In Friendship's Guise by Wm. Murray Graydon

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"I can't believe it!" he muttered hoarsely. "It is too terrible! How
blindly I trusted that boy! I heard rumors about him, and turned a deaf
ear to them. I knew he was inclined to be dissolute and extravagant, but
I never dreamed of this! To drag the name of Chesney in the dirt! My
nephew a liar and a traitor, a scoundrel of the blackest dye to a
confiding friend, a seducer, a tout for money-lenders, a consort of
blood-sucking Jews! By heavens, I will confront him and hear the truth
from his own lips! How do I know that this letter is not a forgery?
Perhaps young Drexell never saw it."

It was a slim ray of hope, but Sir Lucius took some comfort from it. He
put on his hat, took his stick, and marched down stairs. As he passed
through the office, a clerk handed him a letter that had just been
brought in. He waited until he was outside to open it, and with the
utmost amazement he read the contents:

"Pentonville Prison.

"My Dear Sir Lucius--I see by the papers that you are in town
temporarily, so I address you at Morley's instead of Priory Court. A very
curious thing has happened. A few days ago a prisoner who was arrested
for a breach of the police-supervision rules, but who was really wanted
for a much more serious affair, was put in my charge. This man, Noah
Hawker by name, sent for me and made a secret communication. He stated
that in his room in Kentish Town, where he was arrested, he had hidden
some papers of the greatest importance to yourself. He told me how to
find them, and yesterday I got them and brought them here. They are in a
sealed parcel, and the prisoner begs that they shall not be opened except
in your presence, as he wishes to tell you the whole story. So I thought
it best to send for you, and if convenient I should like to see you about
noon to-day. I am posting this early in the morning, and hope you will
receive it in good time.

"Sincerely your old friend,

"Major Hugh Wyatt."

"I don't understand it," thought Sir Lucius. "It is certainly most
perplexing. What can it mean? I haven't seen Wyatt for years, but I
remember now that he was appointed Governor of Pentonville some time
ago. But who the deuce is the man Hawker? I never heard the name. Papers
of importance to me? What could they be, and how did the fellow get
them? There must be some mistake. And yet--"

He read the letter a second time, and it turned his curiosity into a
desire to probe the mystery. He concluded to put off the interview with
his nephew, and see him later in the day. He hailed a cab, and told the
driver to take him to Pentonville.

CHAPTER XXXI.

NOAH HAWKER'S DISCLOSURE.

True to his word, Mr. Tenby set the machinery of the law in motion as
speedily as possible. About the time when Sir Lucius entered the dreary
prison that lies Islington way, Gilbert Morris was brought to the court
in Great Marlborough street. Jack was present--a warder had driven him
from Holloway--and he promptly identified the prisoner as the man he had
seen coming out of the Beak street house on the night of the murder.
Other evidence was given by the police, and by Doctor Bent, the
proprietor of the Surrey madhouse, and the lunatic was remanded for a
week; he boasted of his crime while in the dock. Then a brief formality
ensued. Mr. Tenby applied for the discharge of his client, and the
magistrate granted it without delay.

A free man again! The words seemed to ring in Jack's ears as he left the
court, but they meant little to him, so broken was he in spirit, so
ashamed of his unmerited disgrace. Jimmie was waiting for him, and
congratulated him fervently. The two shook hands with the solicitor, and
thanked him for what he had done, and they went quickly off in a cab.

They drove to the Albany, and Jimmie ordered a lunch to be sent in from
a Piccadilly restaurant. Jack ate listlessly, but a bottle of prime
claret made him slightly more cheerful and brought some color to his
bleached features. He listened to all that Jimmie had to tell him--sat
with stern eyes and compressed lips while the black tale of Victor
Nevill's treachery was recounted. He could not doubt when he had read
the murdered woman's statement; it breathed truth in every word. He
crushed the letter in his hand, as though he wished it had been the
throat of his enemy.

"Nevill, of all men!" he said, hoarsely. "A creeping serpent, masked as
a friend, who struck in the dark! And he was Diane's seducer! The night
he stole her from me we were drinking together in a _brasserie_ in the
Latin Quarter! And, as if that was not deep enough injury, he brought
her to England, years afterwards, to ruin my new-found happiness. There
was never such perfidy! I was not even aware that he knew Madge, much
less that he loved her. But she surely won't marry him now."

"No fear!" replied Jimmie. "His retribution has come. I hope you will
pay him with interest, old chap."

