The Mandarin's Fan

"Heaven only knows how I am to put them straight," sighed Rupert. "I say, John, send me in some tea. I'm quite weary. Thorp is coming to see me next week and we'll have a talk."

"With Dr. Forge I hope," said old John, as he withdrew.

Ainsleigh frowned, when the door closed. Petley certainly seemed possessed by the idea that Forge was an enemy of the Ainsleighs, yet Rupert could think of no reason why he should be. He had been an excellent guardian to the boy, and if he had not told him the full extent of the ruin till it was too late to prevent it, he might have done so out of pity, so that the lad's young years might be unclouded. "Still it would have been better had he been less tender of my feelings and more considerate for my position," thought Rupert as he paced the long room.

While he was sadly looking out of the window and thinking of the wrench it would be to leave the old place, he saw a tall woman walking up the avenue. The eyes of love are keen, and Rupert with a thrill of joy recognised the stately gait of Olivia. With an ejaculation of delight, he ran out, nearly upsetting Mrs. Petley who was coming into the Library with a dainty tea. Disregarding her exclamation of astonishment, Rupert sprang out of the door and down the steps. He met Olivia half way near the ruins of the Abbey. "My dearest," he said stretching out both hands, "how good of you to come!" Olivia, who looked pale, allowed him to take her hands passively. "I want to speak to you," she said quickly, "come into the Abbey," and she drew him towards the ruins.

"No! No," said her husband, "enter your own house and have a cup of tea. It is just ready and will do you good."

"Not just now, Rupert," she replied, laying a detaining hand on his arm. "I can wait only for a quarter of an hour. I must get back."

Rupert grumbled at the short time, but, resolved to make the most of it, he walked with her into the cloisters. These were small but the ruins were very beautiful. Rows of delicately carved pillars surrounded a grassy sward. At the far end were the ruins of the church stretching into the pines. The roofless fane looked venerable even in the bright sunshine. The walls were overgrown with ivy, and some of the images over the door, still remained, though much defaced by Time. The windows were without the painted glass which had once filled them, but were rich with elaborate stone work. This was especially fine in the round window over the altar. As in the cloisters, the body of the church was overgrown with grass and some of the pillars had fallen. The lovers did not venture into the ruined church itself but walked round the pavement of the cloisters under the arches. Doubtless in days of old, many a venerable father walked on that paved way. But the monks were gone, the shrine was in ruins, and these lovers of a younger generation paced the quiet cloisters talking of love.

"My darling," said the young husband fondly, "how pale you are. I hope nothing is wrong."

"My aunt is ill. Oh it's nothing—only a feverish cold. She hopes to be well enough to attend the ball to-morrow night."

"I did not hear of it," said Rupert, "though Tidman generally tells me the news. I have been in London for the last few days."

"So I see," said Olivia, and glanced at her fair stalwart husband in his frock coat and smart Bond street kit, "how well you look."

Rupert appreciated the compliment and taking her hands kissed both several times. Olivia bent forward and pressed a kiss on his smooth hair. Then she withdrew her hands. "We must talk sense," she said severely.

"Oh," said Rupert making a wry face, "not about your aunt?"

"Yes. I can't understand her. She has shut herself up in her room and refuses to see me. She will admit no one but Miss Pewsey."

Ainsleigh shrugged his shoulders. "What does it matter," he said, "you know Miss Wharf never liked you. You are much too handsome, my own. And that is the reason also, for Miss Pewsey's dislike."

"Oh, Miss Pewsey is more amiable," said Olivia, "indeed I never knew her to be so amiable. She is always chatting to me at such times as she can be spared from my aunt's room."

"Well, what is worrying you?"

"This exclusion from Aunt Sophia's room," said Olivia with tears of vexation in her dark eyes. "I am her only relative—or at all events I am her nearest. It seems hard that she should exclude me, and admit Miss Pewsey who is only a paid companion."

"I don't think it matters a bit," said Rupert, "hasn't your aunt seen anyone lately?"

"No,—yes, by the way. She has seen her lawyer several times."

"I expect she is altering her will."

Olivia laughed. "She threatens to do so in favour of Miss Pewsey, unless by the end of the month I give you up, and engage myself either to Mr. Walker or to Mr. Burgh."

Rupert grew very angry. "What a detestable woman," he exclaimed. "I beg your pardon, dear, I forgot she's your aunt. But what right has she to order you about like this? You are of age."

"And I am married, though she doesn't know it. But I'll tell you the real reason, I am vexed I can't see my aunt. Can't we sit down?"

"Over there," said Ainsleigh, pointing to a secluded seat.

It was placed at the far end of the cloisters under a large oak. There were four oaks here, or to be more correct, three oaks and the stump of one. "That was destroyed by lightning when I was born," said Rupert, seeing Olivia's eyes fixed on this. "Mrs. Petley saw in it an omen that I would be unlucky. But am I?" and he fell to kissing his wife's hands again.

"Really, Rupert, you must be more sensible," she said, in pretended vexation. "What a pretty tree that copper-beech is."

"Yes! But do you see the blackened square?"

"It is not so very black," said Mrs. Ainsleigh, pausing to dig the point of her umbrella into the ground, "there's hardly any grass on it, and the earth is dark and hard. Curious it should be so, seeing the grass is thick and green all round, I suppose this is where Abbot Raoul was burnt."

"Yes. I've told you the story and shown you the spot many times," said Rupert, slipping his arm round her waist.

"Dearest," she whispered, "I was too much in love, to hear what you said on that point. And remember, all my visits to the Abbey have been secret ones. My aunt would be furious did she know that I had been here, and I often wonder that Pewsey, who is always watching me, has not followed me here."

"If she does I'll duck her in the pond for a witch," said Rupert, and drew his wife to the seat under the oak, "well, go on."

"About my aunt. Oh, it's what Major Tidman told me. He's been trying to see Aunt Sophia also. Have you heard what Mr Burgh told the Major about that horrid fan?"

"No. You forget, I have just returned from town. What is it?"

Olivia related to Rupert the story which Clarence had told the Major. "So you see," she ended, "this man Hwei wants to kill any one who has the fan, and Tung-yu desires to reward the person who brings it back."

"It seems contradictory," said Ainsleigh thoughtfully, "and if Hwei put in the advertisement it is strange that Tung-yu should have received me in the Joss-house mentioned in the paper. Well?"

"Well," said Olivia rather vexed, "can't you see. I want my aunt to know that she is in danger and get rid of that horrid fan."

"Pooh," said her husband laughing, "there's no danger. Hwei can't kill an old lady like that for the sake of a fan she would probably sell for five shillings."

