LITMIR.BIZ

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he had refused – refused because of the fair-headed girl he loved so well.

      Within himself he had made a solemn vow to reform. Reformation would probably mean a six-roomed cottage with a maid-of-all-work, yet even that would be preferable to a continuance of the present mode of life.

      Bitter memories had, of late, constantly arisen within him. Certain scenes of violence, even of tragedy, in that beautiful flower-embowered villa beside the Mediterranean at Beaulieu, half-way between Nice and Monte Carlo, had recurred vividly to him. He was unable to wipe those horrible visions from the tablets of his memory. He had realized, at last, what a pitiless blackguard he had been, so he had resolved to end it all.

      And now, just as he had made up his mind, Arnold Du Cane had arrived unexpectedly from Milan with an entirely new and original scheme – one in which the risk of detection was infinitesimal, while the stakes were high enough to merit serious consideration.

      He had refused to be a party to the transaction, whereupon Du Cane had revived a subject which he had fondly believed to be buried for ever – that terrible affair which had startled and mystified the whole world, and which had had such an important political bearing that, by it, the destinies of a great nation had actually been changed.

      A certain man – a great man – had died, but until that hour Phil Poland’s connection with the tragedy had never been suspected.

      Yet, from what Arnold Du Cane had just said, he saw that the truth was actually known, and he realized that his own position was now one of distinct insecurity.

      He was silent, full of wonder. How could Arnold have gained his knowledge? What did he know? How much did he know? The strength of his defiance must be gauged upon the extent of Arnold’s knowledge.

      He set his teeth hard. The scandal was one which must never see the light of day, he told himself. Upon the suppression of the true facts depended the honour and welfare of a nation.

      Arnold Du Cane knew the truth. Of that, there could be no doubt. Did he intend to use this knowledge in order to secure his assistance in this latest dastardly scheme?

      At last, after a long silence, Poland asked in as cool a voice as he could —

      “What causes you to suspect that Sonia knows anything?”

      “Well,” replied this crafty, round-faced visitor, “considering how that young Russian let out at you when you were walking with her that moonlight night out in the garden, I don’t think there can be much doubt that she is fully aware of the mysterious source of her father’s income.”

      “Sonia doesn’t know Russian. The fellow spoke in that language, I remember,” was his reply. “Yet I was a fool, I know, to have taken her over that accursed place – that hell in paradise. She is always perfectly happy at the Hôtel de Luxembourg at Nice, where each season she makes some pleasant friends, and never suspects the reason of my absences.”

      “All of us are fools at times, Phil,” was his visitor’s response, as he selected a fresh cigar from the silver box upon the table and slowly lit it. “But,” he went on, “I do really think you are going too far in expecting that you can conceal the truth from the girl much longer. She isn’t a child, you must recollect.”

      “She must never know!” cried the unhappy man in a hoarse voice. “By Gad! she must never know of my shame, Arnold.”

      “Then go in with us in this new affair. It’ll pay you well.”

      “No,” he cried. “I – I feel that I can’t! I couldn’t face her, if she knew. Her mother was one of the best and purest women who ever lived, and – ”

      “Of course, of course. I know all that, my dear fellow,” cried the other hastily. “I know all the tragedy of your marriage – but that’s years ago. Let the past bury itself, and have an eye to the main chance and the future. Just take my advice, Phil. Drop all this humbug about your girl and her feelings if she learnt her father’s real profession. She’ll know it one day, that’s certain. You surely aren’t going to allow her to stand in your way and prevent you from participating in what is real good solid business – eh? You want money, you know.”

      “I’ve given my answer,” was the man’s brief response.

      Then a silence fell between the pair of well-dressed cosmopolitans – a dead, painful silence, broken only by the low hum of the insects, the buzzing of a fly upon the window-pane, and the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the corner.

      “Reflect,” urged Du Cane at last, as he rose to his feet. Then, lowering his voice, he said in a hoarse whisper, “You may find yourself in a corner over that affair of young Burke. If so, it’s only I and my friends who could prove an alibi. Remember that.”

      “And you offer that, in return for my assistance?” Poland said reflectively, hesitating for a moment and turning to the window.

      His visitor nodded in the affirmative.

      Next second the man to whom those terms had been offered quickly faced his friend. His countenance was haggard, blanched to the lips, for he had been quick to realize the full meaning of that covert threat.

      “Arnold!” he said in a hoarse, strained voice, full of bitter reproach, “you may turn upon me, give me away to the police – tell them the truth – but my decision remains the same. I will lend no hand in that affair.”

      “You are prepared to face arrest – eh?”

      “If it is your will – yes.”

      “And your daughter?”

      “That is my own affair.”

      “Very well, then. As you will,” was the bald-headed man’s response, as he put on his grey felt hat and, taking his stick, strode through the open French windows and disappeared.

      Phil Poland stood rigid as a statue. The blow had fallen. His secret was out.

      He sprang forward towards the garden, in order to recall his visitor. But next instant he drew himself back.

      No. Now that the friend whom he had trusted had turned upon him, he would face the music rather than add another crime to his discredit and dishonour.

      Philip Poland, alias Louis Lessar and half-a-score of other names, halted, and raised his pale, repentant face to Heaven for help and guidance.

      II

      CONCERNS TWO STRANGERS

      That night Phil Poland glanced longingly around the well-furnished dining-room with its white napery, its antique plate, and its great bowl of yellow roses in the centre of the table between the silver candelabra with white silk shades. Alone he sat at his dinner, being waited upon by Felix, the thin-faced, silent Frenchman in black who was so devoted to his master and so faithful in his service.

      It was the last time he would eat his dinner there, he reflected. The choice of two things lay before him – flight, or arrest.

      Sonia was on a visit to an old school-fellow in London, and would not return until the morrow. For some reasons he was glad, for he desired to be alone – alone in order to think.

      Since the abrupt departure of his visitor he had become a changed man. His usually merry face was hard and drawn, his cheeks pale, with red spots in the centre, and about his clean-shaven mouth a hardness quite unusual.

      Dinner concluded, he had strolled out upon the lawn, and, reclining in a long deck-chair, sipped his coffee and curaçao, his face turned to the crimson sundown showing across the dark edge of the forest. He was full of dark forebodings.

      The end of his career – a scandalous career – was near. The truth was out!

      As he lay back with his hot, fevered head upon the cushion of the long cane chair, his dead cigar between his nerveless fingers, a thousand bitter thoughts crowded upon him. He had striven to reform, he had tried hard to turn aside and lead an honest life, yet it seemed as though his good intentions had only brought upon him exposure and disaster.

      He thought it all over. His had, indeed, been an amazing career of duplicity.

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