Jonah's Luck

"I'm nae varra sure o' the context, but there's the sense for ye."

Herries passed a bewildered hand across his brow. "I don't quite understand," he observed. "Is Pope Narby the guilty person?"

"Oh, I don't say that," replied the Captain, agreeably.

"It's his limmer o' a mither," cried Gowrie.

"What!" cried Ritson, jumping up with an activity surprising in so elderly a lawyer. "Did she----?"

"Here!" interrupted Kyles impatiently, "we'll never get on at this rate. Mr. Gowrie, you had better tell what happened at the 'Marsh Inn' and I'll take up the story when your knowledge fails."

Gowrie smiled graciously, asking nothing better than to be the central figure in the conversation. The three men listened attentively, but the two women, still glaring at one another, gave but a careless ear to the tale, told in the old tutor's best style and in his best English. "For the beenefit o' the lawyer body," explained Gowrie, nodding towards Ritson, "him being unacquaint wi' the tongue o' Auld Reekie. But baith ye laddies," he indicated Herries and Kyles respectively, "ken well the vernacular ye sooked in wi' yer mither's milk as it micht be."

"Get on, get on," cried Kyles looking at his watch, "we have not much time. I have steam up, and we lift anchor before midnight."

Ritson smiled to himself, thinking that before midnight Captain Kyles would probably find himself in Tarhaven prison. However, as Gowrie was speaking, he gave his attention to the story, and it astonished him not a little.

The sage related all that had taken place at the inn since his arrival there, and described with indignation how he had been kidnapped while searching for the box buried by Mrs. Narby. In the midst of his diatribes, the Captain cut him short.

"I learned from Señora Guzman that Mrs. Narby had gone to see her son in London," he explained rapidly, "and got the address from the maid-servant of the inn. Mrs. Narby had given her the address and had told her to send on any letters. On receiving this information I went ashore with one of the notes, which I took from the box. I intended to come and see you, Herries, and make an arrangement. But I met Kind by chance on the jetty and made the arrangement with him. He agreed to take the note to town, and give it to Pope Narby; also to try and induce him to pass it, and then give information to the police so that Pope might be arrested, and thus the note would be brought under the notice of the Scotland Yard authorities."

"But Pope would never have tried to pass a note of that sort, when he knew that the authorities had the numbers."

"He did not know that this was one of the stolen notes. Mrs. Narby, I presume, went to London to tell him that the box had been found--which it was by me, and is now on board,--but he would never connect Kind and the stolen notes. Kind presented the note to Pope, who is a fool, as a present from Señora Guzman, who admired his poetry. It was for fifty pounds, and Pope swallowed the bait. He went out to cash the note, as he was short of money. Kind, according to my instructions, entered the shop with him, and declared that it was one of the notes that had to do with the Tedder murder, and gave Pope in charge."

"But since Kind gave him the note----"

"Oh, Kind could explain that in due time. All he wanted and I wanted, was to have that Narby animal arrested. However, Pope lost his head, and before the policeman could seize him, he escaped. I think that was how the affair happened, and you see from that telegram, that Kind believes Pope and his mother have made for the 'Marsh Inn.' I expect that they will hastily pack a few things and escape."

"Then Pope Narby killed Sir Simon," said Herries again.

"I can't be certain of that until I see him," said Kyles.

"Then you don't get the four thousand pounds," retorted Ritson.

"I'll have it before midnight," said Kyles glancing again at his watch, "for then I sail for--let us say, Indiana. I have so wish that you, Mr. Ritson, should put the police on my track. Mr. Herries I can trust, but you,--a lawyer."

"Aye, aye," commented Mr. Gowrie, "they lawyer bodies are the bairns o' Auld Nicky-Ben. The Faither o' Lies, the Accuser o' the Brethren, perverse an' damnable----"

"Don't miscall your best friend, Mr. Gowrie," snapped Ritson. "But we are no nearer the end than we were. Perhaps, Captain Kyles, you will now make your long deferred explanation."

"Have you the four thousand pounds?" asked Kyles sharply.

"There's the box. But you don't get it until----"

"Open the box, and let me see the money," said Kyles. "How do I know but what you will diddle me?"

