row
upon row of eager interested faces ; but a cool
green lawn, shaded by tall trees and lapped by
the waters of a still lake, with a gleam of white
marble, and beside it the figure of one who had

THE VERDICT 273

braved all for bis sake, and would be waiting
there for bis words of gratitude and never-
ending love.

The proceedings lasted very little longer. The
Jndge said a few words of direction to the jury
and the jury brought in their formal verdict of
acquittal.

And then, in spite of the attempts of officials
to stop them, in spite of the possibly outraged
majesty of the law, cheer after cheer rang
through the court as Peter stepped out of the
dock, a free man, and found his hand grasped
by that of Sir Lawrence Towers, his old friend
and partner, whom he had always known as the
Swell

CHAPTER TTXJ

THE Swell hustled Peter out of the court
as quickly as possible. "Car waiting,"
he said shortly, as they pushed their way
through the crowds of people, so many of whom
wished to shake hands with and congratulate the
man whom an hour before they had quite ex-
pected to see condemned to death.

In a side street was waiting a long rakish-
looking car, the engines of which were already
started. The Swell jumped into the driving seat
and Peter into the one next to him. The liveried
chauffeur, having received his instructions,
touched his hat, and stood back, while the car
started off noiselessly, and slid down the street
But not before it had been seen. Men with note-
books came running round the corner, and one
of them actually sprang on to the footboard and
asked Peter to give him a short message for the
benefit of the readers of his paper.

"Tell them not to believe everything they see
there," said Peter, and gave him a little push

THE LAST 275

which landed him comfortably in the street just
as the car began to gather way.

But another reporter had hopped into another
waiting oar and was following them.

"Wait till I get clear of the streets," said
the Swell, looking back over his shoulder.

They drove through the town, with the other
oar still close behind them, and came to a long
straight hill between rows of villas.

"Now we can get on," said the Swell; "and
damn the speed limit!"

The oar shot forward and raced np the hill
Peter looked back and saw the pursuing car
toiling along in their wake and being left farther
behind every moment. At the top of the hill
there was a mile stretch of straight road run-
ning out into the country. When they had
reached the end of it the smaller oar had been
left far behind.

"We don't often get a chance of using sixty
horsepower in this country," said the Swell,
"but I don't think we need bother about those
gentlemen any more. They will probably turn
up at my house by and by; but they won't find
us there."

"Look here, old chap," said Peter, "I am
very much obliged to you for getting me clear,
but I want to go — "

"I know where you want to go all right," said

276 BIG PETBE

the Swell, "and we're going there, a good deal
faster than we're supposed to. She's expecting
yon," he added, in further explanation.

"Isn't it a most astounding thing," exclaimed
Peter. "She of all people to tarn out to be the
Countess of Cambray! I can hardly believe ii
even now. When did yon first know?"

"Well, I guessed pretty quick," said the
Swell, "when I began to make a few enquiries.
And then came the business of finding her. That
wasnt quite so easy. I have covered a few,
miles during the last week or two, Peter."

"What! you fonnd herl" exclaimed Peter.

"Oh ! yes. I thought I'd do what I could for
you, and I have given a very good account of
you to the lady. Ton 're a lucky fellow, Peter.
Yon might not have had it all your own way
with her if you hadnt staked out your claim
first. However, you're the only fellow who
seems to count with her, and by Jove! she's
Bhown it to some tune. Peter, you were right
about that girl from the very first. She's one
in a thousand."

The look in Peter's eyes showed that to him
she was one in all the millions that compose the
inhabitants of the world. His heart was too full
to speak for a time.

Presently he asked : "What did she say when
you told her who I was?"

THE LAST 277

"I haven't told her who you are. That's left
for yon."

"What! then she doesn't know that I am the
Cambray claimant ! ' '

"No. We thought it would only complicate
matters."

"But she'll know it now, because it was let
out in court."

