BIG 
 PETER 
 
 Archibald 
 Marshall 
 
PR 
 
 b5 
 
 CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 ExLiBRis • EvgeneAVKa!/favannjr 
 
Big Peter, 
 
 3 1924 013 653 310 
 
B Cornell University 
 @ Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 92401 365331 
 
BIG PETER 
 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 The House of Merrilees 
 
 Bichard Baldock 
 
 Exton Manor 
 
 The Squire's Daughter 
 
 The Eldest Son 
 
 The Honour of the Clintons 
 
 The Greatest of These 
 
 The Old Order Changeth 
 
 Watermeads 
 
 Upsidonia 
 
 Abington Abbey 
 
 The Graftons 
 
 The Clintons, and Others 
 
 Sir Harry 
 
 Many Junes 
 
 A Spring Walk in Provence 
 
 Peggy in Toyland 
 
 The Hall and the Grange 
 
 Peter Binney 
 
 Big Peter 
 
They moved to the marble seat in the shade of the 
 temple and sat there 
 
 Page 278 
 
BIG PETER 
 
 BY 
 
 ARCHIBALD MARSHALL 
 
 NEW YORK 
 DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 
 
 1922 
 
COPXRIQET 1922 
 
 By DODD, mead AND COMPANT, Inc. 
 
 /5 7^ :^ -' 
 
 O 
 
 ^ 
 
 1^ 
 
 7. 
 
 PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. BY 
 
 ^!i£ aauinn & HSoben Company 
 
 BOOK MANUFACTURERS 
 RAHWAY NEW JERSEY 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTEE 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I 
 
 Striking It Eich .... 
 
 1 
 
 II 
 
 Title and Estates 
 
 25 
 
 III 
 
 Big Petee in London . 
 
 37 
 
 IV 
 
 An Attempted Deal 
 
 46 
 
 V 
 
 Master and Man .... 
 
 62 
 
 Vi 
 
 Peter's Luck 
 
 83 
 
 VII 
 
 The Girl of the Picture . 
 
 89 
 
 VIII 
 
 The Church by the Broad . 
 
 112 
 
 IX 
 
 A Let Off 
 
 125 
 
 X 
 
 Disappointments .... 
 
 138 
 
 XI 
 
 Peter in London .... 
 
 154 
 
 XII 
 
 A Conspiracy 
 
 159 
 
 XIII 
 
 In the Wood 
 
 173 
 
 XIV 
 
 A Change in the Succession 
 
 183 
 
 XV 
 
 The Home of His Fathers . 
 
 195 
 
 XVI 
 
 By the Lake 
 
 204 
 
 XVII 
 
 An Arrest 
 
 226 
 
 XVIII 
 
 Prison 
 
 233 
 
 XIX 
 
 The Trial 
 
 247 
 
 XX 
 
 The Verdict 
 
 269 
 
 XXI 
 
 The Last 
 
 274 
 
BIG PETER 
 
BIG PETER 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 STKIKING IT EIGH 
 
 THE owners of the Buckingham claim had 
 struck it rich. 
 There were three of them, and it would 
 have been difficult to find, in all the new gold- 
 field of Kampurli, three partners who were less 
 alike. 
 
 They were known as the Swell, Scotty and 
 Big Peter. 
 
 No one knew the Swell's real name. He was 
 a tall, handsome man, of perhaps five and 
 thirty, and every feature of his face, every 
 movement of his clean-built body, every tone of 
 his rather low voice, marked him out as a man 
 who had come of a very different stock and 
 lived a very different life from the majority 
 of those about him. No one knew what mis- 
 take, or perhaps what fault, had brought him 
 tumbling down from the world of clubs and 
 balls and smart race-meetings and shooting- 
 
2 BIG PETER 
 
 parties, to that other more real world where 
 men work with their hands, and fight with them, 
 too, if they have a mind. There were few who 
 could beat the Swell in that respect. He was 
 a scientific boxer, and although he never took 
 the initiative in a row he was never known to 
 draw back from one. The loud bullies who are 
 to be found in every collection of men where 
 the law has not had time to assert itself were 
 apt to soften their manners wonderfully when 
 that dangerous glint appeared in the eyes that 
 were generally so quiet and even sleepy. 
 
