The mist had cleared from in front of his eyes and he could now see with perfect clearness what his father foresaw. He could hear his father’s voice as he warned him that the woman he so desperately loved was a mere schemer, who didn’t care for him at all, but was only plotting to get a hold of his name, title and fortune. He had furiously rejected his father’s words of advice and looked on them as blasphemous, but now he saw that his father was right. He had never noticed that Jane was throwing herself in his way time and time again and that all her feelings and faked emotions were simply rehearsed perfections of an old art by which she had step by step led him to the brink of eternal damnation and which still yawned before him. He could understand the perfidious part as played by Newton. The Weasel was named weasel for a reason. He could now attest to its correctness. But she, whom he thought was a mirror of his dreams, a smile reflected in a stream, whom he had seen as pure and innocent was merely a confederate of a scheming rogue. She, whom he had seen as a summer song on a winter’s day, she had betrayed him with the Weasel. She had feigned love to fan the flames of his anger and hate. She had brought him to madness. She had placed the poison in his hand and told him to take his father’s life. A cold tremble ran through him as he gazed on his father’s face. Tears rolled down his cheeks. It was then that he realized that all his fervent love for Jane Worrall had changed in a feeling of utter disgust.

  Exhausted he fell into a restless and uneasy sleep. When he woke up at dawn, the doctor was standing by the bedside of the sick man. Hearing Philip stand up from his chair, the doctor came towards him and said, “He will live.”

  The doctor’s prognosis was correct. That very evening Lord Swaffham awoke from his unconscious state. As the shadows became long he was able to move in his bed. The next day he spoke some incoherent words and later on asked for food and the old cook was only too happy to oblige him. Philip and James could see, however, that the will of iron was gone from the eyes of the old man, whose hair had now indeed completed its journey to white. On the third day even the hastily assembled specialists from London’s Harley Street could only acknowledge defeat. Never again would the mighty lord be able to exert his intellect. An intellect, which had enabled him to influence everyone around him. Forever the once haughty aristocrat would be fed and looked after like a child. Gone were his magnificent plans for the resurrection of his beloved House of Swaffham. All he cared for now was a warm fire and a hot meal. He had no longer any use for the world around him.

  When he saw the enormity of his crime, Philip fell down on his knees and swore to God that the punishment he would endure would be of equal size. He swore an oath that he would carry out his father’s wishes, no matter whether this would blight the rest of his life or not. He had ended his father’s life and as far as he was concerned his had also ended there and then, when he disobeyed his father.

  “My father’s last will will be carried out in every respect,” he said to James. Without waiting for his answer he wrote to Count Harcourt, asking him to call and informing him that the grief, which had befallen his family, had in no way altered any of the plans, which had already been arranged.

  Like a bank robber, who sets fire to a fuse and then seeks to hide from the coming explosion, so Jane Worrall returned to her father’s house after her visit to Newton. She wasn’t able to say a word or eat a spoonful during dinner. But neither her father nor her mother took any notice of her. That day they had received a letter announcing the news that their son had been in an automobile accident and was in a hospital in London. Both father and mother had put all their love and energy towards his happiness. They were in a terrible state of despair and spoke of nothing than traveling to London, so as to be at his bedside. They couldn’t care less, when Jane asked them to be excused as she had a severe headache. She retired to her own room, where after having dismissed her maid, she was at last alone. She heaved a deep sigh of relief. She never thought of sleeping. She just wished to be alone with her thoughts. She wished to go over all that had happened that day.

  It seemed to her that Philip would make every effort to see her that night or at least to let her know whether he had succeeded or failed in murdering his father.

  “Be patient, Jane,” she whispered.

  She opened a window and lit up a cigarette.

  In spite of her resolution to be patient, she went down to the garden and standing on a chair looking out on the road, she waited as servants began to prepare the house for the night. But no one appeared on the road with either good or bad news. At last the butler came into the garden to inform her that the doors were to be closed for the night. She went back to her room, but sleep never came to her, though the day’s ordeal had greatly wearied her.

