DERRICK got back to Beech Lodge in time for lunch and plunged at once into a vastly different atmosphere. The house was servantless, and this very fact had kept Edith too busy to indulge in any morbid reflections, even had her resilient nature felt so inclined. She was moved by the knowledge that her brother had been under a strain which, however incomprehensible to herself, was nevertheless to him very real. It was reflected in his eyes, his restless manner, and the notes that had lain untouched for weeks. She wanted him to get back to his work, to be normal, and above all things happy. She recognized and admired the creative side of him, made allowances for what she considered the essential vagaries of his temperament, and had long since decided to sacrifice herself if necessary on so unusual an altar. She could feel for him, if not with him.

So, returning from the grim scene of Bamberley jail, he found an energetic, practical young person, obviously full of work, and over whom hung but little of the tragedy of the immediate past. She supplied the touch that the moment demanded. He welcomed this, leaned on it far more than he realized, and sat down at the table with a feeling of prodigious relief. The hand of the domestic artist was visible here, and if at times the diaphanous shape of the stiff figure of Perkins seemed to stand close to his shoulder, the sensation did not oppress him. Edith talked generalities till, nearly at the end of the meal, she sent him a frank questioning look.

“Of course I’m just dying to know if anything new came out this morning. Martin turned up an hour ago. He seemed to me like another man, got out his tools and went to work without a word, and it made me more curious than ever. That queer puzzling expression has gone out of his eyes, and I couldn’t help thinking he was something like a dog that had been stolen and found his way back to his old home.”

Derrick nodded cheerfully. “I rather fancy he feels like that, just for the present, anyway, but we’ll probably have to find another gardener. He won’t want to stay here.”

“No, I suppose he couldn’t.” She hesitated a moment, then gave him the straightforward glance he knew so well. “Do you know, Jack, I think we’ve all been rather stupid about that poor woman; yes, I mean you, too.”

“It’s quite possible,” he admitted, “but why?”

“Well, I suppose it’s easy to put things together, afterward; but, looking back at everything, what happened seems in a way as natural as it was dreadful. The poor soul had her terrible secret and took the only way out of it, but couldn’t we have anticipated that somehow?”

“It was the last thing one could imagine.” He went on, and told her some of what had transpired that morning in Bamberley jail, but not all. She listened silently, with little gestures of wonder, and a softened light in her honest, brown eyes. At the story of Martin’s devotion they filled with tears.

“One has heard of men like that with one great passion in their lives that no one else can understand because there seems nothing to bring it to life. Perhaps women are apt to be hard on women, but it’s hard to see how Perkins could have roused such a thing. After all, it may be the men who are queer, and not us. I suppose this story will be all over England in a few days?”

He made a grimace. “I’m afraid so. The reporters will gather like a flock of crows.”

“But after that’s over will you be able to settle down to work, and—and the other thing?”

“What other thing?”

“When do you go to see the Millicents?” she asked cheerfully. “It’s all a frightful mixture, I know, and it seems rather appalling that you two should have been brought together like this, but perhaps stranger things have happened.”

“Not much stranger,” he said thoughtfully. “I’m going there in an hour or so. They’re expecting me.”

“Well,” she went on with growing earnestness, “I know it’s your affair, but I wouldn’t say a word more than necessary. The thing is done with, Jack, all except this horrid inquest, at which you say Jean and I won’t have to appear, and you don’t know how glad I am of that. I’ve a feeling that you’ll have a good many years in which to tell her the rest of it—I mean anything more you think she should know—but don’t burden her with what is so grim, if you can help it. She’s too young. Girls like her often seem to offer themselves unconsciously to wounds, but they don’t find out till afterward how deep the thing has gone. As for Mrs. Millicent, I wouldn’t attempt to say much to her. Let Jean do that in her own way. Nothing can be as close as mother and daughter in a time like this, and they can’t hurt each other. You’ll probably think me dreadfully cheeky, but I rather feel that you and Jean have been dwelling mentally far too long on things you both think I can’t understand because I’m not occult, but I do understand them just enough to feel that they’re neither cheerful nor in a queer way healthy for people of your age. So please forgive all this, and give me a cigarette, and help clear this table, and for goodness’ sake tell me where I can get a cook and housemaid who won’t imagine Beech Lodge is full of horrors.”

He laughed outright, the first real laugh for weeks. “You’ve got my future pretty well mapped out, but I think you’re right about the Millicents. Been in the study this morning?”

“Yes, and the room is just as it was when we came here. But that desk was a fearful weight.”

“You moved it yourself?”