"She wouldn't," said Olivia with conviction. "Aunt Sophia has taken quite a fancy to that fan. But she ought to be told how dangerous it is, Rupert."

"Or how lucky," said Ainsleigh, "let her sell the fan to Tung-yu for five thousand pounds and then she can let Hwei kill Tung-yu."

"But would he do so."

"I can't say. On the face of it, it looks as though these two were working against one another, seeing they propose to reward the owner of the fan in such different ways. Yet Hwei, according to Burgh, put the advertisement in and Tung-yu received me. I don't understand."

"Well, don't you think I should tell the whole story to my aunt?"

"Yes. Go in and see her."

"Miss Pewsey won't let me, and my aunt refuses to admit me. I sent in a note the other day saying that I wished to speak very particularly, and she sent out another note to say that she would not see anyone till she was well. The note was kind enough in Aunt Sophia's cold way, but you see——"

"Yes! Yes! Well then let Tidman see her."

"Rupert, how annoying you are. She won't see anyone but Miss——"

"Miss Pewsey. Well then, tell her the story, and she can repeat it to your aunt. Though, by the way," added Ainsleigh, "Burgh may have told Miss Pewsey about it already."

"Yes," said Olivia, her face brightening, and rising to go away, "but I'll ask Miss Pewsey to tell Aunt Sophia herself."

As they walked towards the ruined entrance, Mrs. Petley's bulky form appeared in the archway. She threw up her hands. "Sakes alive, Master Rupert, come off Abbot Raoul's burning-place."

Ainsleigh, who was standing on the square of blackened ground, obeyed at once, and drew Olivia away also. "I forgot," he murmured.

"Forgot what?" asked Olivia.

"Why miss," said the old housekeeper, "don't you know it's said that if an Ainsleigh stands there, some trouble will befall him before the year's end, You're not an Ainsleigh miss, but Master Rupert—well there—oh sir, how can you be so foolish. The tea's ready sir," and Mrs. Petley, with this prosaic ending trotted away.

"She doesn't know that you are an Ainsleigh," said Rupert kissing his wife, "pah, Don't think of that foolish superstition. Come to—"

"No, Rupert," said Olivia, planting herself firmly against the wall, "you know I said a quarter of an hour. It's half an hour we have been talking. I must get back."

The young husband urged, implored, scolded, cajoled, but all to no effect. Olivia made up her mind to go, and go she did, Rupert escorting her to the gates. "You are very unkind," he said.

"I am very sensible," she replied, "I don't want to disturb my new relations with Miss Pewsey. She has such power over my aunt that it is necessary I should keep on good terms with her. Now, Rupert, you must not come any further."

"Just along the road."

"Certainly not. All the gossips of Marport would talk. Good-bye. I won't be kissed again. Someone may be looking."

Ainsleigh muttered a blessing on anyone who might be about, and shook hands with his wife just as though they were strangers. Then he remained at the gate till she turned the corner. There, she looked back and Rupert threw her a kiss. Olivia shook a furious sunshade at him for the indiscretion.

"The silly boy," she said to herself as she went along, "if anyone saw him, there would be a fine story all over Marport."

CHAPTER VIII

The ball was the best of the Marport season, as the Glorious Golfers were a body of young men with plenty of money and a great love of amusement.

The vast apartments of the Bristol were thrown open, and decked with flowers; an Irish Band,—The Paddies,—was engaged from London, and many people came down from the great city to be present.

It was a perfect night when the ball was held, and the terrace on the first floor of the hotel, or to speak more properly the balcony, was thronged with people.

It looked very pretty, as it was filled with tropical ferns and plants and trees, illuminated with Chinese lanterns and made comfortable with numerous arm chairs, and plenty of small marble-topped tables.

Between the dances, people finding the rooms too warm, came out to walk in the night air. There was no moon, but the night was starry and warm, and a soft luminous light was reflected on sea and land. Standing under the great fern-trees and amidst the fairy lights, the guests could survey with pleasure the vast waste of water stretching towards the clear horizon, and see the long pier glittering with innumerable lights. Needless to say, the terrace was much frequented by amorous couples.

Within, the ball-room, gay with flowers and draperies, with a waxed floor and many electric light in coloured globes, looked very pretty. The band was hidden behind a lofty floral screen, and played the latest seductive waltzes, interspersed with inspiriting barn-dances and quaint cake-walks. The women were lovely, and the dresses perfect, so the young men enjoyed themselves not a little. Rupert was present, looking handsome in his evening dress, but rather flushed and anxious. He was not sure if Miss Wharf would come, in which case Olivia would not be present. And, if the old maid did recover sufficiently to make her appearance, she would perhaps refuse to allow him to dance with the girl.

However Miss Wharf did appear though at a somewhat late hour. She was gowned in pale blue and looked very handsome, if somewhat stout. Olivia's dark beauty revealed itself in a primrose-hued dress, and Miss Pewsey looked more like a witch than ever in a black frock glittering with jet. This was the gift of Miss Wharf, as poor Miss Pewsey would never have been able to indulge in such extravagance. At the back and in attendance on the Ivy Lodge party, were Clarence Burgh and Dr. Forge. The buccaneer looked picturesque and dashing as usual and was dressed very quietly for one of his flamboyant tastes, though he showed to disadvantage beside the perfection of Rupert's garb. Forge wore a suit which might have been made for his grandfather, and which fitted his lank form ill. The doctor looked less his cool self, than was usually the case. His parchment face was flushed and his melancholy eyes glittered as they roved round the brilliant room. Rupert wondered if he was looking for Tung-yu, and glanced round the room himself to see if the Chinaman had arrived in Chris Walker's company. But he could not perceive him.

Putting his fortune to the test, and having come to no open rupture with the lady, Rupert boldly walked up to Miss Wharf and offered his hand. She gave him rather a peculiar look and coloured a little. But to his secret satisfaction she received him very kindly. Olivia took her husband's greeting with a quiet smile, rather cold, as she knew well Miss Pewsey was watching her face. As to that lady, she hovered round the group like an ugly old fairy, about to weave the spell.

"And where is the Major?" asked Miss Pewsey in her emphatic way, "surely he is present on this occasion."

"I am sorry to say that the Major is laid up with a bad cold," said Rupert. "I have just been to see him. He is not coming."

"A cold spoils his beauty," tittered Miss Pewsey, "dear me, how very vain that man is."

"A cold has not spoilt Miss Wharf's beauty at all events," said Ainsleigh, seeing his way to a compliment. "I never saw you look so well," he added with a bow.

"Thanks to Lavinia's nursing," laughed the lady. "Olivia can you keep still while that delicious music is playing. I'm sure Mr. Burgh—"

"I think Miss Rayner is engaged to me," put in Rupert promptly.