"You said that you would trust me," put in Herries.

"Yes. I also said that I mistrusted your lawyer. I'll get a screw-driver and a hammer. The box must be opened," and Kyles left the cabin in a hurry.

"I believe he is guilty himself," exclaimed Ritson striking the table.

"You are wrong," remarked Señora Guzman quietly, "Captain Kyles is innocent."

"He isn't," cried Maud, viciously. "I can prove--"

"You can prove nothing."

"I can!"

"You can't, and what is more, you shan't."

The two women, panting and savage, faced one another defiantly. However the scene was ended for the time being by the return of Kyles, and the box was opened by Ritson, who declined to let the Captain tamper with the precious metal. When the lid was thrown back and the glitter of sovereigns was displayed, Kyles raised another objection.

"You have some money there," he admitted, "but how do I know that the sum amounts to four thousand pounds?"

"Count it," said Ritson curtly.

"That would take too long. Mr. Herries, will you give me your word of honour that the sum of four thousand pounds is in that box?"

"Yes, so Ritson assures me."

"Ah," Kyles was suspicious at once, "then _you_ can't say yourself if the whole--hark!" he stopped abruptly and held up his finger.

There was a long shrill whistle, evidently from some steamer near at hand. Kyles rushed out of the cabin, and Ritson hastily replaced the lid on the box, wondering if the police had arrived thus inopportunely, and before the revelation had been made. But in any case the gold was safe, and he chuckled at the thought of having Kyles arrested, and forced to speak the truth in order to save his own neck. The buccaneer would not gain possession of the gold after all, for which Ritson was profoundly thankful. But his glee was of short duration. In five minutes, during which everyone sat pale and expectant, Kyles returned. But not alone. With him was Pope Narby, white and sick with fear. He shambled in at the heels of the Captain, and dropped into a chair.

"Here," said Kyles, waving his hand, "allow me to present to you Mr. Pope Narby. He and his mother did return to the 'Marsh Inn' to prepare for flight. I sent up the launch, and they have sought safety on board this boat. I'll take them to South America. Meanwhile, I can now say, Herries, that this," he laid his hand on Pope's arm, "this is the murderer of your uncle."

"No, no," howled a high, shrill voice, "I killed 'im," and Mrs. Narby, looking like a grey old rat at bay in a trap, rushed into the cabin.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE BEGINNING OF THE END.

Ritson and Herries appeared to be the only members of the company who were surprised by Mrs. Narby's announcement. Gowrie, in a state of high glee, leaned forward, his elbows on the table, and his pipe in his mouth.

"Aye, mistress," said he portentously, "ye're fighting for yer young like the milky mither o' the herd, wha horns the rash intruder wha wud convart her caulf into veal. The muckle great deil tak ye for a leear."

"Gowrie," cried Herries, who was on his feet, "you knew all along!"

"Nae, nae, ye'll nae mack me compromise maesel in yon way. I hed ma suspeecions, though no o' her."

"Say plainly," Herries rapped the table, "is Mrs. Narby guilty or----?"

"I'm nae varra sure."

"Captain Kyles?" he appealed to the skipper, who stood by Mrs. Narby, with folded arms and a grim smile.

"I accuse the son."

"It's a bloomin' lie," panted the landlady, who looked a gruesome object, with her grey hair disarranged and her bonnet askew. "It wos me who cut th' ole man's 'orrid throat. Pope wouldn't 'urt a fly. I did h'it fur the tin, so es t' 'elp Pope t' be a great man."

"You don't seem to be surprised, Señora Guzman," said Herries, looking at the composed face of the Mexican lady.

"Captain Kyles told me long ago that Pope Narby was guilty."

"Me! Me! Me!" declared Mrs. Narby with vehemence, and wreathed her old arms round the shaking, drooping figure of her miserable son.

"Aye, aye," commented the sage, pointing with the stem of his pipe, "mark hoo th' mither-luve rins thro' a' th' wand. Yon's Alfred Tennyson, I'm theenkin'."

Herries, who was the person principally interested, seeing that on the truth of this statement depended the possession of fifty thousand a year, turned to the mother and son.

"Which one of you did it?" he demanded. "I must know for certain."