“Of course, seeing there was no one else, and all the time I had an odd feeling that the things were glad to be moved back. Is that sort of feeling accounted for in your philosophy?”

“It is now, thanks to you.”

“I’ve been wondering what you’re going to do with that jade image. I couldn’t find the panel this morning.”

Derrick told her.

“But have you the right? It isn’t yours.”

“I’ll chance that.”

“But, Jack, if it was included in the inventory you can’t destroy it without all kinds of dilapidations to the Thursbys. Isn’t it supposed to be valuable?”

“It may be, but most decidedly it was not in the inventory, therefore it was not sold to the Thursbys, and consequently I needn’t answer to them, but only to the Millicents. And I fancy I know what they’ll say.”

“Well, you ought to by this time, and, speaking of the Thursbys, I’ve an idea that if everything that has taken place since we came had happened eighteen months ago they wouldn’t have let this house when you came along and fell in love with it.”

“But they weren’t in it then.”

“No, but they would have been; at least, something suggests they would.”

“Why do you say that?” he asked curiously.

“Because she’s not the kind of woman to be afraid of anything obvious, anything she can see and even partly understand. If poor Perkins had done away with herself then, I rather think Mrs. Thursby would have been as much fascinated as horrified. Don’t you know that sort? It would have given her something to talk about for the rest of her life with no one to interrupt; something infinitely more intriguing than her husband’s grenades, or whatever they are. How do you feel yourself about that?”

“I’m not quite sure,” he said candidly. “What I did feel about the house until yesterday seems to have gone this morning, as though a wind had blown through it with all the windows open. But I wouldn’t mind subletting now, if there were any chance of it, which there isn’t at this time of year. So we have it for another nine months anyway.”

“You couldn’t very well bring Jean back here,” she murmured thoughtfully.

He shook his head. “No, I couldn’t.”

Edith got up with the sudden remembrance that her hands were very full.

“Well, I suppose there’s time enough for that, and anyway you have to marry her first. Wouldn’t it be queer if—” She broke off with a little laugh.

“If what?”

“Nothing, I’m only wandering, and of course just when there’s no time for it. Please put these things on that tray and open the pantry door. I won’t expect you for tea.”

He went off a little later, passing Martin, who only touched his cap. He did look like another man, but neither of them spoke. The shadow of despair seemed to have left his face and to be replaced by a gravity that was new and dignified. Derrick strode on with the consciousness that the wind had blown through himself as well as Beech Lodge. He admitted his debt to Edith and now saw her cheerful sanity in a fresh light. It was strange to have leaned on a person, however dear, because they were incapable of being torn by one’s own reactions. How bright she was! How helpful and practical! What a standby!

But he never knew what the past hour or two had cost her—she was too good an actor for that; nor did he guess that she had watched him to the gate, her eyes dim, feeling more lonely than ever before in her life. She admitted there was much she did not understand, or even want to understand, but he did not perceive how often she had come nearly to the breaking-point. With Edith it was as with many another woman, the cost of whose sacrifice is hidden too deep for discovery, and only the beauty of it revealed.

Jean and her mother were together, and Mrs. Millicent greeted him with a quiet affection that touched him deeply. It meant that not only had Jean told her of the tragedy of the night before but also that she saw in him more than the man who had solved the mystery of her husband’s death. Jean’s eyes met his own as she gave him her hand, and they carried a message that needed no speech. Mrs. Millicent regarded them both with a gentle pleasure in which there was no surprise, then waited a little nervously. The picture of the study of Beech Lodge and what had happened there still haunted her brain.

“Jean told me you were to have a talk with Martin and the peddler this morning,” she said. “Did you see them?”

“Yes,” he said quietly.

“Did they tell you anything new about my—my husband?” She had summoned all her courage for this question and wanted it over.

Derrick shook his head. “There was very little about that and nothing of real importance. It was mostly about the image he found in Burma which Blunt says has a good deal of past history that makes it of special interest to certain people there. Both men agreed that it carried bad luck, and sometimes danger, wherever it went. It’s quite obvious that in some way it fascinated Mr. Millicent; and”—here he hesitated an instant—“it seems to have exercised later on the same influence over Perkins; and,” he concluded slowly, “the thing worked in her brain till finally she did what she did.”

Mrs. Millicent shivered. “I know it impressed him tremendously. That was clear from the day he got back from Burma. He once told me he thought it was valuable, but it always frightened me because of its effect on him. It seemed to carry some dreadful secret with it. I asked him to destroy it several times, but that rather shocked him. He never let it out of his own hands and always hid it where you found it.”

“Do you feel that way about it now?”

“Yes, more than ever.”

“Then may I destroy it?” he asked quickly.

