Newton tried to speak, but his lips couldn’t utter a single word. Hands of steel seemed to be pushing on his throat and he seemed like a man about to faint.

  Carey looked at the scruffy-looking visitor with an expression of intense aversion. It seemed to her that she had seen him before. In fact, there was something inexplicable about him, which puzzled her.

  “I want to speak to Mr. Acheson,” said the old man in a low, hoarse whisper. “He’s expecting me.”

  “Then come in. His friend Earl Keresley is with him.”

  She threw open the door more widely and stepped back, so that the greasy clothes of the visitor would not touch her dress. He passed her with a bow and crossed the little sitting room quickly, with the air of a man, who knows his way around the house. He didn’t knock at the door of the bedroom, but went straight in. There the scene at once held his attention. Allen, with a very pale face, was seated on the bed, while the earl was attentively examining his bare arm. Allen’s right arm had a huge tattoo of a ship on it. It must have been very painful. The earl was bending over him, applying a cooling lotion to the injured spot with a small piece of sponge. He turned quickly around. So usual were these men to read each other’s faces at a glance that Earl Keresley saw at once what had ailed Newton. The Weasel’s wild eyes said, “Are you mad to allow the young lady to be here?” while the eyes of Earl Keresley answered, “I couldn’t help it.”

  Allen turned to the visitor too and greeted the old man with an exclamation of delight.

  “Come here,” he said cheerfully, “and see to what a pitiful state I’ve been reduced by the earl and the boss.”

  The Weasel examined the tattoo carefully.

  “Are you quite sure,” he asked, “that not only will it deceive the lord, who has never seen the tattoo, but also the doctor and nurses at the hospital in Bournemouth?”

  “We will hoodwink the lot of them.”

  “And how long must we wait?” asked the old man, “It must look at least five years old.”

  “In a month’s time Allen can be introduced to Lord Swaffham.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Listen to me. Kennan agrees with me. The tattoo will not be quite faded, but I intend to subject it to various chemicals to age it as much as possible.”

  The earl had finished treating the tattoo with the wet sponge. Allen readjusted his shirt and lay down on the bed.

  “I’m quite willing to stay here forever,” he said with a smile. “That is as long as I’m allowed to keep the pretty nurse that I have in the other room and who, I’m sure of that, is waiting for you two to leave.”

  Earl Keresley cast an angry glance at Allen, which seemed to say, “Be silent.” but the happy youth paid no heed to it.

  “How long has this charming girl been with you?” asked the Weasel in a hoarse whisper.

  “Ever since I’ve been in bed,” answered Allen with the air of a young fellow without a care in the world. “I wrote her a note that I was unable to come over to her, so she came to me. I sent my letter at nine o’clock and at ten minutes later she was here with me.”

  The anxious earl slipped behind the Weasel and made wild gestures with his hands to try and keep Allen silent, but it was in vain.

  “Mr. Lett,” continued the talkative young fool, “spends most of his time in his office. As soon as he gets up he goes there and no one sees him for the rest of the day. So Carey can do as she likes. As soon as she knows that her father is nose deep in his ledgers, she puts on her hat and runs to me and no one could have a kinder and prettier visitor than I have.”

  Keresley continued signaling danger, but it was useless. Allen saw him, but didn’t understand what he meant to say. The Weasel rubbed his hands savagely.

  “You’re perhaps deceiving yourself a little,” he said at last.

  “Why do you say that? You know that Carey loves me, the poor woman. I ought to marry her and of course I will. Still, if I don’t do so, you know, I need say no more.”

  “You scoundrel!” screamed the usually tranquil Weasel. His attitude was so fierce and threatening that Allen sprang up out of the bed and moved nearer to the wall.

  It was impossible for the Weasel to utter another word, because Earl Keresley placed his hand on his lips and dragged him from the room.