"I should like to confront him," Jack answered, "but it is wiser
not to; my passion would get the better of me. No, his punishment is
sufficient--you have avenged me, Jimmie. Think of what it means! Public
exposure, perhaps, exile from England, and the loss of his uncle's
fortune. He will suffer more keenly than any low-born criminal who goes
to the gallows. I will leave him to his conscience and his God."

"You are too merciful--too kind-hearted," said Jimmie. "But it is
useless to argue with you. Come, we'll talk of something more cheerful
and forget the past. What are you going to do with yourself? Go back
to the art?"

"I have no plans," Jack replied, bitterly, "except that I shall get away
from London as speedily as possible. I can't live down my disgrace here.
I shall probably return to India. I have lost faith in human nature,
Jimmie, and learned the mockery of friendship--no, by heavens, I
shouldn't say that! I have found out what true friendship is. I can
never forget what you did for me--how you worked to prove my innocence!"

"It was a pleasure, old fellow. I would have done a hundred times as
much. But don't talk blooming nonsense about leaving London. Many an
innocent man falls under suspicion--there is not a shadow of disgrace
attached to it. Stay here and work! Go back to your studio! And marry
the woman you love. Why shouldn't you, now that you are free in every
sense? I'll bet anything you like that she cares for you as much as
ever--"

"Stop; don't speak of _her_!" cried Jack. "I can't bear it!--the memory
of Madge brings torments! It is too late, too late! She can never be
mine!"

"That's where you're wrong, old chap," said Jimmie. "I know how you feel
about it, but do listen to reason--"

He broke off at the sound of a couple of sharp raps, and jumping up
he opened the door. Into the room strode Sir Lucius Chesney, with a
bewildered, agitated look on his face that had been there when he drove
away from Pentonville Prison an hour before, after a lengthy and most
startling interview with Major Wyatt and Noah Hawker.

"I hope you will excuse my abrupt intrusion," he said quickly. "I went
to Tenby's office, and he told me where you had gone. I have something
very important to say--I will come to it presently. Mr. Vernon, I
congratulate you! No one can rejoice more sincerely than myself that
this black cloud has passed away from your life. You have paid dearly
for your youthful folly--your boyish infatuation with a French dancer."

"You are very kind, sir," said Jack, as he accepted the proffered hand.
"I hear that I owe very much to you."

"Thank God that I have found you--that I am not left desolate in my old
age!" exclaimed Sir Lucius, to the wonder of his companions. "Prepare
for a great surprise! Your name is not Vernon, but Clare?"

"John Clare is my real name, sir."

"And your father was Ralph Vernon Clare?"

"Yes!"

"I knew as much--it was needless to ask," replied Sir Lucius, in
tremulous tones; something glistened in his eye. He rested an arm on
Jack's shoulder and looked into his face. "My dear boy, your mother was
my youngest sister," he added. "And you are my nephew!"

A rush of color dyed Jack's cheeks, and he stared in amazement; he could
not grasp the meaning of what he had just heard.

"You my uncle, Sir Lucius?" he asked, hoarsely.

"Yes, your uncle!"

"By Jove, another mystery!" gasped Jimmie. "It knocks me breathless! I
don't know what to make of it--it beats the novels that wind up with the
discovery of the lost heir. At all events, Jack, you seem to be in luck.
I'm awfully glad!"

"I--I'm afraid I don't quite understand," said Jack. "I never suspected
anything of the sort, though I remember that my mother rarely spoke of
her early life."

"That was her secret," replied Sir Lucius, "and she intended that it
should be revealed to you after her death. Read these; they will tell
you all!"

Sir Lucius produced three papers from his pocket. Jack took them, and
he uttered an exclamation of astonishment as he saw that one was a
certificate of his mother's marriage, and another one of his own birth.
The third paper was a letter of a dozen closely written sheets, in the
dead hand that was so familiar to him. As he read on, his face showed
various emotions.

"My poor mother, how she suffered!" he said when he had finished the
letter. "It is a strange story, Sir Lucius. So my mother was your
sister, and Victor Nevill was the son of another sister, which makes him
my cousin. My mother knew all these things, and yet she never told me!"