  The bell rang for breakfast. Again she had to sit at the table with her parents. They were still contemplating their journey to London. So again her silence was not noticed.

  At three o’clock she could no longer endure the suspense of waiting for news of what had happened at Swaffham Manor. Under the guise of bringing soup to poor Mrs. Jarrett, she went to Newton, whom she felt would have already been informed of the latest happenings at Swaffham Manor. But she got no respite from Newton’s words. He himself had been hardly able to sleep all night, worried as he was of anything pointing at his complicity in the scheme. Newton was a man, who found profit in poking a hornet’s nest, but he had no appetite to be stung. His normal precaution consisted of using the longest stick available, but he was never sure if the stick would prove to be long enough to keep him from being discovered and stung mercilessly. He had stayed in his office all morning, fearing the faintest sounds. Though he was as anxious as Jane to hear the latest news, he had only left the house briefly, just before her arrival. He met Miss Worrall at the door of his cottage, when he returned from his errand. He quickly took her inside. He informed her in a low voice, so his housekeeper wouldn’t hear him that the night before at a late hour the local doctor had been called for to attend the old lord at Swaffham Manor. Then he reproached her bitterly for her lack of judgment in visiting him and putting him in danger.

  “Do you wish,” he whines softly, “to show everyone in Bourne on Trent that you and I are Philip’s accomplices?”

  “How?” she asked, taken aback.

  “I mean that if the lord does not die from the poison then we’re lost. I am lost, because you’re the daughter of aristocracy. Your family will help you to escape scot free from any charges lain at your feet and I will be left to pay for it all.”

  “You said he would be gone in sixty seconds and without a sign suggesting poison.”

  “I did say that before, because it was so before. Ah, I should’ve thought about this more! I should’ve left well enough alone, but I always go too far and then the house of cards comes tumbling down on me. I will not give in without a fight, though. I have nowhere left to go. I will defend myself by telling the truth. I’m an honest man and I have been your dupe. You have used me as a mere tool like you used Philip. Oh, what a fool, but he will find that out soon enough, when he pays for his stupidity with his head.”

  Newton threw these insults at Miss Worrall standing in front of the front door, next to the staircase. She put her hand on his arm and attempted to speak, but he cut her short.

  “I will not pick and choose my words carefully, no matter who you are. The sword of Damocles is hanging over me and may be brought done on me any moment now. Please have pity on me and by getting out of here and never to come back here again. You hear?”

  “As you like,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “I will find out what is happening at Swaffham Manor myself.”

  “You will not,” cried Newton, standing in front of her with a menacing expression on his face.

  The housekeeper walked into the stairway and looked down the stairs to see why her employer was shouting.

  The Weasel continued in a low voice, “You might as well go to the Manor house and ask the lord how he liked the taste of poison in his food.”

  With a look of contempt on her face she left the cottage. She was decided to do what she thought necessary.

  After Jane’s departure, Newton tried, but he could no longer wait patiently for information to reach the town and thereby him. He had to find out how matters stood. He went to Mrs. Jarrett’s cottage and was able to talk her into asking her daughter Matilda to go to Swaffham Manor, under the guise that he expected to receive some money, which he had lent to one of the lord’s servants. He didn’t have to wait long for her return. Within half an hour she was back again.

  “Well, my dear girl,” he said, anxiously, “has the scamp given you the money he owes me?”

  He had instructed the young woman so cunningly that she had no idea of the real goal of her errand.

  “No, sir, I’m afraid that I didn’t even get to speak to him.”

  “Why not? Was he not there?”

  “I can’t even tell you that for sure. It seems Lord Swaffham is very ill. The gates of the Manor house have been shut to all. It seems the doctors think that the poor old gentleman is at death’s door.”

  “Did they tell you what is the matter with him?”

