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<h4>CHAPTER VIII</h4> <h5>UNDER A CLOUD</h5> There was very little sleep for anyone during the remaining hours of darkness, and after breakfast--an unusually dismal meal--the guests one and all showed a desire to get away from their host. Mr. Tait certainly was not amiable, since he had suffered so great a loss, and growled like a bear with a sore head. Not being a gentleman, he could not control his temper, and made himself so openly disagreeable, that everyone wanted to leave forthwith. But until the police had made inquiries, it was impossible for either man or woman to depart without becoming suspected. Throughout that wretched Sunday, the men were miserable and the ladies hysterical. Tait, no longer the jolly Silenus, or even the gracious Mammon, moved amongst his friends with looks of suspicion for all. The police duly arrived, and searched the gardens and the house, but in no way could they trace the thieves. George stuck persistently to his story, which, of course, was true, save for the excuse which he gave for coming down the stairs. And it was this false portion--this weak subterfuge--which made Mr. Tait suspicious. He knew that George was hard up, and said as much to him in a quiet corner. "What has my being a pauper to do with your loss?" demanded Walker, firing up on the instant. Tait shook his bullet head and scowled with his little pig eyes. "My jewels are worth twenty thousand pounds," he retorted. "I don't care if they are worth twenty millions," said George, turning pale, for he realised his employer's meaning. "I know nothing about them." "You were in the gallery when----" "I came down to the gallery because I heard a noise," interrupted Walker furiously. "I told the police the story I told you. I did my best to catch the thieves, and now you have the audacity to accuse me." "I don't exactly accuse you----" "It looks very like it." "You must admit that your conduct is suspicious," protested the stockbroker. "I admit nothing of the sort." "People don't wander about a house after everyone is in bed, without a reason," snapped Tait, with a searching glance. George bore the scrutiny without flinching. "I have explained how I came to be wandering about," he declared proudly. "I was sitting by my fire, and on hearing a suspicious noise I came down, with what result you know. How dare you accuse me?" "I tell you again that I don't accuse you," vociferated Tait crossly. "But you have acted foolishly to say the least of it." "How else could I have acted?" "On hearing the noise you should have aroused me." "Had I done so I should not have been in time to see the thieves." "What good did you do by seeing them, since they have escaped? That is," added Tait slowly, "if there were two men. Stop!" he threw up his fat hand as the young man was about to speak angrily; "it is no use going round the bush. You may be innocent or you may not be. Your story may be true or it may be the reverse." "Mr. Tait"--George held his temper under by mere force of will--"why should I rob you?" The stockbroker opened his pig's eyes. "Why!" he demanded in amazement, "do I not know that you are desperately poor? Didn't Hale tell me only the other day that you wanted to marry his daughter, and could not do so for want of money? Oh, there are plenty of reasons why you should take twenty thousand pounds' worth of jewels. They can be unset and sold, in which case they will be difficult to trace. Had they been bank-notes, I don't believe that this burglary--so-called--would have taken place." George curled his lip. "You put things very clearly, sir," he said quietly, "and on the face of it, I admit that my conduct looks a trifle suspicious." "A trifle!" cried Tait scornfully. "Very good indeed. A trifle! Why not admit that you came down to steal the jewels, and went out to bury them in some safe place, returning, when the alarm was given, to tell us this cock-and-bull story of two thieves?" George winced and grew white at this very plain speaking. But he kept his temper, for to have lost it at the moment would have been dangerous. He saw very well that he was in a tight place. "I ask you only one question, Mr. Tait," he said calmly. "Who gave the alarm?" "I do not know," said the stockbroker sullenly. "I heard a cry of thieves, and help, and blue murder, and came down to find everyone else aroused." "Then I may tell you that I gave the alarm, sir." "You say so," sneered the other. "I say so because it is true," rejoined Walker, throwing back his head indignantly. "I shouted in the gallery when I saw the light, and I cried out again when I followed the thieves. I lost them when they bolted into the wood girdling this place. Now, I ask you, sir, would I have given the alarm had I been guilty?" "No--if you gave the alarm, that is. But I don't believe you did." "In other words you think that I am guilty?" "Upon my word, Walker, it looks very much like it." "Then why not hand me over to the police?" The stockbroker moved uneasily and wiped his damp, red face. "Your mother is an old friend of mine," he said hesitatingly; "I think of her." "That is very good of you," said the ungrateful George; "but I would rather you believed in my innocence. I have no wish to hide myself behind any woman's petticoats." "Not even behind Maud's?" "I don't know what you are talking about," said George stolidly, determined to hold his peace about the lady even to her uncle. "Miss Ellis and I are very good friends, nothing more." "You know that she loves you. I should never have asked a mere clerk from my office here, but that she loved you. I disapproved of her infatuation, but I gave in to her since I am your mother's friend." "You are slightly incoherent, sir, and entirely wrong. Miss Ellis and I are friends; nothing more. And to return to the subject of the burglary, may I remind you that the police have discovered that the safe was not broken into, but that the door was opened with a key? The key, I notice, is still on your watch-chain. How then could I have opened the safe?" "Perhaps you think that I stole the jewels myself?" sneered Tait coolly. "I may remind you, in my turn, that Maud also has a key." George sprang to his feet and clenched his hand. "You dare to insinuate that I got it from Miss Ellis, and----" The door opened as he spoke, and Tait, who was facing it, glanced over the young man's shoulder. "Here is Maud for herself. Perhaps she will explain." It was indeed Miss Ellis, looking very white and pinched. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her mouth was drooping, and she confessed to a headache, which was not to be wondered at, seeing what she had gone through. "That chloroform is horrible stuff," complained Maud, sinking into a chair. "Have you seen the inspector?" said Tait, giving his niece very little sympathy for her wan looks. "Yes; I have told him all I know." "Perhaps you will repeat what you have told him to your uncle, Miss Ellis," remarked Walker, still standing very stiff and very proudly. "He has accused me of getting the key from you to rob the strong-room, and swears that I have buried the jewels somewhere in the garden." "That is absurd," said Maud, looking at her uncle, while a red spot of colour burned on either pale cheek. "I don't believe that you have anything to do with the matter." "Then what did you mean by addressing Walker as you did, when you revived in the gallery?" demanded Mr. Tait sharply. "I simply said, 'Oh, George, you!'" said the girl quietly; "and that because I felt glad he was there to help me." "He didn't help you in the least," remarked Tait grimly. "He would have had I asked him," she retorted. "Would you not, Mr. Walker?" "Certainly." "It's not George this time, then," muttered the stockbroker. "Well, Maud, perhaps you will tell me what you were doing in the gallery." Maud's eyes sought those of the man she loved, but she replied without hesitation. "I'll tell you what I did not tell the police, uncle. The inspector believes that I came down because I heard a noise." "Like Walker here." "He did not come down for that reason." Tait looked at George with triumph in his eye. "I thought not," he said. "If he said that he did, he said so to shield me," pursued Miss Ellis, and looked gratefully at the confused young man. "What do you mean by that, Maud?" asked Tait tartly. "I made an appointment with George in the picture-gallery at three in the morning, as I wished to help him to marry Lesbia Hale." "Why, I thought you loved Walker yourself!" cried the astonished stockbroker. "So I did--so I do," breathed Miss Ellis, drooping her sandy head. "But, to my mind, love means sacrifice. George--for I have the right to call him so now--George would not have been happy with me, as he loved Lesbia Hale, so I arranged to give him up to her, and to make things right with her father. For that reason I waited for him in the gallery. There I was suddenly pounced upon, and a handkerchief soaked in chloroform was clapped over my mouth. I daresay the person who did it, stole the key from the chain round my neck, and opened the strong-room to steal the jewels. But I knew nothing from the moment I became insensible until I revived to find you all standing round me. That is the story I have told the inspector, save that I kept quiet my appointment with George." "Then you believe him to be innocent," said the stockbroker, confounded by the frankness of this story. Maud arose indignantly. "The man I love can never be guilty," she cried. George blushed a rosy red. He saw that he had not behaved over well to this brave girl, who had so cleverly exonerated him, although he really had no reason to accuse himself of duplicity towards her. But in a confused way he felt that she was heaping coals of fire on his head, and was more drawn to her than he had ever been before. Here, indeed, was a friend worth having. With Lesbia as his wife and Maud as his friend, life would indeed be joyous. In his innocence it never struck the young man that no male can drive, either in double harness or in tandem fashion, two women who both love him. He thought that Maud, having discovered that the true meaning of love was sacrifice, behaved thus because of her newly-acquired knowledge. "Thank you, Miss Ellis," he said simply, but his looks implied volumes more. Tait was displeased. He had no grudge against George, whom he liked well enough; but he did not like his solution of the mystery to be thus upset. "You mean well, Maud," he said at length, "and you have shielded Walker very cleverly. All the same, I cannot accept your explanation." Miss Ellis rose in alarm. "Uncle, do you mean that you will have Mr. Walker arrested when you know that he is innocent?" "For his mother's sake I shall not do that," said the elder man; "but if Mr. Walker will give back the jewels I will not dismiss him from my office." "I have no jewels to give," cried George recklessly, and his face flushed a deep red. "As to remaining in your office, do you think that I would continue to serve a man who suspects me of such a wicked crime? I shall never return to your office, Mr. Tait, nor shall I re-enter your house until my innocence is made clear. If the police arrest me----" "They will not do that," interrupted Maud quickly; "I promise you. There is no evidence against you. I don't know who chloroformed me, but you are innocent, I swear. My uncle will take no steps." "For Mrs. Walker's sake," interpolated the stockbroker unctuously. "So you can leave this house when you will," continued Maud, "knowing--" she seized his hand--"that I at least, believe you guiltless." "Thank you!" said George, and kissed her hand. "Mr. Tait, if you and the police want me you know where to find me." And he stalked out of the room with his head in the air. Maud Ellis looked after him with hungry looks, and heaved a deep sigh when the door closed. Within the hour George had asked permission of the inspector to leave the house, and obtained it. Whatever the guests