“I should be very glad and feel happier than in a long time if you did.”

“I will, and I think others may be happier, too, in the long run.”

She nodded. “Isn’t it strange?”

“What?” he asked curiously.

Her eyes rested a moment on Jean’s lovely face, then turned back to him.

“My dear boy,” she said with a sort of soft impulsiveness, “do you think I can’t see how it is between you two? The strange part is that the last three months should have resulted in this, that out of shadows and uncertainty should come something so different. I’m afraid I have not understood much of all you’ve done at Beech Lodge, but I remember so distinctly the day when Jean said she must go in and tell you what had happened there. I can’t say anything more about it now, for I’m too conscious of the effect of it all on this child of mine, but soon you and I must have a long talk. How is your sister?” she added unsteadily.

“All right, I think. Her hands are rather full now till she gets some help.” He knew that Jean’s eyes were fixed on him and found it hard to speak.

“I’m sure of that. She’s splendid, and something tells me we’re going to be great friends. You’ll stay for tea, won’t you?”

After that she got up, put her hand on his shoulder for an understanding instant, and went out. She felt as though a new grasp, young and strong, had laid hold of the wheel of life, and was comforted. They heard her step on the stair. Derrick, his breath coming faster, crossed the room, stood for a moment beside Jean’s chair, and put out his arms.

“I love you,” he whispered; “I love you!”

She gazed at him, her cheeks pale, then flooding with an exquisite color, and came to him with a quick little sigh of happiness. It was not thus they had clung together the evening before. Now there was joy in the clinging, and the sweet promise of more joy that awaited them.

“Do you remember that first morning we met?” he whispered again.

“I don’t know why I went to Beech Lodge. I think I had to.”

“Yes, that was it. I thought you were so wonderful and brave. The house was never quite the same after that.”

“Do you think I was wise to come?” she smiled.

He answered with a kiss, and she stirred in his arms, only to be drawn closer.

“I was tremendously interested in you, even then,” she confided, “and rather frightened. I hope I didn’t show it. Did Edith think I was very bold?”

“Edith thinks no end of you. She’s a trump.”

Jean nodded happily. “You and I need some one like that near us, Jack.”

“I don’t want any one near us for a while,” he protested. “How did your mother know?”

“I’m afraid she must have gathered something from me. Does Edith know?”

“I began to think she knew as soon as I did, if not before. She’s awfully pleased about it.”

The girl was silent for a moment. “Jack, dearest.”

“Yes?”

“Is there much you didn’t tell mother; I mean about this morning?”

“I tried just to say what would help her. The rest can keep.”

“And there was nothing that could make any difference to—to us?”

“I don’t quite understand.”

“There was something I always felt, but I couldn’t make myself tell you. It was the sensation that whatever had descended on father would also involve me in the same way. I can’t really explain beyond that, but it meant that I couldn’t surrender and let myself love you till all this had been lifted away. Last night, when I saw what happened, and in spite of the dreadfulness of it, the strangest feeling came that it had been lifted in that moment. When you were trying to help Perkins, I couldn’t avoid staring at the jade god, because I knew he had something to do with it. He stared back, and for the very first time I was not afraid of him. It was just as though Perkins had paid for everything and set me free. Tell me that nothing was said this morning by either of those men to upset that; but you must tell me on your honor.” She shivered involuntarily, but gradually her tremor ceased under his nearness and strength.

“All that was said, and I’ll tell you all of it some day, points to the same thing. There is absolutely nothing to fear. We’ll prove that very soon, you and I, and there will be no longer a jade god to work mischief. Don’t you realize, darling, those days are all past?”

Her arms tightened round his neck. “Why do you love me, Jack?”

“I’ve been waiting for you all my life.”

Then, slowly, she raised her lips to his.

THREE DAYS later Mrs. Millicent and Jean turned in at the gate of Beech Lodge. It was the first time in more than two years they had been there together. Half-way up the drive they were met by Edith, who came out anxious to do what she could to help in what she knew was a trying moment. She kissed Jean affectionately.

“I’m so glad to see you both. You’ll find the house at loose ends, for it isn’t actually running, but just moving, so please forgive that. Our temporary servants are very temporary, I’m afraid.”

Mrs. Millicent nodded. She had dreaded the visit and somehow felt more at peace than she had expected. But her heart sank a little when she entered the house. In the hall she looked mutely about and hesitated as Edith led the way to the study.

“Jack doesn’t know you’re here yet,” said the latter cheerfully. “I’m rather pleased with him to-day.”

“Why?” smiled Jean.

“He’s actually got to work again, more like the old Jack than for months. I hope you’ll keep him at it when your turn comes.”