Pope made no reply, for his tongue clove to the roof of his palate, and Mrs. Narby, wiping his damp brow with her handkerchief, replied for him.

"I tell you I killed yer bloomin' uncle."

"And I say that Pope Narby did," declared the skipper decisively.

"And I," cried Maud, rising suddenly and stretching out her arm in a threatening manner, "I say that Bruce Kyles is the assassin."

Señora Guzman leaned across the table, and pushed Maud back on to the divan.

"If you dare to say that, I'll have you thrown overboard. Bruce," she addressed the Captain imperiously, "tell them what happened on that night. Mr. Herries knows that we came to England to get money for the expedition; he knows that you made love to Maud by my order, so that Sir Simon should help us; and he has been told that Sir Simon wrote a letter saying that this woman," she pointed to the indignant Maud, "was disinherited, and that he would meet you at the inn to pay you to give her up. Give her up," laughed the lady insultingly, "a woman for whom he did not care two straws while I lived to be his wife."

"It's a lie--a lie. Bruce, Bruce, you love me, me only," and Maud looked at her quondam lover with agonised appeal.

"I don't love you at all," mumbled the skipper in the most brazen manner, and cutting anything but an heroic figure, "you knew that I was engaged to Señora Guzman, and yet you wanted me to throw her over and be your husband. I never had any intention of marrying you. All I wanted was to get money out of your father, and----"

"Oh, cut it short, you hound," interrupted Herries fiercely.

Kyles turned livid.

"You are on my boat, in my power," he said, in a slow and deadly manner.

"What do I care for that?" retorted the young man, facing the buccaneer with determination. "You have acted like a cur towards my cousin."

"No, no," moaned Maud, who persisted in believing that Kyles was acting a part, because Señora Guzman was present, "if I had the money he would marry me."

"Very good," said Herries. "Captain Kyles, I offer you half the money left by my uncle, that is, twenty-five thousand a year, if you will marry Maud Tedder."

"Bruce! Bruce!" cried Maud, stretching out her arms, "you consent?"

"Bruce," cried Donna Maria, in her turn, with flashing eyes, "you promised me to----"

Kyles interrupted both with an imperious gesture.

"I stick to my one and only love, and that is Maria Guzman," he said sharply, but his face was pale. "I have four thousand pounds. With that I'll find the treasure and have five millions. Then we'll--but that's neither here nor there, Herries," he wheeled round to face that most indignant gentleman, "you may think what you like. It is not to my interest to kill you or to keep you prisoner. You shall hear all I know and then go free. For your opinion of me I don't care that," and he snapped his fingers contemptuously.

Herries eyed him with scorn.

"Fewer words would have done, Kyles. I wait to hear what you have to say."

"Aye," said the sage gravely, "we're wasting valuable meenutes, an' it's dry wark, a' this talk wi'oot the cheerin' cup."

Kyles flushed and winced at the tone of Herries, and cast a glance at Mrs. Narby, who was still fondling her miserable, tongue-tied son. Then he straightened himself, and his face brightened when his eyes rested on the wooden box, which contained the money he had risked so much to get. He spoke quietly and to the point.

"Sir Simon," said Captain Kyles, "objected to my marrying his daughter, and wanted me to give her up. To gain my own ends, I refused. Then he offered to bribe me with one thousand pounds. I declined, and said that I would take two thousand."

Herries shrugged his shoulders, but did not look up. Kyles reddened at this sign of contempt, and continued more rapidly, as though eager to get the shameful tale ended. The rest of the company, even the lively Gowrie, held their peace.

"Sir Simon then made his plans. He signed a will disinheriting Maud, save for £1,000 a year, and giving the money to you, Herries, provided you found out who killed him, and----"

"Why did he do that?"

"Because he was to have an interview with me at a lonely inn, and fancied that in a fit of anger I might kill him, or else might get rid of him and marry Maud with her money. That was the reason he disinherited the girl, and why he put in the proviso about the discovery of the murderer, who would, in Sir Simon's opinion, be me."

"I see," said Herries quietly, "Sir Simon wanted to make sure if you did kill him that you would not get the benefit of your crime by marrying Maud and her money."