Miss Wharf tapped him on the shoulder with the very fan, about which there had been so much talk. "No I can't spare you," she said amiably. "I want to chat with you. Olivia?"

The girl exchanged a look with her husband and saw that his eyes were fastened on the fan. Resolved to give him a chance of talking to her aunt about it, she moved away on the arm of the buccaneer to join in the whirling throng. Forge offered his arm to Miss Pewsey, not to dance, but to escort her on to the terrace, and so it came about that aunt Sophia and Rupert were left alone in a quiet corner of the room.

Miss Wharf cast a side glance at the young man and seeing how handsome and gay he was, she heaved a sigh. Perhaps she was thinking of his father whom she had loved dearly, but if so, the emotion was only momentary, for she compressed her lips and drew herself up stiffly. "Mr. Ainsleigh," she said, "you never come to see me now. How is that?"

"I thought you did not wish to see me," said Rupert frankly.

"Oh yes I do. Your father was an old friend of mine, and for his sake I wish to be kind to you."

Rupert saw that she was unaware that he had met Olivia secretly, and had heard the story of the early romance. It was not wise, he thought, to bring up the subject, so he met her on her own ground. "You can be very kind to me if you wish," he said casting a significant glance on Olivia who floated past with Burgh.

Miss Wharf followed his gaze and frowned, shaking her head. "No," she said severely, "you must give up the idea of marrying Olivia."

"I can't do that," replied Rupert, thinking of his secret marriage, "and I don't see why you should refuse to let me love her."

"I can't prevent that," snapped Miss Wharf, "love her as much as you choose, but as another man's wife," and again she looked oddly at Rupert, who wondered what she meant.

"What an immoral remark," he said, "perhaps you will explain."

"Mr. Ainsleigh I will be frank with you," said the lady calmly, "you have no money, and are liable to lose Royabay. I hold a mortgage it is true and by the end of the year I can foreclose; but that, I shall not do if you give up Olivia. If I foreclose, you know well enough that your other creditors will come down on you, and you will lose all. I hold the scales," added she significantly.

"I see that well enough Miss Wharf, but many things may happen before the end of the year."

"You mean that you will get the money to pay me and others?"

"I might even mean that," answered Rupert coolly, "and if I am a bad match, I don't think Mr. Burgh is a better. I have at least a position and a clean name."

"What do you know about Clarence Burgh?" she asked quickly.

"Nothing, save that he is an adventurer, Miss Wharf. He comes from no-where, and swaggers about Marport as if it belonged to him. He has no recognised position and he is not a gentleman."

"Oh but he is, and I want him to marry Olivia."

"And thus you would condemn Olivia to misery. She loves me—"

"A girl's love," said Miss Wharf coolly, "she'll soon get over that. Mr. Burgh is Lavinia's nephew, and I have promised Lavinia that Olivia shall be his wife."

"Why in heaven's name?" asked Rupert angrily, "he has no money."

"Oh yes he has, and may have a chance of getting more. Lavinia has been a good friend to me for years and years—all my life in fact, Mr. Ainsleigh. I owe much to her, and I intend to repay her. Her heart is set on this match and Olivia must marry Clarence."

"Olivia shall not."

"Olivia shall. I set my will against yours Mr. Ainsleigh."

"You'll find my will is stronger," said Rupert coolly.

Miss Wharf gave a short laugh. "Try," she said curtly; then her hard eyes softened and her cold manner grew warmer. "Don't let us quarrel," she said gently. "I wish you well, and would give you anything save Olivia—"

"Which is the only thing I want."

"How rude of you to call Olivia a 'thing,'" said the woman lightly, "you may make up your mind that if you marry her, I shall leave my money to Miss Pewsey."

"Do so. I don't want your money."

"Five hundred a year is not enough," sneered Miss Wharf, "but I may have more. What do you say to five thousand—"

"Oh," interrupted Rupert coolly, "so Olivia has told you about the fan—or perhaps Miss Pewsey."

"It was Olivia. I believe Clarence Burgh told her. This fan," Miss Wharf unfurled the article, "means five thousand pounds—"

"Or a cut throat," said Rupert quickly.

"Pah! how foolish you are, as though such a thing could happen in England. Were we in China I admit that I should be afraid to keep this fan; but as it is I am perfectly safe. See here, Mr. Ainsleigh," she added bending towards him, "if you will give up Olivia I will give you this fan and you can get the money to pay off your creditors."

"No," said Rupert at once. "I need thirty thousand, not five. And even if you were to give me the thirty thousand I need, I would not sell Olivia for that sum."

"Look at the fan first," said Miss Wharf and gave it to him.

Rupert's nerves thrilled as he took the dainty trifle in his hand. So much had been said about it, so much hung on it, of the meaning of which he was ignorant, that he could not look at it without feeling the drama it represented. Balzac's remark about killing a Mandarin in China to obtain a fortune, occurred to his mind. This fan dainty and fragile, might cost the life of such a Mandarin. It all depended into whose hands it fell.

The fan was exactly as the advertisement described. On one side the pale green sticks were enamelled and smooth; on the other thin slivers of jade covered the wood, and were inscribed in quaint Chinese characters in gold. The handle was of gold, and therefrom hung a thick cord of yellow silk, with four beads and half a bead thereon. Three beads and the half one were of jade, but the remaining ball was of jasper. What these might mean Rupert could not understand, but apparently they were connected with the secret of the fan, whatever that might be. Certainly, whatever its significance, the secret dealt with the life of Lo-Keong, with the life of Dr. Forge, and with the life of Miss Wharf, seeing she now possessed the article. All the time Rupert furled and unfurled the fan, admiring its beauty, she kept her cold eyes on him. "Think," she whispered, "five thousand pounds may gain you a few months respite—you may be able to save the Abbey."

Rupert shook his head. "If I lose Olivia I don't care about keeping Royabay. It can be sold up and I'll go abroad to the Colonies to work for my living."

"Without Olivia."

"No. With Olivia. Nothing will buy her from me."

Miss Wharf finding all her arts fail, snatched the fan from him, and bit her lip. Her eyes flashed, and she seemed on the point of making some remark, but refrained. "Very good, Mr. Ainsleigh," said she. "I'll see what I can do with Olivia. You have ruined her."

"What do you mean by that, Miss Wharf."

"You'll find out my friend," she replied clenching the fan fiercely. "Oh, I am not so blind, or so ignorant as you think me."