She opened the door as she spoke. Derrick, who was behind a litter of manuscript, jumped up, thrilled at the sight of his visitor. Mrs. Millicent’s eyes swept the familiar room, fighting lest she see what she feared to see. She noted that the big desk was now covered with baize, the rugs differently arranged, the prints rehung, and a flower-box in the window. Photographs were on the table, another lamp on the desk, new ornaments on the narrow shelf above the dark wainscoting. She recognized the thought that lay behind all this, and it touched her deeply. Then her glance was drawn to the portrait, and she sat down, overcome for the moment.

“Please don’t mind me,” she said valiantly. “I’ll be all right in a second, and it’s quite right I should come here first.” She looked gratefully at Edith, “I’ll be able to say ‘Thank you’ presently. Somehow you’ve made the room seem ever so much bigger.”

Edith filled the gap of her brother’s silence. His eyes were dwelling on Jean’s lovely face, with its smooth oval and the delicate lips. Her throat was very white and perfectly molded, while neck and shoulder joined in a lissom curve he found amazingly attractive. There was strength in the slim straightness of her body, and grace in every gesture; but her chief allure lay in her eyes. These, full of changing light, seemed like calm, deep pools in the shadows of her dark brows, reflecting mood and thought with a sweet and rare fidelity. They held a soft luster all their own. For an instant Derrick stood quite motionless, a little blinded by it all. Then he heard Edith’s voice and responded to a note in it that was meant for him, though she spoke to Mrs. Millicent.

“I thought perhaps you’d sooner come in here at once, and it won’t be so hard the next time.”

Mrs. Millicent nodded, but her lips were trembling.

“Have you been very much bothered by strangers?” asked Jean quickly. “I’ve seen so many in the village, and most of them seemed on their way out here.”

“It was appalling till yesterday; then Sergeant Burke put a man on the gate, and that stopped it.”

“Where is Martin?” asked Mrs. Millicent. She had looked for him among the rose-trees and been relieved not to see him.

“He left yesterday,” said Derrick.

“Where did he go?”

“He didn’t say. In fact, I didn’t even see him, or know he was going. I noticed that he wasn’t in the garden at noon, and the tool-shed was closed; so I went to the cottage and found a note addressed to myself. It was rather pathetic. He just wrote that since there was nothing to keep him here now, he was going back. He didn’t say where, but it was probably to the Orient. There was a month’s wages due to him to-day, and he didn’t want them. Then he thanked me for treating him decently, said he was glad I was going to do what I told Blunt I proposed to do, and that was all, except a postscript about the Lady Hillingdons.”

“Poor Martin!” said Jean under her breath.

“And that other man?” added her mother.

“He will be free to-morrow, and he also will go.”

“To Burma?”

“I think so. He’s being detained till then on a technical charge only. He looks different now, with none of his former spring and activity. That’s because he knows what is going to be done. He seems dazed, and in a queer way almost horrified, as though it were sacrilege. It was the same way with him at the inquest, which was very short, considering everything. Burke, on the other hand, is like another man and bursting with importance. He expects to be regarded as an authority on unusual cases, and probably will be. There’s a great demand for his photograph already.”

“And what did the inquest result in?” she asked timidly.

“Only that the poor woman died at her own hands while under temporary insanity. There could be no other conclusion. Martin was not charged with anything before, so there was really nothing he needed to be cleared of. His evidence, as well as that of Blunt, was taken and accepted, and a statement will most likely be issued about what took place here two years ago. Martin was afraid he would be prosecuted for perjury, but the fact that it was his own wife gets him free of that. So really the matter is closed now, and it’s just a case of living down what is always bound to continue for a little while after a thing of this sort. If I were you I wouldn’t read the papers for a few days, and then it will be replaced by something else.”

He broke off, pitched his mind as far as possible from the subject, then remembered that there was one duty still to perform to close the affair for all time.

“I had a note from Mrs. Thursby this morning,” said Edith musingly. “She wrote that they would be passing this afternoon, and might they come in.”

Jean looked up. “She must be tremendously curious.”

“I expect so. She’s rather that sort of woman. I haven’t seen them for about three months.”

Mrs. Millicent smiled a little. “She’s a great believer in the power of money and even thought I’d sell my husband’s portrait, to which she took a great fancy. I couldn’t have it with me, as there’s no room for a big picture in our cottage. There are some more things up-stairs, too, that are ours; but I sold everything else in this room.”

Derrick shot a swift inquiring glance at Jean and made a slight gesture toward the mantel. She looked puzzled for a minute, then nodded.