' ' I think not before you have a chance of tell-
ing her yourself. She left the court directly she
had given her own evidence, and didn't hear
what your counsel said. I arranged with her to
telephone directly everything was over, but I
didn 't give her that news. You 11 find her wait-
ing for you, and you can tell her yourself."

They drove along the unfrequented road at
the back of the castle woods, and stopped before
the gap at which Peter had first made bis way
into them.

"I shall be back here in an hour's time," said
the Swell. "I shan't mind waiting a bit if you
haven't quite finished, and I'll take you home to
my house, where you will put up for the pres-
ent. Good-bye, old fellow— best of luckl"

Peter gripped his band and jumped out of the
car.

The Swell watched him until he was lost to
sight among the trees, and then with a quizzical

278 BIG PETER

look on his face, touched his levers and slid
away.

Peter hurried through the wood and along
the shrubbery path, and came out on to the tem-
ple lawn.

She was waiting for him, standing by one of
the marble pillars, with her hands clasped to
her breast. She was dressed in white. All
traces of mourning and sorrow were put away
from her.

With a cry Peter ran forward, and she came
to meet him. He took her in his arms, and she
nestled there as if it were a refuge from all the
ills of life, which would never more fail her.

By and by they moved to the marble seat in
the shade of the temple, and sat there with
clasped hands and eyes which hardly ever left
each other's, talking in low tones of the new
story of their love, which was not new at all,
but as old as the earth itself, and still more
abiding.

The happy birds twittered their good-night
amongst the leaves of the trees, which seemed
to shut them in in this quiet spot, away from
all the rest of the world, to brood only upon the
sweetness of the hour, and their own deep hap-
piness. All their troubles were forgotten.
They were together, and nothing could ever part
them.

THE LAST 279

Presently, when the hour which had been al-
lowed to Peter was nearly up, they descended
a little from the heights in which they had been
moving.

"Shall we go away and live in your country,
dear?" she asked him. "Don't you remember
that I once told you that if I were Lady Cam-
bray I might like to do that as a refuge from all
my sorrows? And I was rather cross with you
because yon didn't take my bold hint, although
of course you couldn't have known."

"Margaret I" said Peter in a low voice. "Do
you mean that when you said that you wanted
me to ask you then?"

She smiled at him. "How dense men are!"
she said. "And how foolish women are! I
didn't know what I wanted; but I think I loved
yon all the time, Peter. If yon had taken me
then, I shouldn't have been able to resist you."

' ' Darling 1 ' ' said the enraptured Peter. ' ' Did
you love me when we were together in the or-
chard by the Broad?"

Again she smiled at him. "X thought you
were magnificently strong, and very handsome, ' '
she said. "And I thought you were so good,
and so kind. To be with you was like being in
a peaceful refuge where no harm could come to
me. And oh, I want love and protection. I
have had so little of it in my life."

280 BIO PETER

He held her in bis arms again, and she made
no effort to leave their shelter. She mnst have
felt that at last she had a strong, loving, tender
heart to lean on, which would never let her fall
again into the depths of which she had had such
unhappy experience.

After a time Peter said to her : "Do you want
to go away from this beautiful placet For ever,
I meant"

"I am afraid I cannot help myself," she said,
a little sadly. "I should like to have offered
you Cambray Castle, dear, as a wedding gift,
for it has belonged to my family for hundreds
of years, and with all the shadows that have lain
over it lately, I still love it, and would like to
be happy here with you. But it must go , — there
is no help for it."

"It needn't go from us," said Peter. "I told
you about the mine out in Australia, but I didn't
tell you how rich it had made me. If Cambray
Caatle has to be Bold because it is so encum-
bered, I can afford to buy it ten times oyer. My
darling, we will live here together, and there
will be more happiness in your old castle than
there has ever been there before."

"So you are rich," she said, *'and you never
told me. Well, riches will be the least part of
our happiness. I want yon and you only, rich
or poor. But I am afraid that we cannot have

THE LAST 281

Cambray Castle. It will not be mine to sell. It
bas been proved to me that I have no claim
either to my home or to my title. Yon won't
mind that, will yonf They don't think much of
titles oat in Australia. I shan't come to yon as
the Conntess of Cambray. I have no right to
call myself that now."