Ainsleigh turned crimson. He wondered if by any chance she had heard of the marriage, and it was on the tip of his tongue to put a leading question to Miss Wharf, when Chris Walker came up. He was not alone. With him was a small Chinaman with the impassive face of the Celestial. Tung-yu—as Rupert guessed he was—wore a gorgeous yellow gown, with a kind of blue silk blouse over it. His feet were encased in thick Chinese shoes wonderfully embroidered and his pig-tail was down. Several ladies cast avaricious looks at these gorgeous vestments, and especially at the blouse, which was heavy with dragons woven in gold thread. In his thin yellow hand with long finger-nails, Tung-yu held a small ivory fan, and he stood impassively before Miss Wharf, not even casting a look at the fan in her hand, which he was prepared to buy at such a large price.

"This is Mr. Tung-yu," said Chris boyishly. "He wants to meet you, Miss Wharf. He admires English ladies."

"I fear I can't speak his language, Chris."

"He can speak ours to perfection," said Walker.

Tung-yu bowed politely and spoke in admirably chosen English. "I was at Cambridge," he said calmly, "and I know of your Western culture. If you will permit me, madam." He took a seat beside Miss Wharf.

Chris, seeing his friend well established looked around. "Where is Miss Rayner?" he asked. "Oh there she is—the dance is over."

And so it was. The dancers were streaming out on to the balcony and the room was almost empty. Burgh, with Olivia on his arm, came towards Miss Wharf, and Chris hurried forward to ask Miss Rayner for a dance. But quick as he was, Rupert was quicker. He had seen his wife dance with one admirer, and was not going to let her dance with another. "Miss Rayner is engaged to me," he said, and offered his arm with a defiant look at Burgh, to whom he had not been introduced.

Burgh showed no disposition to let Olivia go, and scowled. But his eye fell on the Chinaman seated by Miss Wharf, and he suddenly moved away. It seemed to Rupert that the buccaneer was afraid. Chris remained to protest, but Ainsleigh ended the matter by abruptly taking Olivia out of the room. Miss Wharf frowned when she saw them depart and opened her mouth, as though to call Olivia back. But on second thoughts she contented herself with another frown and then turned to speak to Tung-yu. "I have heard of you," she said.

"From my friend, Mr. Walker," said the polite Chinaman.

"Oh yes, and from someone else, through a third party. I heard of your advertisement——"

"What advertisement?" asked Tung-yu.

"About this fan," and Miss Wharf waved it under Tung-yu's narrow eyes, which did not change their expression of indifference.

"I do not understand, Madam!"

The lady looked astonished. "Why. Didn't you advertise for the fan?"

Tung-yu permitted himself to smile. "Who told you I did?" he asked.

"Mr Ainsleigh, who left just now, told a friend of mine, who told me," said Miss Wharf. "I understood you wished to possess this fan."

"No," said Tung-yu indifferently, "the advertisement was placed in the paper, by a compatriot of mine called Hwei. He asked me to see anyone who called about it, as he was engaged. I saw Mr Ainsleigh and told him what he told your friend. You must apply to Hwei."

"And have my life taken," said Miss Wharf with a shudder.

This time the Chinaman was not able to suppress a start. "I do not quite understand, Madam?" he reflected.

"Oh, yes, you do, Mr Tung-yu. Hwei would murder me to get this fan. I prefer to sell it to you for five thousand pounds."

The Chinaman's face became impassive again, though his eyes looked surprised. "I assure you, this is quite wrong, Madam. My friend Hwei wants the fan, because it belongs to a Mandarin who received it as a gift from his dead wife. So dearly does this Mandarin prize it, that he is willing to buy it at any price."

"Even five thousand pounds?"

"I believe so. This Mandarin is rich." He turned his narrow eyes again on the lady. "Did the person who said that Hwei would go as far as crime, tell you the Mandarin's name?"

"No. Who is the Mandarin?"

"I fear I cannot tell you madam. Hwei did not tell me. If you like I will bring him to you."

Miss Wharf hesitated. Her avarice was aroused by the hope of getting rid of a trifle for five thousand pounds but she did not wish to risk herself alone with a blood-thirsty celestial. "If you will come also," she said, hesitating.

Tung-yu reflected. "Madam, I will be plain with you," he said gravely, "as I am here, I can act on behalf of my friend Hwei—but to-morrow."

Miss Wharf tendered the fan. "Why not take it to-night and give me a cheque," she said quickly.

"To-morrow," replied the Chinaman, rising and bowing politely, "I will call on you, if you will permit me. Mr. Walker will show me the way. I will then arrange to buy the fan at a price to which you will not object. Meanwhile—" he bowed again and gravely departed.

Miss Wharf, rather annoyed and surprised by this behaviour, looked round for Miss Pewsey, to whom she was accustomed to tell everything. The little woman appeared at that moment pushing her way through the crowd in a state of excitement. "Oh, Sophia!" she said, throwing herself down. "Oh, Sophia."

"What's the matter?" asked Miss Wharf coldly.

"I might ask you," said Miss Pewsey, parrying the question, "you look so upset, my Sophia."

"It is with pleasure then," said the old maid, dryly, "I have arranged to sell this fan to-morrow for five thousand pounds."

"Oh," Miss Pewsey clasped her hand, "What joy; you will be able to add to your income. But, Sophia, I really can't keep it any longer. That Major Tidman——"

"Well. What about him?"

"Mr. Ainsleigh said he had a cold and was confined to his room. I went up to see, as I don't trust that Major a bit. He's so wicked. I went to his room, and peeped in. Sophia," added Miss Pewsey in a tragic manner. "He is not there—the room is empty!"

CHAPTER IX

"And perhaps more," said Miss Pewsey. "Remember, dearest Sophia, that is the sum offered, but you might ask more. It is very important that this Mandarin should get the fan back. Dr. Forge told me."

"Why is it important?"

"Theophilus didn't tell me that, but he said that this Mandarin—I quite forget his queer name—would give even more than five thousand to get it back."

"His emissary didn't seem very anxious to buy."

"Oh, that is craft," rejoined Miss Pewsey, tossing her head. "The Chinese are very double, Theophilus says."

"I don't think so, Lavinia. I would have sold this fan for a few pounds had I not known such a large sum was offered. Tung-yu is not a good business man, or else the Mandarin must be a millionaire."

"He is—he is. I wish you would let me conduct the business, and do let me take the fan?"

"No, I shall keep it."

"Sophia," said Miss Pewsey, solemnly, "that is dangerous. Rupert Ainsleigh hates you and needs money; he might kill you to get that fan, and sell it for five——"

"Nonsense. I cannot be murdered in a house full of people like this. I know another Chinaman hints at murder—you told me so——"

"Olivia told me to tell you," put in the little woman, quickly.