“You didn’t sell this, Mrs. Millicent?” He touched the panel, and the jade god gleamed from its wooden prison.

She put her hand to her breast. “So that is where it was kept! I never knew till Jean told me. No, I didn’t sell it. I never thought of that.”

“It’s hard to say just what it suggests to me now,” he began slowly, “and still more what it may really mean to a man like Blunt. It’s one of those things to which there’s no straight answer. But if there had been no jade god here”—he paused, then added with a brilliant smile—“I wouldn’t have found Jean. Edith doesn’t believe in all this, but—”

“I didn’t say that,” interrupted his sister, “but just that I didn’t understand, and”—she shook her head decisively—“I didn’t want to.”

“Perhaps you were the most right,” he chuckled, “when you suggested that the thing wasn’t somehow healthy.”

“If I did, I stick to it. It’s beastly.”

Mrs. Millicent put out a hand as though to touch it, but withdrew at the stare of the tiny basilisk eyes. It seemed to her that this fragment of carved stone, glimmering opaquely as the rays of the level sun filtered through it, still threatened her, and she felt grateful for the steadiness of the hand that held it. Youth was about to dissipate the nightmare of the past. But somehow she did not want to see the thing done.

“I think,” she said, with a glance at Edith, “that you and I might let these two perform the ceremony by themselves.”

Edith laughed and nodded. “Jack will certainly smash the end of a finger before it’s over, and I can see by his face that he’s in tune for a regular oblation. It’s that sacrificial look.”

Derrick grinned cheerfully but did not speak. When they were alone he put the image on the mantel and took his girl in his arms.

“It’s years since I saw you.”

She smiled back, her face very close to his. “Dearest, it’s only three days.”

“Which is three too many. What an inspiration of your mother’s! Do you know what smashing that thing will be like with you here?”

“What, Jack?”

“Like gathering up all that is dark and ominous and deadly in the world, and obliterating it in front of everything that is sweet and lovely and desirable. You never knew that the first one to go was the one who made it, and then fear of it began to spread. I’ll tell you about it some day—the whole story. But now it’s all ended and done with.”

“Where will you break it, Jack?”

He stole a glance at Millicent’s portrait. “Here, on the hearth, under that. I think he’ll know about it and be glad. It won’t burn, but I’ve got a wax duplicate that ought to make a pillar of flame.”

Opening a drawer in the desk, he took out a hammer and the model, then laid the image on the tile hearth.

“There is proof, at any rate for you and me,” he said thoughtfully, “that this exercised a strange influence over the minds of many persons. It is the object of fear among thousands we shall never see, and the story of it has run through valleys and hills on the other side of the earth where the brown people talk of it in whispers. It has brought men round the world, and there are others who are waiting for the word that will bring them, too. Just so long as it exists there will be pain and theft and crime and fear. And this is the finish of all that, darling.”

He raised the hammer. Driven with all the strength of his wrist, it fell fair on the malignant head. There was a shivering sound as of tinkling glass, and the jade god dissolved into mottled green fragments. He felt a sharp pang in his thumb. An emerald splinter quivered there, like a miniature javelin beaded with blood.

“Evil to the very end,” he grunted, then struck again.

The god’s head dwindled to powder. He swept back the wreckage and dropped the wax model into the smoldering embers. Flame shot up, leaping, sputtering, and hissing. They stood staring at it, their cheeks touching. It was in Derrick’s mind that in this flame the dross of life was being burned away. Jean did not move till the fiery pyramid subsided. And as it died there came the sound of a horn from the drive.

“The Thursbys,” he said disgustedly. “Do you want to see them?”

“Please, no. What had I better do?”

“I’d go to your mother, and please ask Edith to join me here.” He gave a sudden little smile. “I’ve a sort of foolish idea that—” He stopped, glanced at the hearth, and shook his head. “No, it’s too foolish.”

“Tell me quickly.”

“Wait till Thursby has gone. Kiss me quickly instead.”

She vanished, her cheeks glowing. A moment later Edith came in.

“Well, our friends are here, but why couldn’t they be content with what’s in the papers?”

He had no time to answer, for the Thursbys were already in the hall. Mrs. Thursby swept in like a fresh breeze, followed by her husband. Derrick thought the latter looked a little sheepish.

“My dear,” said the stout woman explosively to Edith, “what a perfectly awful time you must have had! We were over in France when we read of it, and even now when I think of that woman Perkins it gives me the shivers. I’ve blamed myself so much for not telling your brother everything the first time he came here.”

“Matter of fact,” chimed in Thursby, with a sidelong glance at the portrait, “I didn’t say anything because it didn’t seem necessary. I reckoned that ignorance was bliss so far as you were concerned, and we’d had rather a dose of it ourselves. The agents thought so, too.”