  Allen couldn’t for the life of him think of why Newton had left the room in such a furious a mood. He had spoken of Carey in an improper attitude. He knew that the weakness of which she had been guilty should have led him to treat her with tenderness and respect. He could understand the anger of the earl, as he knew he was Jeff Lett’s friend and he had seen them together at times. He didn’t understand what on earth the Weasel had in common with the rich industrialist and his daughter. Forgetting the pain, which the smallest movement of his right arm produced, Allen went to the door and listened intensely, hoping to hear what was going on in the other room. He couldn’t hear anything through the thick walls and the closed door.

  “What is going on?” he asked. “If it wasn’t for the money, the Deuce come and get all of them for all I care.”

  The Weasel and Earl Keresley walked out of the apartment hastily, but when they reached the staircase they stood still. The earl had the same smile on his face as usual. He tried to calm his companion, who seemed to be on the verge of desperation.

  “Have courage,” he whispered. “What is the use of getting angry? You can’t prevent it. It’s too late now. Besides, even if you could, you wouldn’t, as you well know.”

  Newton took a handkerchief and wiped not his forehead, but his eyes.

  “Ah!” he moaned. “Now I can understand Bletchley’s feeling, when I told him that his sister had a lover. I’ve been pitiless and I’m being cruelly punished.”

  “My friend, you should not attach too much importance to what you just heard. Allen is a former sailor, a boaster.”

  “Allen is a miserable coward beast,” answered the old man in a furious voice. “Allen does not love her and she loves him very much, but what he said is true. It’s only too true, I can feel it. Between her family and her lover she wouldn’t hesitate for a moment. Ah! What a terrible future lies before her.”

  He stopped himself abruptly.

  “I cannot speak to her myself,” he continued. “You understand why, Keresley. Please try and talk some sense into my granddaughter.”

  Keresley shrugged his shoulders.

  “I will see what I can do,” he replied. “Armand, you’re not yourself today. Remember that one unlucky word could betray our secret lives.”

  “Go to her now! I swear to you that, happen what may, I will remain calm.”

  The earl went back into Allen’s room, while the Weasel sat down on the topmost step and buried his face in his hands.

  Carey was about to go into Allen’s bedroom, when the earl appeared again.

  “What, you again?” she asked. “I thought that you had left already.”

  “I want to say something to you,” he said. “It’s something of a rather serious nature. Don’t elevate those charming eyebrows. I see you’re trying to guess what I’m going to say. I’m here to tell you that this is not the proper place for the daughter of my friend Jeff Lett.”

  “I know that.”

  This unexpected answer, said in the calmest voice in the world, completely surprised the smiling doctor.

  “It seems to me...”

  “That I ought not to be here, I suppose. But you see, I place duty before gossip. Allen is ill and he has no one to take care of him. That is except for his fiancée and that is me. My father has given his consent to our union. You know that.”

  “Carey, listen to the experience of a man of the world. The nature of men is such that they never forgive a woman for doing what they freely do, not even if it was in their own favor. Do you know what people will say about your marriage? That you were his mistress and that was the reason your father had to consent to the marriage. Is that the kind of talk you want?”

  Carey’s face flushed red.

  “Very well,” she said. “I will listen to reason, but let me say a few words to Allen and then I will leave him.”

  Keresley bowed. He didn’t know that the young woman’s obedience sprang from suspicion, which had now arisen in Carey’s mind.

  “It’s done,” he said, as he rejoined Newton on the stairs. “Let us leave. She will follow us at once.”

  By the time the Weasel stepped into the street, he seemed to have regained his composure.

  “We will succeed,” he said, “but we will have to work hard and this marriage must be hastened by every means in our power. Soon that youth there will be in the possession of the colossal fortune of the Swaffhams.”

  The Weasel smiled.

  He continued, “Our other problem will be dealt with too, soon.”

  Though the earl had expected something of the kind, his face grew pale.

  “Do you mean Cora Bletchley or Frank Defoe?” he stammered.