"She had the family pride," Sir Lucius answered, with a sigh. "As for
Victor Nevill, I regret that the blood of the Chesneys runs in his
veins. But he is no longer any kin of mine--I disown him and cast him
out. The letter does not speak so harshly of me as I deserve. Your
mother, Mary, was my youngest and favorite sister--I loved her the more
because my wife had died childless soon after my marriage. I got a
clever young artist, Ralph Clare, down to Priory Court to paint Mary's
portrait, little foreseeing what would happen. She fell in love with
him, and fled to become his wife. It was a blow to my family pride, and
my anger was stronger than my grief. I vowed that I would never forgive
her, and when she wrote to me--once a short time after her flight, and
again ten years later--I returned her letters unopened. Her elder sister
was as obdurate as myself, and refused to have anything to do with her.
After the death of Elizabeth--that was Victor Nevill's mother--I began
to feel that I had been too harsh with Mary. My remorse grew, giving me
no rest, until recently I determined to find her. But I might never
have succeeded had not mere chance helped me. I was struck by your
resemblance to Mary when I first met you in Lamb and Drummond's shop--"

He paused for a moment, struggling with emotion.

"My boy, believe that I am truly repentant," he added. "I have no kith
or kin left but you--you alone can fill the empty void in my heart. You
must reign some day at Priory Court. Will you forgive me, as your mother
did at the last?"

For an instant Jack hesitated. He remembered the sad story he had
just read--the story of his father's illness and death, his mother's
subsequent privations, and the grief caused by her brother's cruel
conduct, which continued to cloud her life after a distant relative
bequeathed to her a comfortable legacy. Then he recalled the last words
of the letter, and his face softened.

"I forgive you freely, Sir Lucius," he said. "My mother wished me to
bear you no malice, and I cannot disregard that."

"God bless you, my boy," replied Sir Lucius. "You have made me very
happy."

"Come, cheer up!" put in Jimmie. "This is an occasion for rejoicing. I
have a bottle of champagne, and we'll drink it to the health of the new
heir."

The wine was produced and opened, and Jack responded to the toast.

"There is one thing that puzzles me, Sir Lucius," he said. "How did
these papers come into your hands? They could not have been among my
mother's effects."

"Are you aware," replied Sir Lucius, "that on the night after your
mother's death her house in Bayswater was broken into by a burglar?"

"Yes; I remember that."

"Well, the burglar carried off, among other things that were of little
value, this packet of papers. He concealed them at his lodgings in
Kentish Town, and he chose a curious and ingenious hiding-place--a
recess behind a loose brick in the wall of the house, just below his
window. Shortly afterward the rascal--his name was Noah Hawker--was
caught at another crime, and sent to penal servitude for a term of
years. On his release last spring, on ticket-of-leave, he went abroad,
and when he returned to England several weeks ago he resurrected the
papers from their place of security, studied them, and saw an
opportunity for gain. He knew that they concerned three persons--you,
Victor Nevill and myself--and he was cunning enough to start with
Victor. He hunted him up and offered to sell the papers for a thousand
pounds. My nephew agreed to buy them, intending to destroy them and thus
retain his position as my sole heir--"

"Then Nevill knew who I was?" exclaimed Jack.

"Yes, he knew recently," Sir Lucius replied. "I must break off to tell
you that while I was abroad this summer, Victor promised, at my request,
to try to trace your mother; but I am thoroughly convinced now that he
made no effort whatever, and that he lied to me basely, with the hope of
making me believe that the task was impossible. To proceed, the man
Hawker was traced by the police, and arrested while awaiting the arrival
of my nephew to complete the sale of the papers. He believed that Victor
had betrayed him, and he determined to be revenged. So he confided in
the Governor of Pentonville Prison, who went to the house in Kentish
Town and found the papers. Then, at the prisoner's earnest request, he
sent for me this morning. I went to Pentonville and Hawker told me the
whole story and gave me the papers. By the way, he knows you, my boy,
and declares that you did him a kindness not long ago. It was at a
night-club, I think, and you bandaged a wound on his head."

"I remember!" exclaimed Jack. "By Jove, was that the man?"

"The fellow _must_ have been intent on revenge," said Jimmie, "to
incriminate himself so deeply."

"That can't make much difference to Hawker, and he knows it," Sir Lucius
replied. "It seems that he was really wanted for something more serious
than failing to report himself to the police. In fact, as you will be
surprised to learn, he is said to be mixed up in the robbery of the
Rembrandt from Lamb and Drummond. His pal was arrested in Belgium, and
has confessed. Hawker is aware that there is a clear case against him,
and I understand that he has made some sensational disclosures. I heard
this from the Governor of Pentonville, who happens to be an old friend of
mine. He hinted that the matter was likely to be made public in a day or
two."

"Meaning the theft of the real Rembrandt," said Jack. "I don't suppose
it will throw any light on the mystery of the duplicate one."

"It may," replied Sir Lucius; and he spoke more truly than he thought.
Major Wyatt had been too discreet to tell all that he knew.