“Perhaps it was,” said Derrick dryly, “and there’s no real harm done. The thing is finally cleared up.”

“As I said before, I could never understand that woman,” went on Mrs. Thursby, “but of course I do now. She must have been disappointed in love early in life, and married Martin to get even with some one else. Women often do that and pay for it afterward. But fancy living with her as we both did! Fancy a mad housemaid at your bedside saying the tea is ready, and thinking, perhaps, about killing one all the time. I wonder what sent her mad, Mr. Derrick. Didn’t you hear that?”

“There was insanity in her family.”

“Had she been like that for long?”

“A good many years, it seems.”

Mrs. Thursby took a deep breath. “Well, that was the only thing the matter with Beech Lodge.”

“What?” asked Edith curiously.

“A crazy housemaid. I felt that as soon as we left the place. Of course,” she continued reflectively, “you’ll think I must have been a bit crazy myself for not discharging her. I did make up my mind to that a good many times, but when it came to looking her in the face and saying she wouldn’t be wanted any more, I—well, I just couldn’t. Silly, wasn’t it?”

“I can almost understand that.”

“Glad you can. I couldn’t. Was she nice to you?”

“She was a wonderful servant.”

“Well, you see she liked you, but gave me the creeps. And the funny thing was that I couldn’t imagine the house without her, though it seems perfectly natural now, and this room is ever so much brighter.”

Thursby nodded. “It’s rather a pity you couldn’t imagine it.”

The stout woman laughed. “James has never quite forgiven me.”

“For what?” asked Derrick. His eyes were keen.

“For letting the place at all. We took another, stayed in it a month, then gave that up, and have been living in hotels ever since. I hate living in my trunks.”

“You don’t happen to be in the market for Beech Lodge, do you?”

She sent him a swift look of intelligence. “Whatever made you think of that? Are we, James? If I do the letting, you generally do the renting.”

Light began to dawn on the Derricks, and Edith made a cautious little signal.

“My brother is only joking, of course. The idea is too funny. We’ve just had all the expense and trouble of moving in, and it’s foolish to dream of anything but staying here. Don’t mind what he says.”

Thursby pushed out his lips. “Oh, I don’t know that it’s so foolish. If circumstances, I mean business ones, are satisfactory, nothing is foolish. I learned long ago that when my wife gets a premonition that we’re going to do something, we most always do. For instance,” he blurted, “if she were to say she had a feeling we were going to move back to Beech Lodge I’d bet on it. It’s safe money.”

Derrick laughed. “Aren’t you reckoning a little without your host?”

“I know it sounds like that. I say, I wonder what Mrs. Millicent thought of all this.”

“She probably thinks it’s a sort of release for that woman and every one else,” put in his wife hastily; “and that’s the only way to look at it. A sort of a general clean-up, I call it. Fancy that gardener coming back, too. He must have been the only person in the world who wasn’t frightened of his wife.”

“Where do you think you’ll be this summer?” interposed Edith.

Mrs. Thursby folded her plump hands. “I shouldn’t be surprised if that depended on you,” she said calmly.

“Oh!”

The other woman nodded and went on with a kind of placid deliberation. “My dear, it’s no earthly use beating about the bush any longer, and I’m going to come straight out with it. Very soon after we let this place to you, we took another, didn’t like it, and then I knew we’d been too impulsive about letting Beech Lodge, and I wanted to come back to it, Perkins or no Perkins. I never gave the dreadful woman a thought, because she didn’t seem to matter nearly so much when one had not to look at her. I told my husband about it, but he only laughed, said I had changed my mind too late in the day and the idea was absurd. Later we went over to France for a while.”

“Were you there long?” asked Derrick curiously.

“No, only a few weeks. I couldn’t settle down somehow. Then we read about what happened here, and I knew what was the matter with me. It was just as though that woman had telegraphed me that she was out of the way now, and I might come back.” She paused, with an odd expression on her round face, and glanced approvingly round the room. “So now, if it is possible to arrange it, I want to come. If you’re agreeable, then it’s up to your brother and my husband. So far as I’m concerned, it’s not a matter of money, and James knows that.”

She leaned back with a nod which announced that on this subject she had now emptied her mind, and there was no chance of misunderstanding it on the part of her husband. He was the means to the end. Thursby’s hands were deep in his pockets, and he stared out over the lawn, his brows puckered, as though he were adding up figures, which indeed he was. Edith’s eyes caught those of her brother, and she signaled a message that left no possibility of doubt in his mind. At that he turned to Thursby:

“Shall we have a stroll? I’ve put in quite a lot of new roses, and there’ll be something of a show here next summer.”