"Yes, you have, my dear," he said.

She smiled at his contradiction of her. "Per-
haps I have," she said, "until it is taken away
from me. Bnt yon know there is some one who
has a better right to it than I have — some mys-
terious personage whom I have never seen; and
my lawyers tell me it will be better not to fight
him. I shall come to you as Margaret Chandos
: — I am that at any rate — and when I have come
to you I shall be content to call myself Mrs.
John Peter. I shall want no better name. Per-
haps it will have to be Lady Margaret Peter;
but if we go and live in Australia, I think I
should prefer to drop that. I want to forget
my past life and begin a new one. Mrs. Peter I
I shall like that. What am I to call yon, my
dearest f I have never called you by your Chris-
tian name. Do they call you John or Jackt"

"They call me Peter — sometimes Big Peter."

"I will call you Big Peter too sometimes.
But I can't always call you by your surname.
Yon wouldn't like it, would you?"

282 BIG PETER

"No, I shouldn't But Peter isn't my sur-
name, although I have been known by that lately.
My Christian names are John Peter."

"Peter isn't your surname 1 Then what ia!"
She looked surprised and puzzled.

"It is Chandos," he said with his eyes on
her face.

"Chandos!" Still she was far from under-
standing.

1 ' Yes, Chandos. The same as yours. ' *

"But how can that be? The Cambray Chan-
doses are the only Chandoses there are."

"Yes. We are cousins. We come of the same
stock, though you are a fashionable English
lady, and I am a rough fellow out of the bush."

"Do you mean that?" she asked with a smile.
"Then why didn't yon tell me? I thought I
was the only one left of all the Chandoses/'

"Did you? Didn't you know that there was
another — the man who is claiming your title and
these estates?"

"Oh, yes. I had forgotten him for the mo-
ment But — "

Then at last she understood, and looked at
him with her eyes wide. "You don't mean that
you are the Cambray Claimant I"

"I am John Peter Chandos. It is I who am
claiming your title, and, my darling, I am going
to give it back to you. Yon will have everything

THE LAST 283

that you have always had — your title and this
beautiful home of yours too."

She looked into his eyes, and then said softly,
"And I shall have you, without whom I should
want none of it at all."

It was not until half an hour later that they
stood together by the motor car, whose owner
regarded them with his usual expression of dry
criticism, to which on this occasion was added
a certain hint of tenderness.

"Well, if you've both had enough of one an-
other for the present,*' he said, "it's about time
we were moving on. I'll look after him, my
lady, and bring him back to you when you want
him."

She put her hand in his and looked at him
with a smile out of which all the sadness had
departed. "I shall always want him, Sir Law-
rence," she said, "and it is you who have given
him to me. I can never thank you enough, so
I won't try to begin. I had to come and say
good-bye to you, and now I am going back by
the way he came to me."

She stepped into the wood through the gap
in the fence and was lost among the trees.

"When you come into yonr own, Peter," said
the Swell, as he pressed down the lever, "and
begin to repair your property, I shonld shift
the old gateway to that spot."

284 BIO PETEB

"That's a good idea," said Peter, as thoy
ran past the deserted lodges and the grass-
grown gate. "I shall always like that way into
Cambray Castle best"

The Earl and Countess of Cambray are not
always to be found at Cambray Castle, their
English home, which great wealth and loving
care have made one of the most beautiful places
in the country, as for many years it has been one
of the happiest. They have another home, also
called Cambray, a long, low deep-verandahed
house that Peter built on the great cattle sta-
tion which he bought in Australia a few years
after his succession to the title.