 Scotty's real name was MacDonald. He had 
 emigrated to Australia twenty years before. 
 Until the gold rush to Kampurli he had worked 
 among the sheep and the shearers, and had al- 
 ready saved money, with the idea of going back 
 to Scotland some day a rich man. Now he 
 could go back any day he liked, a very rich man, 
 for the Buckingham claim was destined to be 
 one of the richest even in that goldfield of un- 
 exampled richness. Scotty was a taciturn, 
 rather morose sort of fellow, but he had a great 
 respect for the Swell, and something approach- 
 ing an affection for his other partner. Big 
 Peter. 
 
 Big Peter was the most amiable giant of a 
 man who ever rejoiced in strong muscles and 
 perfect health. He was Australian bred, and 
 
STEIKING IT EICH 3 
 
 .as fine a specimen of that virile race as could 
 be found anywhere. He was not much over 
 thirty. He stood six foot two in his socks, and 
 had a chest measurement to correspond. He 
 was blue-eyed and fair-bearded, a magnificent 
 figure of a man, and his heart was as soft as 
 his muscles were strong. 
 
 The three partners had built themselves a 
 hut, and because it was weather-tight and sub- 
 stantial it was considered a palace in those 
 early days of Kampurli, where the lust for gold 
 was so strong that few of those who were after 
 it had time or inclination for housing themselves 
 in anything but the most make-shift way. It 
 had, in fact, been dubbed Buckingham Palace 
 by the wits of the field, and the three partners 
 had accepted the name, and called their claim 
 the Buckingham claim for luck. 
 
 The interior of Buckingham Palace, wbere 
 everything to be seen was sternly for use, and 
 ornament was in no way considered, was deco- 
 rated by one picture tacked on to the wooden 
 wall above Big Peter's bunk. It was a full 
 page reproduction from some illustrated weekly 
 paper of the photograph of a beautiful young 
 girl. She was sitting upright in a high-backed 
 carved chair and gazing out in front of her with 
 a smile. She had masses of dark hair, dressed 
 low over a broad brow, eyes of which the photo- 
 
4 BIG PETER 
 
 graph had succeeded in expressing the liquid 
 depth, and only left out the colour, a face of 
 pure oval, and a very sweet mouth. She wore 
 an evening gown, and her graceful neck and 
 beautifully rounded arms, resting in her lap, 
 were bare. The pose was completely natural. 
 She was fingering a trinket hanging from her 
 neck by a thin chain, and wore no other jewels. 
 She must have been very young; and to Big 
 Peter's eyes she was the most beautiful thing 
 in girlhood to be found anywhere. He would 
 lie on his bunk when there was nothing else 
 to be done, smoking, and contemplating her. 
 He had fixed up a rough sconce just by the pic- 
 ture, so that the candle would enable him to 
 read, and would also light up the sweet, eager 
 young face, which looked out so strangely into 
 this primitive apartment and on the men who 
 occupied it; and the more he gazed on it the 
 deeper grew his admiration. 
 
 There was nothing to show who the girl was. 
 Peter had picked the picture out of a waste- 
 paper basket in an hotel smoking room, and its 
 former owner had cut off all the margin and 
 left no word of inscription. There was noth- 
 ing even to show the date to which it belonged. 
 
 Peter's admiration for the girl of the pic- 
 ture was known far and wide. He kept very 
 little of what he was thinking about to him- 
 
STRIKING IT EICH 5 
 
 self, and visitors to the hut were always wel- 
 come to pass comments upon it as long as those 
 comments were of an appreciative character. 
 He had been known to take people by the scruff 
 of the neck and turn them out with an indig- 
 nant kick for a word of detraction, and the 
 nearest that any one now dared to go who 
 wished to take a rise out of him was to suggest 
 either that the photograph had been taken so 
 long ago that the lady must now be a middle- 
 aged matron, or that she was some beauty of 
 the Variety stage whose fresh charm could not 
 outlast more than a year or two of her entering 
 on that career. Others told him — and this kind 
 of chaff pleased him much better — that she was 
 probably a royal princess and far beyond his 
 reach. 
 
 Whatever criticism or suggestion was made 
 he considered seriously, and generally con- 
 sulted the Swell about it. 
 
 The photograph could not be very old, said 
 his friend, because it was not more than a few 
 years since that kind of reproduction had been 
 generally used, and a year or two added on to 
 the age of the girl would increase the beauty 
 of that type, if anything. He did not think 
 she was a royal princess. They were not gen- 
 erally so good-looking. 
 
 The suggestion of the Variety stage he did 
 
6 BIG PETER 
 
 not deal with entirely to Peter's satisfaction. 
 