"That's it," assented the Captain, "but I need hardly say, that I had no idea of killing the old man. When I got his letter, I arranged to go to the inn, and receive the two thousand. Then I would have gone away. As I was not certain of what time I would be at the inn, Sir Simon said that he would put a red light in his bedroom window, and that I could climb up, or that he would admit me by the door when everyone was in bed."

"I don't see the reason for all these precautions," said Herries, in an impatient manner.

"Ah, now you trench on politics. I was being watched by emissaries from our Indiana Republic, and ran a chance of being stabbed or shot. I had reason to believe that they got wind of my engagement at the 'Marsh Inn' and would be on the watch. That was why I would not fix the exact time for calling on Sir Simon. He expected me earlier, but I said that I might be late, so he invented the red handkerchief signal. Well, to make a long story short, I went to the 'Marsh Inn' with Señora Guzman----"

"That is, he went in the launch," she interrupted quickly. "I remained on board the launch, and----"

"Yes, yes," Herries interrupted in his turn, "I know how you sent the sailors to see if any Indiana person was about, and how they kidnapped Armour by mistake. Well, Captain, you got to the inn--at what time, may I ask?"

"Shortly after midnight. I walked through the rain and the fog, with my revolver in my hand. I knew where the inn was, as I had been there before. I noted the red light in the window----"

"I saw you--I saw you," cried Maud, looking at him eagerly.

"I am aware of that, seeing what took place afterwards."

"It was for your sake," she gasped, with a side glance at Herries.

"What is that, Maud?" asked the young man quietly.

"You'll hear in due time if you will allow me to go on with my story," said Kyles testily. "It's getting late and I wish to get away as soon as possible."

"Go on then," said Ritson who was deeply interested.

"I scrambled up to the window which was open. It had been left ajar on purpose by Sir Simon. I am not heavy," the Captain cast a complacent look at his slim figure, "so I easily clambered up the trellis-work----"

"You broke it, you beast," said Mrs. Narby savagely.

"Pooh," rejoined Kyles good-humouredly, "I did very little harm. I easily slipped into the room, wondering why Sir Simon was not on the look-out. I spoke his name softly. There was no reply, so I came gently from behind the dressing table, which had been moved to one side, and went to the bed----"

"Was there a light in the room?" asked Ritson eagerly.

"Oh yes, a candle which was placed behind a red handkerchief so as to signal the special room I was to climb into. I took the candle, and then to my horror saw that Sir Simon was lying dead with his throat cut."

"You did it," cried Maud with a sob.

"I did not," cried Kyles savagely, "the man was dead when I entered the room. His pocket-book lay on the table along with a razor, and a few papers. I could not find the money, else I should have gone away in silence. Then I heard a footstep, and concealed myself behind the curtains of the bed. The door opened gently, and this creature," he pointed to Pope, who shuddered, "crept in softly. He had a bloody towel in his hands with which he wiped them, and then began to examine the pocket-book. I crept out, and caught him by the throat. He nearly fainted."

"You hurt me," moaned Pope at this moment, and his mother fondled him.

"I would have choked you had I had the two thousand pounds safe at that time," said Kyles savagely, "to go and murder an old man in his sleep."

"I did it--I did it," cried Mrs. Narby like a parrot, and trembling violently with mixed emotions of rage and terror.

"That's rubbish, as I can prove. I made Pope confess. He said that he had been tempted by the gold and notes, which he had seen in the parlour. He crept up the stairs shortly before midnight and cut Sir Simon's throat, then he emptied the pocket-book, and took the money to his own room downstairs at the back of the house. He had come back, when I caught him, to see if he had taken everything. He also told me that you, Herries, the nephew of the old man, were in the next room asleep."

"How did he know that I was Sir Simon's nephew?"

"He heard your name, and your talk with Gowrie."

"I didn't mention to Gowrie that I was Sir Simon's nephew."

"Aye. I can stake my life on that, laddie."

"I'll explain,--I'll explain," said Kyles impatiently, "however, to continue. I promised to say nothing, if Pope went down and brought up the money. On that condition I let him go. He went and never returned. I waited and waited in that dismal room with the one candle, and the corpse on the bed. Then I thought that the red light might attract the attention of any Indiana spy who was about, so I put out the light and sat in the dark. Pope never came."