believed, the police apparently--thanks to Maud's report--accepted him as a wholly guiltless person. He gave his address to the officer, so that he might be called as a witness in the event of the thieves being brought to book, and then shook the dust of that splendid Henley mansion from his feet. He was glad to get away, for several people looked at him askance, and evidently there was an uneasy feeling that he knew more than he would confess. But no one hinted openly that he was concerned in the robbery. It was merely thought that his presence in the gallery required a more reasonable explanation than the weak one of having heard a noise. Still, George could not help feeling that he was suspected by the guests and servants, and it was gall and wormwood to the proud young man that this should be the case. Walker carried his portmanteau down to the river, as he had rowed up to Henley from Medmenham. It was now late in the afternoon, and with a heavy heart he prepared to launch his boat and return. The news that he had to take to his mother was unwelcome, and he wondered how she would receive the information that he had left Tait's office. Mrs. Walker's circumstances were very desperate, as her income was so small, and she greatly depended upon her son's earnings. The present phase of things would be worse than ever, and George winced as he contemplated the coming interview. Just as he was about to step into the boat, Mr. Hale, cigar in mouth, sauntered up and addressed him. Walker was in no mood for conversation, and would have pushed off with a curt nod, but that the elder man uttered a sentence which made him pause indignantly. "So Tait didn't have you arrested, Walker," said Mr. Hale cruelly. George turned pale, and looked straight at the speaker. "If you were not Lesbia's father," he said quietly, "I should fling you into the river for those words." "I quite believe you would and could," rejoined Hale, looking admiringly at the splendid figure of the young man; "but that will not make you any the more innocent." "If I were guilty--if Mr. Tait believed me to be guilty, I should have been arrested long since," said Walker with an effort, "the mere fact that I am permitted to leave the house shows that I am considered guiltless." "Tait was always absurdly good-natured," said Hale coolly, again risking a plunge into the river. George looked at him again. "You believe that I stole those jewels?" he asked. "Of course I do. You made a lame excuse for being in the gallery at night, and evidently went out after two pretended thieves so as to hide your plunder. I didn't believe you had it in you. See what love will do." "Love?" "Yes. You are poor; you want to marry Lesbia, and so tried the short cut to wealth. Presently, when things have blown over, you will dig up the jewels and sell them to some fence. Then you will come to me with a cock-and-bull story about a legacy being left to you--perhaps you will inherit that fifty thousand pounds which is waiting for your mother's sister. Of course, knowing the source of your legacy I shall say no." "You have said no already," replied Walker quietly, although he longed to knock this sneering man of the world into the water. "Don't say any more, sir, else I may forget that you are Lesbia's father." And George took up his oars and pushed off into midstream. Hale lingered on the bank, still scoffing. "I shall tell Lesbia everything, Walker," called out Mr. Hale, clearly and slowly. "She will never marry you now, my dear burglar." The unhappy lover pulled swiftly down stream with those last words ringing in his ears. Could he indeed trust Lesbia to continue her engagement in the face of his being accused of a sordid crime? He knew that she loved him as dearly as he loved her, and would go through fire and water to prove that love. All the same, there was something so mean and contemptible about stealing from a friend's house, that even her great love might not be proof against her father's story. George clenched his teeth and pulled for dear life in order to control his emotion. He could do nothing in the face of all that had taken place, save wait patiently. Trusting in Tait's friendship for his mother and in Maud's loyalty, he knew that he would not be disgraced openly: but the idea that Lesbia might believe him guilty was desperately hard to bear. Still, she loved him, and he trusted in her love. That was all he could do, for a glance around showed him that he was helpless amidst the black circumstances which had so suddenly environed him. Mrs. Walker heard a bald, blunt tale from George and said very little in reply. Not even when he declared that he had thrown up his situation did she rebuke him. On the contrary she rather applauded. "As my son," said the stern, cold woman, "you could do nothing else." "Then you do not believe that I am guilty?" Mrs. Walker looked at him scornfully. "Our relations as mother and son have never been sentimental," she said quietly, "but you should know me better than to ask me that." "Thank you, mother," said George simply, for such a speech meant much from the Spartan woman, who was usually so reticent. "I want no thanks for being just," she remarked coldly. "What you have to do is to clear your name by searching for these thieves." "How am I to do that?" "I leave it to your own cleverness. Meanwhile I shall see Mr. Jabez, and get him to advance us sufficient to live on until your name is cleared and you have got another situation. As to this girl, Lesbia, give her up." "Never! Never! Never!" said George. His mother looked at him coldly and disapprovingly, and left him in silence. But matters turned out as she wished. Within three days a tearful note came from a distraught girl to her anxious lover--a note of a few words--"I believe you to be innocent but we can never marry, and we must never meet again," said the note, and it was signed stiffly "Lesbia Hale." <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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