  “The good doctor is in great danger and may not survive long. A portion of the work necessary to this end will be done tonight by our friend Chuff.”

  “That scamp? The other day you laughed, when I suggested using him for another job.”

  “I will kill two birds with one stone. Once the police are called and begin investigating Frank Defoe’s death, they will notice the half sawed through planks with a rope tied to them. The suspicion will fall on Chuff, who will be seen lurking around the spot. A tradesman will come forward and say that he purchased a saw and he will be found with several notes for one hundred shilling in his pockets. A good citizen will call the police and inform them that he can be found hiding in Hotel Krane.”

  The doctor looked aghast.

  “Are you mad?” he cried. “Chuff will accuse you.”

  “Let him. By that time we will have our money and old Newton can die in peace, never to be heard of again.”

  “I wish we could finally put this show on the road,” said the earl, “All these delays will make me seriously ill.”

  The two associates held this conversation in a doorway across from Allen’s apartment, anxious as they were to make sure that Carey had kept her promise. Soon they saw her come out of the house and walk in the direction of her father’s mansion.

  “Now,” said the Weasel, “I can go on in peace. Good day, Earl.” and without waiting for a reply he walked away.

  Joseph Kennan turned the corner to walk the last few yards to his insurance office, when he was stopped by one of his clerks, who came up to him breathless and barred his way.

  “I was looking for you,” he said. “Baron St. Ives is in the office and is swearing at us like he’s insane.”

  “Go back to the office and tell the baron that I will soon be with him.”

  The young baron was walking up and down the office, every now and then uttering a rumbling cannonade of oaths.

  “Fine businessmen,” he said, “to make an appointment and then not to keep it!”

  He stopped himself, because the door of the office slowly opened and Joseph Kennan appeared on the threshold.

  “Punctuality,” Kennan said, “does not mean coming before, but at the time of the appointment.”

  The baron was silent at once and followed Joseph Kennan into his office. He watched with curiosity as the fearless head of the association seemed to be searching for something among the papers on his desk. When Kennan had found what he was searching for, he turned around and addressed the baron.

  “I wished to see you,” he said, “to tell you about a new financial enterprise, which you must launch immediately.”

  “Yes, I heard about it. I understand that we will discuss it to fully understand it and make it our own.”

  Joseph Kennan whistled slowly.

  “Do you think,” he asked, “that I’m the kind of guy, who stands and waits while others run past him? You better learn fast. This is your first project with us. We have been doing this for twenty years. Things I take in hand are carried out with lightning speed. While you were playing the aristocrat, I and Whittaker Johnson have been working. There is nothing left for you to do but to act.”

  “Act! What do you mean?”

  “I mean that offices have been rented in Liverpool Street, that the articles of association have been drawn up, the directors chosen and the company registered.”

  “But...”

  “Read it for yourself,” said Kennan, handing him a printed booklet. “Read it and then, perhaps, it may become clear to you.”

  Jason St. Ives, in a daze, accepted the paper and read it out loud.

  “Diamond mines of South Africa. Chairman Baron Jason St. Ives. Assets of four million shilling. The shareholders must look for a dividend of six or seven per cent.”

  “Well,” interrupted Kennan, “what do you think?”

  “It seems fair enough,” answered St. Ives, “but who will buy shares in an unknown company?”

  “You will. With the money your wife brings into the marriage. And others you and we are able to convince to take part.”

  “And suppose,” continued the baron, “that one of us disposes of his shares, the company will collapse on the heads of the others.”

  “Who is brave enough to even dream of getting away with his ill gotten gains? Who?” asked Joseph Kennan.

  “What happens with the money?”

  “It’s invested at a six or seven percent interest. Read the brochure. All of us will have an income for life and our children after our death.”

  St. Ives felt that he had no reason to object, but he tried it one more time.