CHAPTER XXXII.

HOW THE DAY ENDED.

It was a day of strange events and sudden surprises. To Jack the
propitious fates gave freedom and a relative whose existence he had
never even suspected before; to Sir Lucius Chesney they brought a fresh
interest in life, a nephew whom he was prepared to take to his heart.
Let us see how certain others, closely connected with our story, fared
before the day was ended.

Victor Nevill spent the afternoon at one of his clubs, where he won
pretty heavily at cards and drank rather more brandy than he was
accustomed to take. Feeling consequently in good spirits, he determined
to carry out a plan that he had been pondering for some time. He left
the club at six o'clock, and an hour later a cab put him down at the
lower end of Strand-on-the-Green. Mrs. Sedgewick admitted him to Stephen
Foster's house. The master had not returned from town, she said, but
Miss Foster was at home. Nevill asked to see her, and was shown into the
drawing-room, where a couple of red-shaded lamps were burning. He was
too restless to sit down, and, sauntering to the window, he drew aside
the curtains and looked out at the river, with the lights from the
railway bridge reflected on its dark surface.

"There is no reason why I shouldn't do it--no reason why I should fear
a refusal on her part," he thought. "The clouds have blown over. Noah
Hawker's silence can be explained only in one way. The papers are hidden
where he is certain that they cannot be found, and no doubt he intends
to let the matter rest until he gets out of jail. As for Jack, it is not
likely that he will ever learn the truth or cross my path again. The
grave tells no secrets. I hope he will leave England when he is released.
That will probably be to-day, since the real murderer has been found."

He turned away from the window, and smiled complacently as he dropped
into a big chair.

"Yes, I will do it," he resolved. "I shall ask Madge to marry me within
a fortnight or three weeks, and we will go down to Nice or Monte
Carlo--I'll risk taking half of that thousand pounds. I dare say my
uncle will be a bit cut up when he hears the news; but I won't tell him
for a time, and after he sees my wife he will be only too eager to
congratulate me. Any man might be proud of such--"

Soft footsteps interrupted his musing, and the next instant the door
opened. Madge entered the room, holding in one white hand a crumpled
letter. She wore a gown of lustrous rose-colored material, with filmy
lace on the throat and bosom, and her splendid hair strayed coyly over
her neck and temples. She had never looked more dazzlingly lovely,
Nevill thought, and yet--

He rose quickly from the chair, and then the words of greeting died on
his lips. He recoiled like a man who sees a ghost, and a sharp and
sudden fear stabbed him. In Madge's face, in her flushed cheeks and
blazing, scornful eyes, he read the signs of a woman roused to supremest
anger.

"How dared you come?" she cried, in a voice that he seemed never to have
heard before. "How dared you? Have you no shame, no conscience? Go! Go!"

"Madge! What has happened?"

"Not that name from you! I forbid it; it dishonors me!"

"I will speak! What does this farce mean?"

"Need you ask? I know all, Victor Nevill! I know that you are a liar
and a traitor--that you are everything wicked and vile, infamous and
cowardly! Heaven has revealed the truth! I know that Diane Merode was
never Jack's wife! It was you, his trusted friend, who stole her from
him in Paris six years ago! You, who found her in London last spring,
and persuaded her to play the false and wicked part that crushed the
happiness out of two lives! That is not all; but it would be useless
to recount the rest of your dastardly deeds. Oh, how I despise and hate
you! Your presence is an insult--it is loathsome! Go! Leave me!"

Nevill had listened to this tirade with a madly throbbing heart, and a
countenance that was almost livid. He was stunned and bewildered; he did
not understand how it was possible for detection to have overtaken him.
His first impulse was to brazen the thing out, on the chance that the
girl's accusations were prompted more by surmise than knowledge.

"It is false!" he cried, striving to compose himself. "You will be sorry
for what you have said. Has John Vernon told you these lies?"

"I have not seen him; he probably knows nothing as yet. But he _will_
learn all, and if you are within his reach--"

"This is ridiculous nonsense," Nevill hoarsely interrupted. "It is the
work of an enemy. Some one has been poisoning your mind against me. Who
is my accuser?"

"_Diane Merode!_" cried Madge, hissing the words from her clenched
teeth. "She accuses you from the grave! Here! Take this and read it--it
is a copy of the original. And then deny the truth if you dare!"