"Why not?" asked Herries surprised.

Pope opened his mouth to speak, but his watchful mother put her hand over his mouth.

"You never did it, lovey; you know nothink," she said, significantly.

"But I can prove that he did," said Kyles. "Pope did not return," he went on quickly, "because he knew that I could not give the alarm without incriminating myself, and he intended, if I did, to accuse me of killing the old man. I guessed that, and afterwards I made him confess that he intended to act in that way. So there I sat in the darkness. Then I remembered the papers on the table, and examined them to see if Sir Simon had made any mention of the appointment. I found my own letter, and confiscated that----"

"How did you see in the dark?" asked Ritson, suspiciously.

"I lighted matches, as I was afraid to relight the candle. Well then, I also found a small pocket diary written up to the time Sir Simon went to bed. It mentioned that Angus Herries was in the house, and sleeping there----"

"How did my uncle know that?" asked Herries much amazed.

"He overheard your voice raised when talking to Gowrie, and peered out of the parlour to see who it was. He recognised you----"

"Nae, nae," said Gowrie waving the smoke away from his eyes, "he cudnae hae recognised the laddie sae changed wi' weary travels. But Angus here talked tae me, his auld tutor, and I spoke his name at times. Aye, and I mind me noo, the door of the parlour opened and shut, while we hed oor crack."

"I don't remember that," said Angus thoughtfully.

"Aye, but I do, ma laddie. Ye were sae taken up wi' yer tale of woe,--and verra sad it wis,--that ye didna hear nor see. But I keeked oot o' the tail o' ma ee, and saw,--though tae be sure I didna weel ken at the time it wis yer lawfu' uncle. Hed I kenned I micht hae touched him for a shullin' or two."

"You evidently robbed Herries instead," said Kyles contemptuously.

"Eh, but that's actionable. I'll hale ye afore the magistrate for yon speech. Hoo d'y' ken I wis in Herries' room."

"I heard you muttering to yourself. Your accent betrayed you."

"Well, and wherefore no. I joost looked in tae see that my puir laddie wis asleep."

"And you took his money. Pope Narby found that out."

Gowrie turned wrathfully on the culprit.

"D'y' ken yon's a base lee?"

"Here," interrupted Herries, growing weary of all this talk, "get on with what you have to say, Captain Kyles. We can settle these minor details later. What did you do when Narby did not return?"

"I waited until the morning, then assumed Sir Simon's coat and boldly walked out of the inn."

"Why did you wait until the morning?"

"For two reasons. First, I wanted to get the money which Pope had taken away, and thought up to the last moment that he would return. And second, when I did have a half idea of escaping by the window, Armour came and sat down beneath it And there was a third reason," added Kyles, with his eyes on Maud Tedder.

"One moment before you proceed further," said Ritson quickly. "How can we believe all this about Pope Narby?"

"There's his confession," said Kyles, taking a packet from his breast pocket and throwing it across the table. "I saw him later; he refused to give up the money, but I made him sign that confession by threatening to arrest him, and----"

"Pope," yelled Mrs. Narby, "oh, you fool, did you sign----?"

"I had to, mother," moaned her son, "and Captain Kyles said he would save me by taking me away to America."

"And I'll do that," said Kyles nodding. "Herries, Ritson, you have now the truth. That confession repeats all that I have told you, and has been signed by Pope Narby, who killed Sir Simon. You can now leave the four thousand pounds with me and go ashore. I am off in another hour from these waters. But one thing I'll say before I go," he declared, "you, Herries, have defended your cousin, and have blamed me for treating her as I did. But you have very little reason to decry me, and defend her. For it was your cousin who placed the razor and the pocket-book in your room and who smeared your shirt with her father's blood."

"Maud!" cried Herries, horrified, and started to his feet.

"Yes, I did," she said, with pinched lips and a bloodless face, "I got into the inn, as I told you, but I did not run away when I heard Mr. Gowrie coming out of the bedroom. I hid, while he went down the stairs. Then I ran along to the room, where I saw a gleam of light----"

"It came from under the door," explained Kyles, "as I had lighted the candle on hearing Gowrie muttering."