"Well, Hwei isn't here, and I'll sell the fan to Tung-yu to-morrow."

Miss Pewsey would have said more, but at this moment Dr. Forge approached, with a crooked elbow and a dreary smile. "Allow me to take you into supper, Miss Wharf."

"Certainly," she rose and took the arm. "I am really hungry. Lavinia?"

"I shall look for Clarence. I must find out what has become of Major Tidman," and the old maid hurried away while the doctor escorted Miss Wharf to the supper-room.

Clarence was not drinking at the buffet, though his aunt went there to find him as the most likely place. Nor was he in the ball-room, although a new dance had begun. She could not see him in the card-room, but finally ran him to earth on the terrace, where he was leaning against a tree-fern with folded arms and with his wicked black eyes fixed on a couple some distance away. Miss Pewsey followed his gaze and her eyes also flashed, for she beheld Rupert talking with Olivia. Both their heads were bent, and they conversed earnestly. The little woman hated Olivia and detested Rupert, so the sight was gall and worm-wood to her. "Why don't you ask her to dance?" she demanded, touching her nephew's arm.

"Because there would only be a row," he rejoined sullenly. "I feel inclined to spoil that chap's looks I can tell you."

"Do you really love the girl, so?"

"Yes I do. I'd give anything to marry her, and I shall too."

"There's not the slightest chance. Ainsleigh will not surrender her I can tell you."

"Then why did you make me waste that fan."

"You didn't waste it on her," said Miss Pewsey coldly, "she refused to take it like a fool, and now Sophia has it, there is no chance of getting it back. Had I known the fan was of such value, you wouldn't have caught me advising you to part with it. If you knew what this Hwei said, why didn't you tell me the fan was valuable."

"I did not see Hwei until I had parted with the fan," said Clarence crossly, "and we can do nothing now."

"You are not so bold as Major Tidman," she whispered.

"What's that?" asked the buccaneer sharply.

"He's not in his room," rejoined Miss Pewsey in a low voice, "he pretends illness, to carry out his plan to get the fan."

"How do you know that?"

"Because Tung-yu is in the hotel. The Major will try and get the fan to sell it to him."

"In that case he would have come to the ball and have seen Miss Wharf to get it from her."

"No. He has some other plan. What it is I don't know. But I wish you would look round for him, Clarence, and watch him."

"Bah! It's all stuff." Burgh turned to look at the sea and the pier and the luminous night. "I'm getting sick of this business," he went on discontentedly, "and but for the chance of gaining Olivia, I would bunk out on the long trail. There's a barky out there," he continued pointing to the right of the pier, "yonder—the one with the green light. I saw her anchor early in the afternoon—a kind of gentleman's yacht I fancy. She'd just do for me. I'd like to take a boat and pull out to her and then get up steam for the South Seas. There's a clear path leads there, down channel," and he stared at the flickering green light which winked amongst many red ones.

"You'll never get Olivia," said Miss Pewsey, in a sharp tense voice, "and you can go away as soon as you like. Meantime, look for Major Tidman and tell him I want him."

Clarence lazily stretched himself, and moved off along the balcony. At the end there was a flight of shallow steps leading down to an iron gate which was open. Thence one could pass to the Esplanade and the beach, if so inclined. But the guests kept to the populous end of the balcony where the lights clustered. Near the stairs, there were hardly any lamps, and a screen of flowers curtained it off from the rest of the hotel. Clarence passed through this floral arch, and Miss Pewsey lost sight of him. Her eyes turned to the couple she hated, and she carelessly moved near them. No one noted her as the balcony was not so full, and she sat down behind a fern where she could hear without being seen by the two, she was spying on. Their voices were low, but hate sharpened Miss Pewsey's ears, and she listened intently.

"My aunt is much more amiable to-night," Olivia was saying, "I suppose the chance of making five thousand pounds has appealed to her."

"She gave me the chance of making it, provided I gave you up," said Rupert, "and she lost her temper with me because I declined."

"Will you never be friends with her?"

"I fear not, while Miss Pewsey is in the way," said Rupert. "Olivia, it is that woman who makes all the mischief."

"I think it is," replied the girl with a weary smile, "but she seems to have a kind of hypnotic power over my aunt—"

"What do you mean?"

"Aunt Sophia has bad headaches and Miss Pewsey sometimes hypnotises her to send away the pain."

"Miss Wharf is foolish to allow her to do such a thing. That little woman is no more to be trusted than her scamp of a nephew is."

"Well it doesn't matter," said Olivia, feeling in her pocket. "I want to talk about ourselves. See Rupert you wanted a silk tie the other day. I have knitted you one—red and yellow."

Rupert took the tie and admired it in the lamp light. He would have kissed Olivia's hand after a few words of warm thanks, but she prevented him.

"Someone might see and tell Aunt Sophia," she said hurriedly, "I should have given it to you the other day when I called at the Abbey, but I forgot, so I decided to give it to you to-night. It's rather awkward your having it now. Give it to me again."

"No! I'll put it in my over-coat in the cloak room," said Rupert, rising, "but I must take you back to Miss Wharf, or she will be angry."

"I wish this deception was at an end and I could be with you altogether," said Olivia rising with a sigh.

It was at this moment that Miss Pewsey chose to come forward. She was furious at the way in which the couple spoke of her, but long habit enabled her to smooth her face to a treacherous smile.

"Oh dear Olivia," she said. "I have been looking for you everywhere."

"Does my aunt want me?" asked the girl calmly.

"No. She is in the supper-room with Mr. Forge. But Mr. Walker—"

"I don't want him," said Miss Rayner quickly, and with a change of voice.

"Yes—yes," said Rupert in a low voice. "Go with her, and dance with Walker; it will prevent Miss Wharf being cross."

"Very well," rejoined Olivia quietly: then turned to Miss Pewsey who smiled like a grotesque image. "Let us go to the ball-room."

"Won't Mr. Ainsleigh escort us?" asked the old maid, blandly. Rupert bowed, and smothering his feelings, which always revolted at the sight of the woman, he walked beside the two to the ball-room. Miss Pewsey took Olivia's arm and chattered effusively all the time. At the door they met Chris Walker, who hurried up at once and asked for a dance. Leaving the two ladies with him, Rupert went towards the cloak room. Here to his surprise he saw Major Tidman clothed in a heavy fur coat, talking to Tung-yu. Tidman looked white and uneasy, but the Chinaman still preserved his impassive face. Rupert took no notice but simply nodded to the Major as he passed, pulling out the yellow and red tie as he did so. Tidman changed colour, apparently not pleased at being found talking to Tung-yu, and laughed uneasily. "That's a bright piece of goods Ainsleigh."