 "Look here," said Peter, "you ought to know 
 a swell when you see one; you're one yourself. 
 Now tell me, doesn't that girl show breeding 
 in every inch of her? She's no painted beauty 
 of the stage, I know." 
 
 "Breeding?" echoed the Swell. "What's 
 breeding? There isn't such a thing. It's all 
 a question of good food. What you call the 
 painted beauties of the stage have it just as 
 much as the daughter of a duke; generally a 
 good deal more, or they wouldn't be where 
 they are." 
 
 Peter looked pained. "I am sorry to hear 
 you say that," he said. "I like to think of that 
 girl as brought up in some lovely old castle, 
 walking amongst the roses in a beautiful gar- 
 den, with a peacock trailing after her, and sit- 
 ting down on the edge of an old fountain with 
 goldfish in it, trailing her fingers in the water." 
 
 The Swell laughed. "That's a pretty pic- 
 ture," he said. 
 
 "You've seen it, haven't you?" asked Peter. 
 "You've seen girls like that in gardens like 
 that?" 
 
 A shadow came over the face of the other. 
 "I have seen a good many things," he said, 
 "which I don't talk about over here." 
 
 "Well, I don't want to pry into your secrets, 
 
STEIKING IT RICH 7 
 
 old chap, ' ' said Big Peter. ' ' But just you think 
 of the most beautiful garden you have ever seen 
 in the old country, and tell me if you don't 
 think that that girl would look at home in it — 
 much more at home than she would prancing 
 about on the stage of a Theatre. ' ' 
 
 "If you want my real opinion," said the 
 Swell, "she was never on the stage in her life, 
 and is never likely to be. ' ' 
 
 Big Peter breathed a sigh of relief. "I am 
 glad you've said that," he said. "I'll teU you 
 what it is, I'm getting soft about that girl." 
 
 The Swell did not smile at this confession of 
 an obvious fact. He was sitting at the door of 
 the hut, his chin on his hand, looking out to 
 where the great silver southern moon was hang- 
 ing over the mean deserted scrub, and perhaps 
 his thoughts were far away in just such a gar- 
 den as Peter had conjured up from some novel 
 he had read or some picture he had seen. 
 
 "If we strike it rich," Peter went on, "I 
 should like to go to the old country and find out 
 that girl. I dare say she wouldn't look at a 
 rough fellow like me ; I dare say she would con- 
 sider herself far above me; and she wouldn't be 
 wrong, either. I don't know that I should want 
 anything of her, but I'd just like to set eyes on 
 a girl as good and lovely as that one. It would 
 be like looking at a beautiful picture." 
 
8 BIG PETER 
 
 The other turned to him and said with a touch 
 of impatience, "No girl in the world is worth 
 putting on a pedestal like that. They are all 
 the same when you get beneath the surface." 
 Then he got up and strolled out of the hut. 
 
 Scotty also showed some scorn of Peter's a?t- 
 titude of adoration. "If you want a girl," he 
 said, "go and take her; don't go crawling about 
 her with your mouth open as if she was a golden 
 image. Put some value on yourself, man! If 
 we strike it rich you will be able to marry any 
 girl you want to." 
 
 But such a way of looking at things seemed 
 sacrilege to Big Peter. He lay on his bunk 
 night after night, gazing at the picture, and 
 wrapping himself in his golden dream. Cer- 
 tainly, if they struck it rich, he would go home 
 to England and look for this girl. But as to 
 what he should do when he found her, he could 
 never come to any decision that could be im- 
 parted to others, or even acknowledged to him- 
 self. But the decision was there all the same, 
 like a little spark ready to blaze into flame at 
 any time. It was true that any man could win 
 any girl if he were enough of a man, and she 
 was not already won. And Big Peter, in spite 
 of his modesty, felt himself to be every inch a 
 man. 
 
 The discovery of that wonderful seam of gold 
 
STRIKING IT EICH 9 
 
 in the Buckingham Claim had been celebrated 
 by a carousal in Buckingham Palace. Any one 
 who wanted a glass of champagne, or half-a- 
 dozen glasses, or a bottle, could get it by going 
 up to Buckingham Palace and congratulating 
 its occupants on their good luck. For cham- 
 pagne was to be had freely at Kampurli, by 
 those who liked to pay for it, although water 
 was scarce enough. 
 