"I saw it was Bruce, and he told me all, and also mentioned that Angus was sleeping in the next room. To save Bruce, and to get my own money, I determined to get Angus hanged for the crime, so I did what Bruce said. Papa had left the money to Angus, as he told Bruce, and Bruce told me, so I thought that if Angus was hanged the money would come back to me. And if you were to die now," added Maud tigerishly, "I should have my fortune again, and then my own Bruce would marry me."

Before Herries could exclaim on the iniquity of his cousin's conduct, there was a sudden shouting overhead. Kyles started and listened. Down the stairs rushed an excited man--he was one of the engineers--who cried out that the police were on board.

"The police," cried Herries, astonished.

"The police," echoed Kyles wrathfully. "Did you betray me, Herries?"

"No. I swear that I----"

"I told Trent to come," cried Ritson, much excited, "as I want the murderer arrested, and----"

Before he could say anything further, Mrs. Narby was at his throat.

"You 'ang my son," she shrieked, "I'll choke y' furst. Guy up thet confession. Pope, come an' elp me."

But Pope, terrified out of his life at his danger, ran up the cabin stairs in the vain endeavour to escape, and so fell into the arms of Trent himself. Ritson, shaking off the old woman, ran up also, and shouted out to Trent to hold the murderer. Kyles followed, and there was a general rush. The night was clear with moonlight, and the deck was filled with the sailors of the yacht. Trent, with a couple of policemen, was on board, and in the boats longside were many others who were being kept from getting on deck by some of the crew.

"I arrest everyone on board this ship," cried Trent loudly, "in the name of the King----"

"I don't care for King or Kaiser," shouted Kyles, in his turn, "you get away and leave that man."

"No, no," cried the lawyer. "Hold him tightly, Trent. He killed Sir Simon. I have the confession in my pocket. And the Captain here is an accessory after the fact."

"Arrest him," said Trent, pointing to Kyles.

A policeman advanced and was knocked down. This was the signal for a general fight. Trent held on to Pope Narby like grim death and the miserable creature was whimpering like a soul in pain. The other policemen in the boat managed to get on deck, and one who remained behind sent off a green rocket, as a sign that assistance was required. Apparently Trent, expecting some fighting, had laid his plans excellently. On the moonlit deck a mass of men struggled and strained, with much noise and clamour. Mrs. Narby fought tooth and nail for her son, but he was down under the feet of the Inspector, who stood over him with a levelled revolver. Kyles blew his bo'sn's whistle, and more and more sailors came tumbling up from below, dark, fierce-looking fellows they were, who cared for nothing. The police were overpowered gradually, but already more boats were putting off from the shore, and there was every chance that Kyles would have to yield. He shouted down to the engine room, and gave the signal to "stand by."

Trent dragged his prisoner to the side and dropped him into the boat, while Mrs. Narby clung to him, biting and scratching. Indeed, but for the assistance of Ritson, she would have succeeded in getting her son free. What with the yelling and swearing and struggling, the deck was like a pandemonium. Having secured at least one prisoner, and seeing that there was danger of bloodshed, Trent cried to his men to regain the boat. At the same time the yacht began to move, and Kyles, on the bridge, was pulling at the whistle, which shrieked shrilly. Herries, not wishing to be carried away, for the policemen were tumbling into their boat, rushed to the side, where his own boatmen were. He saw the boat, and shouted. Just as he did so, and was leaning over at a dangerous angle, he was pushed violently from behind, and had just a glimpse of Maud's malignant face as she thrust him to his death.

"The money's mine--mine," she cried, clapping her hands.

"And Bruce is mine," said Señora Guzman in her ear, and sent Maud Tedder overboard after her victim.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE END

Some months later, in the spring-time, Mr. and Mrs. Herries were seated under their own fig-tree; in other words, they were occupying the "Moated Hall." Angus had entered into full possession of his property, and was now a country gentleman, popular and wealthy. His wife also was much admired, and, her story being known, everyone was delighted to make her acquaintance. It had been impossible to keep the mysterious tale of the "Marsh Inn" murder out of the newspapers, and quite a legend had grown up in connection with it.