"It's a present," said Rupert thrusting the tie into the pocket of his over coat. "I should think it would match your friend's dress."

"Hush," said Tidman quietly, "he speaks English. He will hear," then he added aloud. "Let me introduce you to Mr. Ainsleigh, Tung-yu."

The Chinaman turned and looked impassive enough. But his eyes had an enquiring look in their black depths. "Tung-yu and I met in Canton, where we had an adventure," said the Major, with a titter.

"About that famous fan?" asked Rupert smiling.

Tung-yu started and looked quickly at Tidman, who was again pale. "I don't remember about the fan," said Tung-yu, "did our friend find it in Canton?"

"No! No I never did," said Tidman hurriedly,—"that is Forge found the fan—"

"And gave it to Miss Wharf. Quite so," replied Tung-yu blandly. "I see her to-morrow about the matter," then he bowed to Rupert and moved away slowly.

"I thought you had a bad cold," said Rupert to Tidman, who was looking after the Chinaman with a scared expression.

"Yes—yes—but that is better now," said the Major hurriedly, "so Miss Wharf is here, and has the fan?"

"Yes, she offered to give it to me if I surrendered Olivia."

"Refuse—refuse," cried Tidman hurriedly: he approached his lips to Ainsleigh's ears. "There is death in the air to-night."

"Tidman," cried Ainsleigh starting away and staring.

"Yes—yes—say nothing. I wish you hadn't mentioned about my having the fan. Tung-yu never knew—but it can't be helped. Ainsleigh, is there another Chinaman here to-night?"

"I have seen none. Do you expect Hwei? If so we had better warn Miss Wharf. She has the fan and—"

"No! No—say nothing. Don't touch the accursed thing."

"How do you know it is accursed?"

"I knew in Canton, and in a very unpleasant way. But I'll tell you my adventure to-morrow—yes I will—if nothing happens to-night."

Rupert stared still harder. "What can happen to-night man alive?"

"Nothing—nothing," said the Major hurriedly. "I'll get back to my room—you needn't say you have seen me. I—"

"Just the man I want," cried a bold free voice, and Burgh's slim hand fell on the Major's shoulder. "Miss Pewsey asks for you."

"For me. Any more trouble?"

"I guess not. She wants to fuss round about your cold. Heaping coals of fire's the English of it."

"Let her leave me alone," said the Major petulently. "I'm quite well. I am going back to my room," and with a nod to Rupert, he marched out.

Burgh looked after him with a smile and a shrug: then he turned to Rupert who was moving towards the door. "Can I speak with you?" he asked with a frown.

"Not here Mr. Burgh," cried Ainsleigh, "this is not the place for a quarrel."

"And why not," cried the other, advancing with clenched fists, "I—"

"Keep your distance," said Ainsleigh sharply starting back on his guard, "the attendant is looking on," and he pointed to the man behind the counter who attended to the hats and cloaks.

Burgh tossed him a shilling, "Go and get a drink," he ordered.

"Stop where you are," commanded Rupert, "or I'll report you."

But the man, who was a dissipated-looking waiter pretended not to hear this last remark, and disappeared from behind the counter. The two men were alone, and Burgh spoke first. "I guess I'm going to lay you out," said he, "on account of—"

"Stop," said Rupert, "mention no names."

"I'll mention what I like and Olivia—"

Ainsleigh let drive before he could finish the word and in a second Burgh was sprawling on the floor. He rose with an oath and slipped round his right hand. "You draw a revolver and I'll break your neck," panted Rupert, "you bully, what do you mean by—"

Burgh drew his hand away—perhaps he was afraid a shot would bring in others to see the fray. But he dashed again at the young man. A short struggle ensued, which ended in Burgh being thrown again. Then Rupert, disinclined for a vulgar row, walked away. He stopped at the door to give his antagonist a bit of advice. "You touch me again," he said, "and I'll hand you over to the police after giving you a good thrashing. It's what a bully like you deserves. And if you dare to speak to Miss Rayner I'll make Marport too hot to hold you." When Rupert vanished, Burgh raised himself slowly and with an evil smile. "Perhaps the place will be too hot for you my fine gentleman," he said savagely, and began to think.

Meanwhile Rupert went to the ball-room and saw that Olivia was dancing with Dr. Forge. Chris Walker told him that Miss Wharf had gone on to the balcony for the fresh air. Miss Pewsey was not to be seen or Rupert would have told her to look after her disreputable relative in the cloak-room. The young man thought he would go up to the Major's room and have a smoke, when he felt a light touch on his shoulder. There stood Tung-yu.

"Excuse me sir," said the Chinaman in his excellent English, "I am your friend. Major Tidman and Dr. Forge are your enemies, and you have a third enemy in that young man Burgh."

"But how do you know—" began Rupert.

Tung-yu bent forward and whispered. "I know how your father died," he said softly and before Rupert could detain him, he vanished.

But Ainsleigh waited but for a moment. The speech was so surprising, that he determined to learn more. At once he ran after the Chinaman but could not see him. In spite of his noticeable clothes, he was swallowed up in the crowd and Rupert plunged into the gay throng determined to find the man who could solve the mystery of Markham Ainsleigh's death.

The night wore on and the fun became fast and furious. Towards twelve the guests began to depart, but many choice spirits declared they would keep the ball rolling till dawn. One of these was Chris Walker, who had imbibed more champagne than was good for him. While he talked excitedly Miss Pewsey came to him hastily. "Where is my dear Sophia?" she asked, I can't find her, and with her delicate health it is time she was home in bed."

"I have not seen her. Have you, Dr. Forge?"

The lean doctor shook his head, "I have been in the card room for the last hour," he said, "and as Miss Wharf's doctor I assuredly say, she should go home, there's midnight," and as he spoke the strokes boomed from a tall clock in the hall.

"Clarence, have you seen her?" asked Miss Pewsey of the buccaneer who had Olivia on his arm.

"No! I've just been waltzing with Miss Rayner."

"Then you Mr. Ainsleigh?"

"I have been smoking on the balcony," said Rupert, who looked tired.

"Oh, dear me," said Miss Pewsey wringing her hands, "I wonder if dear Sophia has gone to see Major Tidman. She is so kind-hearted and he is ill—at least he says he is. Did he tell you Clarence?"

"I saw him only for a minute and he went back to his room I guess."

"Then Sophia must have gone there," cried Miss Pewsey and hurried away. Olivia followed with Forge as she thought also, that her aunt ought to go home, and Clarence's attentions were becoming so embarrassing that she feared there would be trouble with Rupert. But soon, Miss Pewsey appeared again and said that Miss Wharf was not in the Major's room, nor was the Major there. Taking Olivia and Clarence and Forge, she went to search for the missing lady. Rupert lingered behind as he did not wish to come into contact with the buccaneer.