  “It seems rather a strange thing to launch this enterprise at the same moment as my marriage. Don’t you think Count Bletchley will decline to give me his sister’s hand in marriage if there was a risk to her wealth?”

  The insurance broker sneered loudly.

  “Are you playing with me?” he asked. “Do you think I will let you safely marry Cora Bletchley and take possession of her money and come begging you for it afterwards? Not so, my dear young friend, that is not the way I am used to handle my business. The money gets invested in the corporation and then you get to marry her.”

  The baron could see that everything had been thought out before he had been approached to take part in the scheme. Objecting would be of no avail and so he gave in.

  That evening, when Mr. Jeff Lett came home from his office, his daughter Carey was more than usually demonstrative in her affection.

  “How I love you, dear father!” she said, as she embraced him and kissed him on the cheeks.

  The industrialist was too preoccupied to ask his daughter for the reason for her sudden display of tenderness.

  Danger was surrounding Dr. Frank Defoe. It menaced his sleep. The size of the conspiracy made him fearful as his enemies were bold and audacious. He also knew that spies followed all his movements. He even imagined that they would resort to assassination to get rid of him and clear the way for their associate to marry Cora. But even this knowledge didn’t make him hesitate for a moment. He was very cautious, though, because he felt that if he was to perish, Cora would be inevitably lost. For her he exercised prudence, which was certainly not his own general characteristic. He knew he could put himself under the protection of the police, but this he knew would injure the Bletchley family and the secret they were so desperately trying to hide, would come out. He was sure that given time he would be able to unravel the plots of the villains, who were hard at work to hurt the woman he loved. But he had no time to wait and think. He better make haste. The hideous wedding of which Cora was to be the victim came ever nearer and it seemed to him as if his life was ebbing away as the hour of the gruesome deed came closer. He went over the most recent events carefully one by one and tried to piece them together like a puzzle. He wanted to find out the one commonality, which bound all the plotters together. There was James Wexler, Carl Esprey, Joseph Kennan, Earl Keresley and Jeff Lett. As he wrote down the names of these schemers, the thought of Ralph Greenstreet came across his mind.

  “Isn’t it curious,” he thought, “that this poor man should be the victim of such a cruel gang of crooks? Why go after him?”

  Suddenly he sprang to his feet. A new idea flashed across his brain. The thought was as yet crude and undefined, but it seemed to bear the promise of explaining what was going on. It seemed to him that the problems young Greenstreet was having were closely connected with his. They seemed to be part and parcel of the same dark scheme and Greenstreet’s debentures with their forged signature were also part of the plot against Cora. He didn’t know how exactly he and Ralph were connected in the plot, yet the same villains, seemed to indicate it was all part of one big plot.

  He thought about Ralph for a while. It was his father’s solicitor, who had informed the father of how to treat the son and had caused the rift between the two. It was Whittaker Johnson. In addition to acting for Greenstreet senior, it seemed he was also the confidential solicitor of Baron St. Ives and the moneylender James Wexler. Perhaps he was just a solicitor and only obeyed his employers’ instructions.

  “It is all very vague and unsatisfactory,” he said to himself, as he threw his pencil on the table. “However, it is something to go on and who can say what conclusion careful inquiry might not lead us to?”

  Frank decided to carry on with his investigation and try to find the hidden links, which connected the giant scheme together. He heard a knock on his door. He glanced at the clock. It was not yet nine. The surgery had not opened yet.

  “Come in,” he cried as he sprang up.

  The door was thrown open and the young doctor took a step back as he recognized in his early visitor the brother of Cora. It was after a sleepless night that the count had decided to take this step. He was terribly agitated, but had taken the time to prepare himself for this important conversation.

  “You will, I trust, pardon me, sir,” he said, “for making such an early call, but I thought that I had to make sure to find you alone at this hour as I wanted to speak to you.”

  The doctor bowed.

  In the space of one second a thousand questions, each one more unlikely than the other, went through his mind.