Pope Narby was tried for the murder of Sir Simon, and although he would fain have denied his guilt, and although his mother would fain have taken it on her own shoulders, he was condemned and sentenced to be hanged. It was this news which Elspeth and her husband were discussing after dinner in the garden.

The night was beautiful and spring-like. There was a glorious moon gleaming in a cloudless sky, and everywhere the earth was breaking into blossom with the coming of spring. Browne had been dining with the young couple, but had been hastily called away to see a patient. Angus and his wife were alone, and sat side by side, hand in hand, on the terrace of the old hall. Elspeth looked more delicate and ethereal than ever in her evening dress, and Herries, immaculately groomed and arrayed in purple and fine linen, appeared a very different creature to the worn-out tramp who had sought the shelter of the "Marsh Inn." He was just talking of this experience.

"I thought that it was the unluckiest thing that ever happened to me," he said, looking fondly at his pretty wife, "but now I know that but for my visit there I would never have been where I am. You would not have been my wife, Elspeth, nor would I now be drawing fifty thousand a year."

"Yet we have seen much misery coming out of the whole business," sighed the girl-wife. "Is it a good thing, Angus, to build up happiness on the sorrows of other people?"

"My darling, we did all we could to help others. Their sorrows were caused simply by their own wickedness, from which both of us suffered. No, Elspeth, I don't think we can blame ourselves in any way. Let us recall, for the last time, all that has happened, and then agree to forget the sorrowful past."

"Well, then, Angus, let us begin with Pope Narby."

"I rather think we end with him," said Herries, "seeing that the poor wretch will be hanged in a few days. The appeal his mother made to the Home Secretary has been rejected, and the law will take its course. But he certainly deserves his doom. When I was in the court at the time he was sentenced, Elspeth, he talked about Eugene Aram, and compared himself to that person, saying he had killed Sir Simon to get money to become famous."

"Did Mrs. Narby know that he was guilty?"

"Not at the time. But she noticed that he was always down at the Red Creek----"

"I noticed that also, from the mud on his boots."

"Well, then, one day she followed him there, and found that he had buried the notes and gold in a box. She made him confess all, which he did, only he never told her that Captain Kyles had made him sign a confession."

"I wonder that Pope was so foolish as to do that."

"He would not have done that had not Kyles promised to save him by taking him to South America. Then he thought that he was safe and Kyles certainly would have kept his word had not Trent and his policemen arrived. I was angry with Ritson for having warned Trent, but as events proved it was just as well."

"I thought you intended yourself to warn Trent," said Elspeth.

"So I did, dear, but then, from certain information I learned I fancied that your father might be guilty."

"What, papa? Oh no. He would do many wrong things, I know, but not----"

"Well," said Herries dryly, "I don't think he'd even stop short of murder to get money. But there is no danger of his doing anything of that sort now, as he has his five hundred a year. He is coming to see us to-night, Elspeth, and then intends to go to-morrow to the North there to live always."

"I am glad of that," said the daughter heartily. "Papa is not a good man, Angus, and the further away from us he is the better. But do you know," she added smiling, "I really thought that papa would have married Mrs. Mountford."

"There was not the least chance of that, dear, although he certainly admired her. Poor Mrs. Mountford, I am glad I allowed her an annuity as she certainly has had a very bad time. She felt the loss of Maud very much."

"Why was not Maud saved?" asked Elspeth.

"In all the confusion it was impossible," said Herries earnestly, "for I would have saved her myself in spite of her wickedness had I got my wits about me. But I struck my head against the side of the yacht, when she pushed me over, and the boatmen dragged me quite stunned into their boat. Maud was pushed over immediately afterwards by Señora Guzman, and----"

"Who can swear to that?"

"Ritson. He saw her do it, and saw Maud push me over. You see, my dear, Maud knew that if I died that the money would come to her, and that was why she wanted to come with me on the yacht. I saw that she had something on her mind, but she would not tell me what it was. And no wonder, seeing that it was her design to push me overboard, and get the cash. Then she thought that Bruce Kyles would marry her."

"Had she been successful would he have done that?"