The little man nodded jerkily, and they went out. Mrs. Thursby sat up straight and heaved a contented sigh.

“Then, that’ll be all right, if it suits you. Isn’t it all queer?”

“I think every one feels that.”

“Well, of course I don’t know the ins and outs of it, only what’s in the papers, and I suppose there’s a lot more, but I felt that neither you nor I had much to do with that woman staying on here. However, I’ve my eye on a jewel of a girl now who will go anywhere. Do you suppose if those men agree there’ll have to be another inventory?”

“I’m afraid so, though we haven’t had time yet to do much damage. That French window was broken, but it’s been repaired.” She paused, while something drew her eyes to the hearth. “And there’s that jade image,” she added uncertainly; “but that’s Mrs. Millicent’s.”

“What jade image? I never saw one here. Where is it?”

“What’s left of it is in the fireplace.”

The stout little woman stooped and picked out an emerald splinter.

“My dear, what perfectly lovely stuff! Were you going to throw it away?”

“It’s Mrs. Millicent’s, and she asked to have the image destroyed.”

“And jade, too! How queer some people are! It’s very fashionable now, and there’s enough here to make some gorgeous ear-rings.”

The thought of the remodeled god with his cold fingers at her throat gave Edith an involuntary chill.

“I really don’t want it, and am sure Mrs. Millicent doesn’t, so please take it if you wish.”

Mrs. Thursby dropped the splinter into her bag, got on her knees, and poked about among the ashes.

“I’m afraid the rest is all dust. What a pity! I’ve been trying to mesmerize James for years into buying me something of jade, but he simply won’t. Now I’m going to give him a surprise, so please don’t say a thing about it. Here they come now, and I think it’s all arranged. James is pretty quick in business matters.”

The Thursbys’ car rolled away a few minutes later, and Derrick darted up-stairs. He found Jean and her mother in Edith’s room and, linking arms, marched them cheerily back to the study, where Edith waited with a patience in which there was no virtue whatever. Then he put his arm round Jean.

“Thursby,” he said contentedly, “was like clay in the hands of the potter. I began by reminding him that not only had we the lease till next winter, but also the right of extension for another three years on the same terms. He pretended to have forgotten that, but of course he hadn’t. Then I hinted that I’d get into frightful trouble with Edith if I upset all her plans, and that helped a good deal. It was quite clear from his manner that he had his orders. I dwelt as much as I dared on the discomfort of moving and all that, and the more I said the more anxious he got. He must have the highest regard for his wife’s wishes. Anyway, it’s arranged. He makes good the cost of our moving here, gives five hundred for the cancellation of the lease, and also meets the cost of our moving out. And I think that’s about all.”

“How perfectly wonderful!” said Jean. “Aren’t you glad?”

“Glad is no word for it.”

“Jack,” put in Edith, “I never knew before you were such a business man.” She paused and glanced at him suspiciously. “Just when have you committed us to that move?”

“A month from to-day. I thought it over carefully and decided that ought to suit every one.”

“What!”

Derrick’s eyes grew soft. He leaned over to Mrs. Millicent and took both her hands in his.

“May I have Jean a month from to-day?” he said very gently.

ALMOST exactly four months after he had completed his second inventory of the contents of Beech Lodge, Mr. Jarrad, again accompanied by Mr. Dawkins, stood once more in the paneled study. He had come to the house with his admirable manner, in which was blended this time a rather full knowledge of what had recently happened. Mr. Dawkins, who also read the papers, and was, as well, impressed by the air of the older man, seemed rather taciturn. There had been opportunity to say a good deal on the way down from London, and he was distinctly thrilled when they turned in at the white gate. Now the inventory book was opened and laid on Millicent’s desk. Mr. Jarrad then took out a large handkerchief and blew his nose with a trumpet-like sound as though he enjoyed it. He had ascertained that the Derricks were in the garden, and both servants back in the kitchen. The morning was fine and clear.

“I don’t know,” he said with a touch of unction, “when I’ve heard of a case just exactly like this. Here we are, paid to do precisely the same thing over again simply because a foolish woman killed herself. We’ve both seen houses that were enough to make any really sensitive person commit suicide, but”—he glanced round with open approval—“they were not houses like this. It all brings back to me the great truth that the foundation of our business is the undeniable suspicion that well-bred people have of each other. There’s practically no inventory connection with the lower and lower middle classes. Do you happen to remember a remark I made about ‘things’ when we were here last?”

