LITMIR.BIZ

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he had lured Faber by night to the railway and then flung him on the line as the express passed; it was certain to cut him to pieces. There was some dark and criminal business on hand, Alice could not doubt. Hugh knew something about it, but so long as he was laid by the heels in yonder prison, his evidence was useless. He must be smuggled out of Dartdale at any cost. Copping must be induced to lend assistance.

      All these thoughts flashed through Alice’s mind as Copping was speaking. If he hardened now, all would be lost. Alice knew that she was touching the right place.

      “You are very fond of your wife, are you not?”

      A queer, unsteady smile quivered on Copping lips.

      “I should not be here talking to you like this if I wasn’t, miss,” he said. “What you offer does not touch me in the least. Ten times the amount would not turn me from my duty. I’m thinking of Mary, and of her only. I couldn’t do without her, miss. But if we bide here another winter I shall lose her. A strange thing love is. People laugh at it, but it’s responsible for most of the good things and nearly all that’s bad over all this world of ours. You know that, miss.”

      Alice flushed and smiled.

      “You are sure of that, Copping?”

      “Quite sure, miss. You wouldn’t take all this trouble and run all these risks for Mr. Grenfell unless you cared for him. You think he’s innocent, and so do I, and maybe there’s somebody at Rawmouth Park who could tell the truth if he liked.”

      Alice started. So she was not the only one that noticed things.

      “Do they gossip much hereabouts?”

      “Did you ever know where they don’t, miss?” Copping asked. “Mr. Draycott isn’t what you call popular. There’s folks who say there was trickery over that will. Not that it is any business of mine. And as to that other matter, really, miss, I don’t see that I can help you. It sounds very dangerous.”

      “You mean as to Mr. Grenfell?”

      “Yes, miss. I will do all I can, but so far as I can see——”

      “Better let me go on,” Alice said rapidly. “It is quite plain that when a man becomes a number he loses all identity. So long as you lock 484 in his cell at night you come home with the assurance that he is safely secured. You don’t look at him each time you turn the key and see that his eyes and hair are the same color. The other convicts ask no questions, for the simple reason they dare not do so. If 484 is working one day a little apart from the rest of the gang, and you notice later that he looks different, you regard it as a mere idle fancy on your part. We are supposing all this, remember. We will also suppose that you come home the same evening and go into the garden. That is a fine asparagus bed of yours, Copping.”

      Copping wiped the moisture from his forehead.

      “You are right there, miss,” he said. “I’ve had a grand crop this year.”

      “Worth a lot of money, I daresay, and it may be worth a great deal more if you manage it properly. You might make up your mind to weed the bed on the evening in question, and in the far corner by the edge you might find a hundred sovereigns under the first plant in the row. Mind, I’m only ‘supposing.’ What a grand thing it would be! You could save your wife’s life, you could give up your work here and move on to high ground. Directly you did that your heart would get stronger, and you would have no more such attacks as you had when you were on duty yesterday. If you have another of them, the prison doctor will examine you, and your occupation will be gone, Copping.”

      Copping listened with a white, set face. He was turning over the matter in his mind. He ought to have been furiously indignant, but showed no signs of anger. He was thinking of his wife and her future; and here was the chance he had prayed for. Mary would be saved; she would be restored to his arms, and they might yet spend a long and happy life together.

      “What do you want me to do, miss?” he asked hoarsely.

      “Nothing,” Alice replied. “Only to be a little blind—blind as to one particular man for, say, a week. It might happen to anybody; it is only a case of carelessness. You may lose your post over it, but that will not matter, supposing you keep your eye on the asparagus bed. And the hundred pounds—may, will multiply by nine later.”

      Copping looked ahead with troubled eyes. But he made no protest; he did not reject the suggestion. The money was going to be his in any case. He had only to be a little careless, and the thing was done. All his resolution was melting like wax in the sun.

      “I was always fond of the family, miss,” he said, “and I honestly believe that Mr. Hugh is the victim of some deep-laid conspiracy. He has helped me on one or two occasions lately—if he had not stood by me, the people yonder would have found out, and I should have had to go. Mary is dear to me—more than I can say. And—and I’m going to save her life!”

      Copping touched his hat, and turned on his heel. The action was abrupt, but Alice respected it. She had tempted this man, and he had fallen; she had touched on the one vulnerable spot. As she walked along, shame and elation strove for the mastery. She was sorry for Copping; but she was saving him from a lifelong sorrow, and at the same time had most certainly struck a blow for Hugh and her own happiness. Still, there was a haunting fear that everything was not as it should be. She was sorely troubled to account for the presence of Moler at Copping’s cottage. What was the man doing there, and what was the gist of the conversation between Mary Copping and him? All this would have to be found out before Alice could feel the ground firm under her feet. Hugh had a plan of his own, which she had safely concealed in her pocket, but she was convinced that the scheme was not so good as her own. Besides, Clench could decide that when she saw him.

      Carl Moler had returned to Rawmouth Park, by the time Alice arrived. He was quieter and more subdued than usual; the bold look was not so offensive as it frequently was. Mr. Draycott was better, but would not come down for a day or so.

      “You mean that it is better he should stay in his room?” Alice asked.

      “More or less,” Moler replied. “He has enough exercise. I will take him out in the wood at the back of the house, and make a point of doing it every afternoon.”

      Alice listened uneasily, Moler had mentioned the very spot where she had appointed to meet Russell Clench. She would have to contrive to be there a little before the agreed upon hour to warn Hugh’s friend. She did not care to suggest any change in Moler’s scheme; to do so might arouse his suspicions.

      “The attacks of pain are getting less?” Alice asked.

      “They are not so severe,” Moler explained. “It is a curious form of trouble and interests me greatly. I live in hopes of curing it altogether. It is perhaps fortunate for Mr. Draycott that I am here.”

      “You have known him many years?”

      “Oh, dear, no, Miss Kearns; a little more than a year at the outside. I met him in Paris——”

      “Really! I understood my guardian to say you met in the Argentine. But perhaps that is my mistake.”

      Moler bit his lips angrily, and his dark eyes gleamed.

      “Paris first,” he explained testily. “The Argentine afterwards.”

      Alice turned away listlessly. After all, what did it matter? The man was lying to her, and they both knew it. There were far more important things to think of such as the interview with Russell Clench on the following afternoon.

      Alice slipped away directly after luncheon. It still wanted an hour of the appointed time, and there was nobody to be seen excepting an artist, who had set up his easel in one of the pretty wooded glades, where he was painting apparently in a deeply-engrossed frame of mind. In spite of her anxiety, Alice could not suppress a smile. Draycott had a perfect horror of strangers lurking about the place—even when they were above suspicion he had a dread of them. More than one party of innocent wanderers had been forcibly driven off. If he saw this man——

      Alice

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