  “No, sir, the little I’ve told you I got from someone I know, who works there and he spoke to me at the gate. But before he could say ten words one of the older servants came up to him and sent him away.”

  “I wonder why?”

  “He was furious,” answered the woman. “He behaved terribly toward my Mike and told him to be off to the garages as the cars needed cleaning. Then he asked, “Well, my dear, what do you want here?” I told him that I had come with a message for Brian Oakfield, but before I could say why I wished to talk to him he said, “He isn’t here, so come back some other time.”

  “You silly girl! And you left?”

  “No, because I said to him that I must see Brian Oakfield, because it was important. Then he began looking at me very suspiciously. He said to me, “Who sent you here?”

  The Weasel took a step back, but immediately recovered his composure.

  “Indeed! Indeed! And what did you say to him?” he asked.

  “Why, I said that you had sent me.”

  “Yes, yes, you did good. Yes, very good.”

  “And then he rubbed his hand over his chin and looked at me without saying a word. I was getting frightened, but then he said, “So the Weasel sent you here, hasn’t he? Ah, so that is how it is.”

  At these words Newton felt his knees give way under him. He was saved, however, by the appearance of Mr. Harcourt, who was on his way to Swaffham Manor. He dismissed Matilda as quickly as he could. He didn’t leave, but stayed close to the road, awaiting the return of Harcourt as he hoped to hear more information about the state of the old lord’s health. The news calmed him somewhat. He figured that he was too hasty in trying to disassociate himself from the deed as it might succeed yet. Not wishing to lose his share of any future gains, he went and hung around the gates of Worrall Manor, until he was lucky enough to catch sight of Jane. She was ostentatiously cutting flowers in the garden, but in the meantime she kept an eye on the road, hoping thus to find out what was going on. Every police car, ambulance, hearse and doctor’s car, which drove by startled her. Newton beckoned her to come closer.

  He said, “Philip didn’t put enough poison in his food. The old man is still alive, but even then he succeeded, because the doctors are saying now that the lord will never be the same again. I mean mentally speaking. Some of the farm workers there say he has gone insane.”

  “But why doesn’t Philip write to me?” Jane asked, anxiously.

  “Maybe the boy does have some faint glimmerings of common sense after all. Maybe he’s afraid to be found out and he’s lying low. You know, playing the devoted son. You must be patient.”

  Jane and Newton waited for a week, but Philip didn’t show himself. Jane spent the week in the deepest of agonies and the days seemed to go on and on. Sunday came at last. Lady Worrall had attended early Mass and had given orders that her daughter should go to Mass at a later time under the escort of her maid. Jane was pleased with her suggestion, because she hoped to see Philip. He wasn’t there. When Mass began, the seats occupied by the lord and his son remained empty. Jane could hardly suppress her emotions. She had the biggest of trouble following the service. She heard nothing and saw noting, except for the empty seats. She saw the vicar at last take his place in front of the church. This part of the service was usually the most exciting moment for the inhabitants of Bourne on Trent, because it was the time the vicar announced the marriages, which were to take place in the parish that month. The old vicar gazed blandly down on the expectant crowd. He coughed slightly, used his handkerchief, looked around again and finally took a sheet of paper in his hands.

  “Now it’s time,” he said, “to announce some joyous news. I have been informed of the marriage between...” Here he paused a little. The congregation was on the tenterhooks of expectation. “Let me see,” he continued, “Philip, Viscount Swaffham, son of Lord Swaffham and Renee, daughter of Alger Buskin, Count of Harcourt.”

  Lighting hit Jane in the middle of her heart, which took her breath away and her heart ceased to beat.

  “Let anyone,” continued the vicar, “who knows of any reason why this wedding should not take place acquaint us with this reason.” The vicar looked around. No one moved. “Then let all of you be warned before the eyes of our Lord never to bring forward anything in malice against this happy union.”