“I do,” replied Dawkins; “and, what’s more, I’ve been thinking about it ever since.”

“Well, these are not the kind of things to make one tired of life. There’s another point. I expressed my conclusions about the manner in which ‘things’ occupy the greater part of the time of so many women.”

“You did,” said Dawkins soberly, “and I said it wasn’t that way with us because we hadn’t any. But my young woman has started since then.”

Mr. Jarrad smiled. “Quite so; that was inevitable; and now that Mrs. Millicent has disposed of hers to Mr. Thursby, Miss Millicent, who will marry Mr. Derrick next week, is already starting another collection. I hope she may do as well as this. She can’t do better. I don’t know when I’ve seen a room I like more. Her mother’s work, of course, all of it.”

“Why do you suppose that woman killed Mr. Millicent?” asked Dawkins thoughtfully. “I read it all several times over in several papers, but it always struck me there was a good deal that didn’t meet the eye.”

Mr. Jarrad smiled again. “Why, do you suppose, does a woman do anything?”

“I don’t know yet. I’ve only been married a year.”

“Then you know more now than you will in ten. The appearance of Perkins suggested that she might do anything at any moment, if you remember. If the cause was what it usually is with a woman—jealousy, or, in other words, love that has grown the wrong way—I can only wonder why she waited so many years. There are a good many queer things about the case; for instance, that foreigner who shammed dead when he was under arrest, then slid out of the station.”

“I wonder what he was doing here?”

“Might as well ask why Mr. Millicent’s old gardener came back as though he wanted to stick his head into the noose,” said Mr. Jarrad sententiously. “Might as well ask why my client is willing to pay through the nose to get this house back just after letting it for a term of years—though I suspect there’s a woman in that, too. Might as well ask why your client began by trying to hunt out Mr. Millicent’s murderer and finished by finding his daughter. Might as well ask a heap of things that will never be answered, and perhaps in the long run it’s just as well they’re not. We know as much as is good for us as it is, and what we don’t know can’t hurt us much as long as we keep on not knowing it. Now what about the contents of this room?”

“The stuff seems the same with a few additions, but a little differently arranged; that’s all.”

Mr. Jarrad strolled about, his sharp eyes very active, returned to the desk, leaned over, then adjusted his glasses. He peered for a moment and frowned.

“That’s really very odd.”

“What is?”

“You remember we didn’t agree about a stain here, and returned so that I could satisfy you on the point? It was a little difficult to detect.”

Dawkins wetted his thumb and turned a few leaves in the big book.

“Yes, here it is, a post entry, and initialed by both of us. ‘Large, irregular stain on near left-hand corner of leather-desk top, nearly effaced.’ Right ho! let’s have a look!”

He came over, stared hard, and straightened up with an exclamation. “You must have mesmerized me into seeing that before. It’s certainly not there now, and the light is excellent. What do you make of it?”

“What we don’t know won’t hurt us,” said Jarrad with a slow shake of the head. “Initial this erasure, will you. What’s next?”

Dawkins looked troubled, and a little anxious. “But I say—”

“I began just the way you’re going on now, but I got over it. I suggest that so far as this room is concerned we just count the books and articles of furniture, pass on their general condition, and call the thing a go. Your clients are not the kind who give me any worry.”

Dawkins nodded and began the recital, reading from the book in a rapid and level singsong as though he were chanting the creed of his profession.

“General condition excellent,” he concluded, and shut the book.

Mr. Jarrad shook his head. “I can’t agree to that now. The maintenance is not what it was. Quite obvious that the housemaid is untrained or lazy; possibly both. Look at this mantel.”

He drew a finger across the top of the mantel behind the clock, and left a faint trail where the dust had been displaced.

“Couldn’t do that the last time we were here. No, the upkeep is not as good. Condition fair, I should say, at the most. See for yourself.”

Dawkins sniffed and investigated. “Perhaps you’re right. I suppose my client is a little short of help. All right, ‘condition fair.’ Anything else?”

Mr. Jarrad glanced at the hearth. “Yes, one thing. One fireplace tile split. You have no note of that, I think, and it’s the only real damage we’ve seen.”

“No, I’ve nothing here. Let me see it.”

He was bending over the hearth when Derrick came in. Jarrad made his well-known bow.

“We have just completed this room, sir, and the only real dilapidation we find is in this hearth. It’s a small matter, but nothing is too small for us to note. Perhaps you may remember when it happened, as it’s evidently quite recent.”

Derrick stared at the cracked tile.

“Yes,” he said slowly, “I remember that very distinctly.”

TRANSCRIBER NOTES

Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple spellings occur, majority use has been employed.

Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors occur.