It is not in one of the more settled parts of
that great country. The nearest neighbours
are twenty miles away, which is considered al-
most on the doorstep, and the next nearest some-
thing like fifty. But there are something like
a hundred people employed on and about the
station, who live for the most part clustered
around the big house, in unusual comfort.
There are cottages and stores, a church and a
school ; and the whole settlement makes up what
would be quite a respectable village in England.
The house itself, although, alas! roofed with
galvanized iron to catch the rare rains, is beau-
tiful with the rich almost tropical growth of the

THE LAST 285

creepers that grow about itj and "my lady's
garden" is considered a wonder by all who
see it.

Here they come for a month or two every few
years and live the free happy life which Peter
will never be quite contented without, in spite
of the duties as a great English landlord which
he so satisfactorily fulfills. Here he is apt to
forget that he is the Earl of Cambray, as he
throws himself into the manifold activities of a
great station-holder, revelling in the active ad-
venturous life of the Bush, and going back after
hours or perhaps days in the saddle to a home
whose spacious simplicity is a welcome change
from that other splendid home in which he lives
the greater part of bis life. It has the same
gracious presence to sweeten it, and as the years
go on it is coming to be enlivened at each visit
with the voices and laughter of the children who
are growing up to enjoy this strange new life
as eagerly as they enjoy the happy life in their
older home.

In spite of its remoteness the Australian
Cambray is seldom without visitors. Of course
all the important "globe-trotters" are enter-
tained there royally, and any of the unimpor-
tant ones who are within bail as well, for Big
Peter, in spite of his wealth and his title, is an
ardent democrat, as are most good Australians.

286 BIG PETEB

In the great cool hall of the house hang two
fine portraits of the Earl and Countess of Cam-
bray, by the well-known artist Thomas Saun-
ders, already, young as he is, well on the road
to fame. Hia mother, after the dreadful events
which we have described, came back to England,
and settled down in the country, not far from
the English Cambray, where she is always an
hononred guest, when she can be prevailed upon
to accept the hospitality of her noble neigh-
bours. After all her troubles she is now com-
pletely happy, in the brilliant career of her son,
in the gratitude of Big Peter and his wife, who
but for her might never have known the happi-
ness that they enjoy, and in her own quiet but
contented life.

Sir Lawrence Towers has also visited his
English neighbours in their Australian house,
more than once. He has never married, though
he often talks about doing so some day, and is
of a somewhat roving disposition besides. He
thought he had done with Australia when he
made his pile at Kampurli ; but he finds that it
still has a summons for him. He is godfather
to Peter's eldest son, and is beginning now to
say that he is so interested in all his friend's
children that he can very well do without any of
his own, and may, after all, live and die a bach-
elor.

THE LAST 287

Another old acquaintance of oars is also to be
found at the Australian Cambray. This is none
other than MacDonald, still known as "Scotty."
After attaining riches he went home to Scot-
land and married a comely Scottish wife. Then
he found that a life of leisure did not suit him
at all, and that Australia had got into his blood.
So just at the time Peter was building his house,
he turned up in Sydney and said that he wanted
the post of Manager; and of course he got it
at once. He lives in a very pleasant house not
far from Peter's. When Peter is in England
he is in charge of everything, and the station is
as good as his own. He mnst be enormously
wealthy, for he spends nothing of his large in-
come, and even saves out of his salary. But he
has a considerable family growing up, and prob-
ably in the near future he will save rather less.

Peter is "the Boss" to all that large company
that clusters around the Australian Cambray;
and to many of those who come from time to
time to enjoy its warm hospitality he is still
Big Peter.

Some of these hardy men of the Bush are apt
to be somewhat abashed at first in finding them-
selves in the presence of the beautiful lady whom
most of them call "the CounteBS," whatever
they may choose to call her husband.

But it is never long before she sets them at

288 BIG PETER

their ease. She is never tired of hearing them
talk, and those who have come to Cambray more
than once have got to know that the surest way
of bringing to her face that tender smile, which
no longer has in it the least little tinge of sad-
ness, is to tell her some yarn about the early
days and the strong prowess of "Big Peter."

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