Nevill clutched the proffered letter--the girl did not give him Jimmie's
extra enclosure. He read quickly, merely scanning the written pages, and
yet grasping their fateful import. He must have been more than human to
hide his consternation. The blow fell like a thunderbolt: betrayal had
come from the quarter whence he would have least expected it--from the
grave. His lips quivered uncontrollably. The pages dropped to the floor.

"_Now_ do you deny it?" Madge demanded. "Answer, and go!"

"I deny everything," he snarled hoarsely. "It is a forgery--a tissue of
lies! Believe me, Madge! Don't spurn me! Don't cast me off! I will prove
to you--"

"I say go!"

The girl's voice was as hard and cold as steel. She pointed to the door
as Nevill made a step toward her. Her ravishing beauty, lost to him
forever, maddened him. For an instant he was tempted to fly at her
throat and bruise its loveliness. But just then a bell pealed loudly
through the house. The front door was heard to open, and voices mingled
with rapid steps. An elderly man burst unceremoniously into the room,
and Nevill recognized Stephen Foster's clerk and shop assistant. Bad
news was stamped on his agitated face.

"What is the matter, Hawkins?" Madge asked, breathlessly.

"Oh, how can I tell you, Miss Foster? It is terrible! Your father--"

"What of him?"

"He is dead! He shot himself in his office an hour ago. The police--"

The girl's cheeks turned to the whiteness of marble. She gave one cry
of anguish, reeled, and fell unconscious to the floor. Mrs. Sedgewick
rushed in, wringing her hands and wailing hysterically.

"See to your young mistress--she has fainted," Nevill said, hoarsely.
"Fetch cold water at once."

He looked once at Madge's pale and lovely face--he felt that it was
for the last time--and then he took Hawkins by the arm and pulled him
half-forcibly into the hall.

"Tell me everything," he whispered, excitedly. "What has happened?"

"There isn't much to tell, Mr. Nevill," the man replied. "Two Scotland
Yard men came to the shop at five o'clock. They arrested my employer for
stealing that Rembrandt from Lamb and Drummond, and they found the
picture in the safe. Mr. Foster asked permission to make a statement in
writing--he took things coolly:--and they let him do it. He wrote for
half an hour, and then, before the police could stop him, he snatched
a pistol from a drawer and shot himself through the head. I was so
flustered I hardly knew what I was doing, but I thought first of Miss
Madge, whom I knew from often bringing messages and parcels to the
house--"

"The statement? What was in it?" Nevill interrupted.

"I don't know, sir!"

"Then I must find out! I am off to town--I can't stop! You will be
needed here, Hawkins. Do all that you can for Miss Foster."

With those words, spoken incoherently, Nevill jammed on his hat and
hurried from the house. He turned instinctively toward Grove Park,
remembering that the nearest railway station was there. He was haunted
by a terrible fear as he traversed the dark streets with an unsteady
gait. Worse than ruin threatened him. He shuddered at the thought of
arrest and punishment. He could not doubt that Stephen Foster had
written a full confession.

"He would do it out of revenge--I put the screws on him too often!" he
reflected. "I _must_ get to my rooms before the police come; all my
money is there. And I must cross the Channel to-night!"

All the past rose before him, and he cursed himself for his blind
follies. He just missed a train at Chiswick station, and in desperation
he took a cab to Gunnersbury and caught a Mansion House train. He got
out at St. James' Park, and pulling his coat collar up he hastened
across to Pall Mall. He chose the shortest cut to Jermyn street, and on
the north side of St. James' Square, in the shadow of the railings, he
suddenly encountered the last man he could have wished to meet.

"My God, my uncle!" he cried, staggering back.

"You!" exclaimed Sir Lucius, in a voice half-choked by anger. "Stop, you
can't go to your rooms--the police are there. What do they want with
you?"

"You will find out in the morning," Nevill huskily replied; he reeled
against the railings.

"It can't be much worse--I know all about your dastardly conduct!"
said Sir Lucius. "Hawker has given me the papers, and I have found
poor Mary's son--the friend you betrayed. But there is no time for
reproaches, nor could anything I might say add to your punishment. If
you have a spark of conscience or shame left, spare me the further
disgrace of reading of your arrest in the papers. Get out of England--"

"My money is in my rooms!" gasped Nevill. "I can't escape unless you
help me!"

Sir Lucius took a handful of notes and gold from his pocket.

"Here are a hundred pounds--all I have with me," he said. "It will be
more than sufficient. Don't lose a moment! Go to Dover, and cross by the
night boat. And never let me see you or hear from you again! I disown
you--you are no nephew of mine! Do you understand? You have ruined your
life beyond redemption--you can't do better than finish it with a
bullet!"

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