The hunt proceeded for some time, and every room in the hotel was searched. But Miss Wharf could not be found. Finally everyone—for many of the guests were hunting by this time—, went out on the balcony. Miss Wharf was not there. "Oh, dear me," cried Miss Pewsey, "wherever can she be."

The balcony was searched from end to end. Then one of the guests more venturesome, descended the steps. He gave a cry of horror. "Bring a light," he cried.

Lights were brought and everyone rushed after them. Half way down the steps lay Miss Wharf—dead—strangled, and round her throat tightly bound was a yellow and red silk tie.

CHAPTER X

When the local police heard of the assassination, an Inspector with two subordinates took possession of the hotel, and obtained from the manager a list of the guests present at the ball. As these amounted to something like two hundred, it seemed like looking for a needle in a haystack to search for the criminal amongst them. And many of them did not know Miss Wharf even by sight, so it was certain that the task of identifying the assassin would be one of enormous difficulty. And the question was asked on all hands. "What had taken the deceased lady down the little-frequented steps?" The fan was missing—Miss Pewsey noticed that, when she bent over the dead, but the story of the fan was not yet public property.

According to custom the local police communicated with the Treasury, who placed the case in the hands of the Criminal Investigation Department, and thus it came about, that a plain clothes officer—in other words a detective—was sent down to Marport. This individual was called Rogers, and after paying a visit to the Superintendent of the Marport Police Office, he went to Ivy Lodge. Here, everything was gloomy and silent. The body of the unfortunate woman had been brought home, and was laid out for burial. Dr. Forge, who with others had been on the spot at the time of the discovery, examined the corpse, and asserted that the miserable woman must have been murdered just an hour, or half an hour previous. As mid-night was chiming shortly before the discovery of the crime, it can be safely declared—and Dr. Forge did declare this—that Miss Wharf was strangled between eleven and twelve. When the corpse was found it was yet warm. Clarence haunted the Lodge and talked with his aunt, but Olivia kept to her own room.

"Tung-yu did it of course," said Mr. Burgh decisively. "I reckon he came down to get that fan, and grudged giving so much cash for it. I surmise that he lured the old girl to those steps, and then slipped the silk string round her neck."

"The silk tie," said Miss Pewsey whose eyes were very black and glittering, though red round the rims, from weeping.

"How do you know it's a tie?" asked Clarence with a start.

"I know," replied his aunt tightening her thin lips, "and I know to whom the tie belongs. But you say that Tung-yu?—"

"Who else could have scragged the old girl aunt Lavinia. The fan's gone—leastways I didn't see it when we spotted the deader."

Miss Pewsey nodded. "Yes, the fan is gone," she assented, "but if Tung-yu murdered dearest Sophia, he can easily be arrested."

"Oh, I guess not," replied Mr. Burgh easily. "Tung-yu's no slouch, you bet, and didn't intend to lose his prize—"

"The fan?" inquired Miss Pewsey.

"Just so, the fan," replied Clarence imperturbably, "and he's on his way to China by this time."

"Clarence?" Miss Pewsey rose, much excited; then calmed down. "I do not agree with you," said she firmly. "Tung-yu is innocent."

"I'll lay a couple of dollars he isn't, Aunt Lavinia. Do you remember that yacht I pointed out to you last night. Well, t'was a steam deep-sea barky, two hundred tons, Lloyd's measurement I reckon—quite heavy enough to cut round the Cape into Chinese waters. Well, she arrived in the afternoon yesterday and after midnight she lighted out."

"But how do you know Tung-yu was on board?"

"Well, I only size that up," said Clarence musingly. "but it looks to me as though he'd engineered the job. 'Twould be easy I guess for him to have had a boat waiting for him. After he'd killed the old girl and annexed the fan, he could dance down those steps like a two year old and pick up the boat on the beach. Course it's all my fancy," added Burgh modestly, "but I guess I'm right."

"I guess you're not," snapped Miss Pewsey in rather an unlady-like manner, and she rose to shake out her skirts. "I know who killed dearest Sophia," she added, wagging a lean finger at her nephew. "I know who possessed the tie, and I shall hand that man—"

"Who the dickens is he anyhow?"

"Rupert Ainsleigh," replied Miss Pewsey with a grim smile, and left the room, while the buccaneer stared, and then smiled. It was pleasant to think that his rival—as he considered Rupert,—should be in such straits and should be pursued by the vindictive hatred of Miss Pewsey, who would leave no stone unturned to bring about the conviction of young Ainsleigh.

"Well," said the buccaneer with his hands in his pockets. "I guess I'm not taking a hand in this biznai, and it ain't lively round these quarters. I'll git."

And this Mr. Burgh did. When he passed out of the front door, he brushed against a plainly dressed rubicund man with sharp grey eyes who glanced at him inquisitively. However, the stranger said nothing but proceeded to ring the bell. The maid-servant who appeared took him into the drawing-room and carried a card to Miss Pewsey. The name thereon was, Orlando Rodgers, C.I.D.

With this in her hand Miss Pewsey sailed into the drawing-room and looked at the comfortable creature who rose to greet her. "Mr. Orlando Rodgers, C.I.D.?" queried the little old lady.

"Criminal Investigation Department," said the man in a cool voice, and with a sharp glance at the dry drab woman, "I'm in charge of the Wharf Murder Case, and have been sent down by the Treasury. As I have seen the Superintendent and can learn nothing likely to throw light on the subject, I have come to you—a relative?"

"No," answered Miss Pewsey sitting down, in a rigid way. "I am the companion of the late Miss Wharf. Her only relative, down here at all events, is Miss Olivia Rayner."

"Can I see her?"

"I think not—at present. She is in her room weeping. Though why she should display such grief I can't understand," added Miss Pewsey spitefully.

"It's natural in a relative, miss," said the detective looking hard at the withered little face.

Miss Pewsey laughed in a shrill manner, and spoke between her teeth more than ever, emphasising every word as usual. "Oh, dear me, no," said she. "Miss Wharf and Olivia never got on well. The girl hated her aunt, though dearest Sophia—Miss Wharf, you know, sir—brought her up, when she hadn't a shilling or a friend in the world."

"To whom have I the honour of speaking?" asked Rodgers wondering how much of this spiteful speech was true, and seeing plainly enough that the speaker was no friend to the niece.

"I am Lavinia Pewsey," said that lady, "and for years I have been the cherished friend and dearest companion of Sophia. We were at school together, and were—as I may say—like two cherries on one stalk. Anything I can do to avenge her death will be done."