"No. He loved Señora Guzman. I think that Kyles behaved very badly. However, he has vanished out of our lives with the four thousand----"

"Ah," said Elspeth smiling, "Mr. Ritson has never ceased to mourn for the loss of that."

"I think Kyles deserved the money," said Herries, "and Ritson made a good thing out of it, when the property came into my possession. Without that confession, extorted by Kyles from Pope Narby, we would never have got the fortune. But it proved beyond all doubt that Pope was guilty, so everything has turned out for the best. I do not grudge Kyles the money. He's in South America by now, I expect, hunting for that treasure along with Señora Guzman and her father.

"What will they do when they find it?"

"Marry, and then, with heaps of money at their back,--I believe the treasure amounts to five millions sterling,--they will try and get back authority in Indiana."

"What about Mrs. Narby?"

"I intend to give her some money and send her to the States to rejoin her husband. Pope must be hanged: there's no help for it."

While they thus talked and enjoyed the beauty of the night, they heard a grand mellow voice chanting one of the psalms. Shortly the musical person came in sight, and then they beheld the Rev. Michael Gowrie, in strict clerical dress, looking fat and gay and more bibulous than ever. On seeing his son-in-law and daughter he advanced with a majestic gait reciting solemnly--

"That's Addison, ye ken, my bairns. A fine poet, though not tae be named i' the same breeth wi' Robbie Burns."

"So you are off to-morrow?" said Herries taking no notice of this poetical outburst.

"I'm gangin' tae morrow tae the Norrth. Aye, my fut wull be on ma native heath soon. Five hunner a year, and a stainless name. Leuk, laddie, what honesty o' purpose does for the wise."

"Oh father," said Elspeth disgusted, "you know you----"

"I know that I walked in miry ways," said the sage quickly, "groped in darkness and employed in the muckrake to find ma gold. But I wis but a good honest mon struggling wi' advarsity. Aye, lassie, dinna forget that I saved your husband fra the gallows."

"You've made five hundred a year out of that," said Herries, contemptuously.

"And gey cheap at the price, my manny. My ain conscience o' having dune good is ma reward. Aye, I can lay ma venerable locks on my pillow and say I've thocht o' the gude o' ithers afore ma ain. See, Elspeth, the husband I got for ye, and the hoose, and the----"

"Oh, shut up and go away," said Herries, disgusted with the old scamp, "and don't come near us oftener than you can help."

"And this," said Mr. Gowrie, lifting his eyes to the cloudless sky, "is gratitude."

"Gratitude be hanged, I owe you none."

"Dinna talk o' hanging, laddie, when ye think that puir Pope's fate micht hae been yours. Ye owe me a' theengs, I'm theenking. What were ye but a Jonah when I took peety on ye at the 'Marsh Inn'? I helped ye with counsel, I cheered yer lonely path, and gied tae ye ma ain bairn, the pride and glory of my existeence."

Herries stared at Mr. Gowrie thus praising himself, then taking Elspeth's arm within his own, calmly walked away. "Dear," he said when they entered the house, "when your father goes, we'll forget all the past."

"I never wish to see him again," shuddered the girl, "and oh, Angus, to think I should have such a father," she let fall a tear.

Herries kissed it away.

"There! There! We won't think any more of him or of our troubles. All's well that end's well. You and I are no longer Mr. and Mrs. Jonah."

"What are we then?" asked Elspeth smiling through her tears.

"Darby and Joan," and then they sat down happy at last. And the sage, the wise man, who had steered them,--in his own opinion,--through all their troubles, sat on the terrace lamenting the ingratitude of his children.

"Aye, aye," said Gowrie, "I'm a Lear--wha hes cherished a serpent to sting me. But for the gude siller--aye," he chuckled and rubbed his hands, I hae the siller, and can gang my ways content until yon day when I occupy the hoose built wi'oot hands. A Provideence hes watched o'er me I doot not, for I'm nae ane o' they sceptics wha' disnae believe in ony thing. Weel, weel,' he rose, and walked into the hoose, "a wee drappy toddy and then to bed. Jonah's Luck, aye, it's Jonah's Fortune I'm theenking, and I gie it a' tae Jonah."

THE END

HUNT, BARNARD A CO., LONDON, W., AND AYLESBURY.