  Miss Worrall knew of more than one reason to stop this wedding from ever taking place. An irrational desire filled her to stand up from her seat and cry out for all to hear, “This wedding must not take place. Philip is mine in all but legal form, because he is bound to me by the deepest of bonds, that of murder.”

  As her world slowly turned to rubble around her he did her utmost best to not break down and cry. With all the strength she had she forced herself to remain motionless. She was pale as a ghost, but was still able to smile, when one of her female friends whispered to her, “This is unexpected.”

  She concentrated her mind on preserving a calm face. She was happy to hear the choir sing. She hoped they would keep singing forever as the moment they stopped singing she had to get up and walk home and she did not have the strength to stand up or walk. She asked her maid to go home and ask the chauffeur to come for her. Her maid, knowing some of her feelings for Philip, nodded in sympathy and left. The strong odor of the incense almost overpowered Jane. She hoped her maid would come back on time, before the choir ended their praises. As their last tones died down, the vicar turned again to the congregation, asked everyone to pray for the sick and dead and all was over. Someone grasped Jane’s arm. It was her maid. Leaning heavily on her maid she forced her way, without saying a word through the crowd. As she reached the outside air and breathed deeply her maid touched her shoulder and with a face, which showed agitation and tears, she said, “Miss Jane, it’s too terrible!” Before Jane could stop her from saying anything more as she thought she was talking about Philip’s marriage, she continued, “Your brother, such a frightful calamity. Your father and mother are expecting you immediately.”

  The maid led Jane to the automobile and sounding the horn continuously they were able to arrive to Worrall Manor within five minutes. Jane’s father and mother were seated near each other in the drawing room. They were evidently in deep distress. She went towards them. Her father stood up and embraced her.

  “My dear daughter,” he murmured, “you’re all that we have left now.”

  Their son had died in London. He had never recovered from the car accident.

  “It’s all our fault,” said the inconsolable mother, sobbing. “We bought him the car.”

  This sad news had reached the Manor house by telephone, while Jane was at Mass. Her brother’s death meant she stood to inherit a huge fortune and could now be considered one of the richest heiresses in the county.

  “Had this happened a week earlier before, my wish to marry Philip would have met with no opposition from his father,” she thought. “I would never have been forced into this nightmare of crime.”

  She shed no tear for her brother’s death. Her thoughts remained firmly fixed on Philip and the unexpected announcement made by the vicar during the Sunday service. His words kept ringing in her ears like a Carillon.

  “What does it mean?” she murmured, only half listening to her mother crying and her father advising her about her future. “Why this sudden change in plans?”

  She was devastated by the announcement and decided there had to be more behind it. She vowed to herself that she would find out the reasons and do everything she could to get the man she so wanted to be her own. Something had obviously taken place at Swaffham Manor. She was undecided whether the lord, contrary to Newton’s speculations, had made a full recovery and had discovered his son’s perverted attempt on his life and had forced him into a marriage he didn’t want to be in and in return the father would remain silent about the diabolical plan and not hand his son over to the authorities. She spent the whole day trying to think of every possible plan to halt the completion of this union. She had not given up her hopes. Her unexpected newfound wealth placed a new weapon at her disposal in her fight against her old enemy, the old lord and new enemy, the fiancée.

  I will succeed,” she kept reminding herself, “if I could see Philip again. Even if it was for a single moment.”

  She was certain that she held an absolute power over Philip. Had she not by only uttering a few words and crying a few tears induced him to commit murder against his own father? She also was full of doubt. She had to see him, because she needed to be sure. Every hour she didn’t see him, the dangers grew in her mind. She decided that she would visit him that night.

  A little after midnight, when her parents had retired for the night and the house was wrapped in sleep, she crept down the staircase on her tip-toes and left the house through a small door on the side of the house. Philip had often told her what his house looked like. She knew that his room was on the first floor, with two windows looking onto the courtyard. When she reached the old Manor house, she hesitated. The thought scared her that she should go to the wrong window.