"Punishment by the law, doesn't come under the head of vengeance!"

"It comes under the head of hanging, and I'll be glad to see the rope round his neck."

"Of whom are you talking?" asked Rodgers phlegmatically.

"Of the man who killed my dearest friend."

"Oh. I understood from the Superintendent that the affair was quite a mystery."

"Not to me," snapped Miss Pewsey, "Rupert Ainsleigh strangled her to get the fan."

"What fan?" asked the detective taking out his note-book, "and who is Rupert Ainsleigh?"

Miss Pewsey spread her skirts and folded her hands together in a prim way. "I shall tell you all," she cried, "and please take down all I say. I am prepared to make this statement in a law court."

"Well," said Rodgers moistening his pencil, "you may have to. Now this Mr. Ainsleigh?——"

"Of Royabay, a few miles from Marport," said Miss Pewsey, "quite one of the old families. A nice come down for the Ainsleighs, for the last of them to die on the gallows."

"He is not there yet," said Rodgers dryly, "and may I ask you to speak in a more reasonable way. I see you don't like the man."

"I hate him," Miss Pewsey drew a long breath, "and I hated his father before him, to say nothing of his mother, who was a cat."

"Then your evidence is prejudiced, I fancy."

"Never you mind, Mr. Orlando Rodgers," she replied sharply, "take down what I say, and then you can sift the matter out for yourself. My Sophia was murdered to obtain possession of a fan——"

"What fan?" asked Rodgers again.

Miss Pewsey smiled, and calmly detailed all she had learned from Dr. Forge concerning the fan. "You can ask my nephew, Clarence Burgh, about these things also," she ended, "and Dr. Forge, and Mr. Christopher Walker, who brought the Chinaman Tung-yu to the ball, and——"

"Wait a bit," interrupted the detective, "it appears to me from what you say," he ran a quick eye over his notes, "that the suspicion points to these Chinamen you mention. They advertised, and they wanted the fan. Now Hwei—as I hear from you—was not at the ball, but Tung-yu was. Therefore Tung-yu——"

"Didn't do it," said the little woman. "I don't pretend to understand why Hwei offered death and Tung-yu money for the possession of the fan; nor do I know why this Mandarin, whatever his name may be, is so anxious to get possession of the article. But I know that the fan is gone and that Tung-yu, who did not intend murder, hasn't got it."

"Then who has?"

"Rupert Ainsleigh. He went up about the advertisement and knew all about the fan. I believe he killed my Sophia, and got the fan, so as to sell it for five thousand to Tung-yu—"

"But a gentleman of property wouldn't—"

"A gentleman of property," snorted the old maid smoothing her dress, "why he's head over ears in debt and will lose Royabay before the end of the year on account of the fore-closure of a mortgage. He'd have done anything to get money, and five thousand pounds is not a small amount."

"This is all very well: but I don't see how you connected Mr. Ainsleigh with the crime."

"By means of the silk necktie," said Miss Pewsey with a triumphant smile, and related how Rupert had received the scarf from Olivia, "if he is guiltless how came his silk tie round the throat of Sophia?"

Rodgers was shaken by this piece of evidence. "It looks queer I admit," he said: then added, "I understand that Mr. Ainsleigh is an admirer of Miss Rayner."

"He wants to marry her, and she is in love with him," said Miss Pewsey, "which is an additional reason for the crime."

"I don't understand."

"You're not a sharp man," said the old woman tranquilly, "don't you see that as Miss Rayner inherits dearest Sophia's money, she will get the mortgage also. Then with that, and the five thousand pounds Mr. Ainsleigh would be free from his money-troubles. Well," she added sharply, as the detective rose, "what do you say?"

"Nothing at present. Give me the address of Dr. Forge who, I believe, examined the body, and of your nephew and Mr. Ainsleigh."

Miss Pewsey did this with alacrity and accompanied Rodgers to the door. "Don't spare him," she said venomously, "he's guilty and he shall hang," and she shut the door herself.

"What a spiteful woman," mused Rodgers, leaving Ivy Lodge, "her story is so very explicit that I am inclined to doubt it. She wants this young man scragged. Why?"

He could find no answer to this question, but went on his way to see Clarence Burgh. His interview with the buccaneer was brief, Clarence related the story of the yacht, and set forth his theory of Tung-yu. "Mind," said he, "I don't like Ainsleigh, as he's trying to run the girl I want to hitch longside of. But I guess he didn't scragg the old girl."

"You speak fairer than your aunt," said Rodgers dryly.

Clarence heaved up his right shoulder. "Huh," said he, "if you go by woman's jaw, you'll get on the shoals. Tung-yu scragged the old girl, you bet, and he's on his way to China in that yacht."

"Well, we'll see if we can't stop the yacht. She must coal somewhere. What is her name?"

"The Stormy Petrel," said Clarence, "I got that out of a boatman, who was rowing about her yesterday."

"Did he see any Chinaman on board?"

"No. He didn't see anyone. There didn't appear to be anyone about, or else they were at tea," concluded Clarence ungrammatically.

"Humph," said the detective, noting the name of the yacht, "do you know anything of the silk tie?"

"No. Aunt Lavinia says it belongs to Ainsleigh, but I never saw it till it was round the throat of the old girl. I should like to think he put it there," said Clarence pleasantly, "for I want that chap out of the way; but I believe Tung-yu's the man."

"Perhaps he is. Have you a copy of that advertisement?"

"No. But I reckon Ainsleigh has. Ain't you going to see him?"

Rogers nodded. "Straight away. And I thank you for what you have told me. You want him hanged I presume."

"Well no I reckon not. He's in my way, but I can lay him out on my own, without the lynching biznai."

"You are fairer than your aunt," said the detective once more.

"Go slow. She's only an acid-drop, and you can't size her up, just as an ordinary girl. She was crazy on Markham, the father of this young Ainsleigh, and——"

"And proposes to hang the son to avenge herself on his father. A nice woman, truly. But it seems to me Mr. Burgh that if anyone killed Miss Wharf, Hwei is the man."

"Might be. He wasn't at the ball anyhow. Tung-yu was."

"But Tung-yu—as I understand from Miss Pewsey—intended to call the next day—to-day that is—and buy the fan for five thousand."

"Huh," Clarence heaved up his shoulder again, "perhaps he thought he'd settle in another way. 'Day. I'll be along here whenever you like to call. I wish to see this biznai through, you bet."

Rodgers departed, and sought out Rupert at Royabay. The young man was walking up and down the terrace smoking furiously. At the sight of the stranger he frowned and Rodgers noted that he looked worn and ill. "Might be money worries," thought the detective, "and it might be the other thing."