 When the carousal was at last over, the Swell 
 had not turned a hair; Scotty was morose and 
 almost tearful, but liable also to be suddenly 
 quarrelsome; and Big Peter was radiant with 
 the most foolish good-humour and abounding 
 affection for every one around him. He alone 
 had accepted every word of hearty congratula- 
 tion as genuine, and ignored all the envy and 
 jealousy that lay behind much of the noisy good 
 fellowship in which a great part of the night 
 had been spent. 
 
 The air was chilly, and to men whose blood 
 had been thinned by the fierce heat which burnt 
 this desolate place during all but a few hours 
 of a few nights in the year, warmth of body 
 was necessary. They shut the door and the 
 window-flap of the hut, and prepared to turn 
 in with all the extra coverings that they could 
 find, in spite of the atmosphere heavy with 
 smoke and fumes of drink. There was still an 
 
10 BIG PETER 
 
 echo of the former pandemonium going on out- 
 side, but it was receding from their hut, as the 
 revellers made their slow and unsteady way 
 homewards. 
 
 But presently the noise seemed to become sta- 
 tionary and to increase in volume, and with ears 
 accustomed to gauge the meaning of such 
 sounds, the Swell listened, his hand up to com- 
 pel silence inside the hut, and then threw open 
 the door again. 
 
 " It 's Bully Jones, ' ' he said. ' ' He 's murder- 
 ing somebody." 
 
 Then he ran out into the night, leaving the 
 other two to follow him. 
 
 The scene upon which he arrived was ludi- 
 crous enough, if it had not been fraught with 
 considerable danger to one of the chief actors 
 in it. 
 
 A man as big as Big Peter himself, and a 
 great deal bigger than the Swell, had hold of 
 a much smaller man by the neck, and was shak- 
 ing him to and fro and lifting him up and down 
 in his powerful arms, while he kept on saying 
 in a plaintive voice, "You know you've got an 
 ugly face. Say you've got an ugly face and 
 I'll let you go." 
 
 The man who was being subjected to this 
 rough treatment was making no difficulty at all 
 about complying with the request of his tor- 
 
STEIKING IT RICH 11 
 
 mentor. He was shouting, "Yes, I've got an 
 ugly face," with all the force of his lungs, and 
 shrieking "Murder!" in the intervals. But 
 still the treatment went on, and became more 
 and more violent ; so violent indeed that by the 
 time the Swell had pushed his way through the 
 surrounding crowd, which was swaying and 
 shouting with helpless laughter, the protesting 
 voice was beginning to drop to a moan, and its 
 owner was on the point of collapse. 
 
 Perhaps the Swell wanted something to loose 
 the pent-up excitement in his brain, which the 
 carouse of the evening had only locked in more 
 securely. He did not wait to expostulate in 
 words, but drove his fist full in the face of 
 Bully Jones, who went down backwards and 
 pulled the other man on top of him. 
 
 He loosed hold of him instantly and got up 
 with an oath and rushed upon his assailant. 
 There was a wild cheer at the prospect of a 
 real fight, and a ring was cleared as if by magic. 
 
 But the fight ended almost as soon as it had 
 begun. Bully Jones was drunk and the Swell, 
 besides being his superior in science, was sober. 
 Within a couple of minutes the Bully was being 
 led away bemoaning an eye soon about to close 
 entirely, a streaming nose and the loss of a 
 tooth. The Swell, shaking the blood from his 
 knuckles, turned towards the man he had res- 
 
12 BIG PETER 
 
 cued. Big Peter had raised him from the 
 ground and was embracing him tenderly, while 
 he said in a heartfelt voice, "Why did he say 
 you had an ugly face? It's as handsome a face 
 as I ever saw." Then he wept a few sympa- 
 thetic tears and said it was a cruel world, but 
 fortunately no bones were broken, and there 
 were a few bottles of champagne still unopened 
 in Buckingham Palace. 
 
 There was some reason for Bully Jones's 
 criticism, although the way in which he had 
 treated the offence to his aesthetic ideals may 
 have been overdone. The man who presently 
 sat blinking in a corner of the hut was not at- 
 tractive in "appearance. His features, were or- 
 dinary, and he was not in that respect uglier 
 than the majority of mankind. But there was 
 something sneaking and unpleasant in his air, 
 and he held himself cringingly. He was like a 
 dog with his tail between his legs, who invites 
 the attacks of other dogs of a more open and 
 swaggering composition. If he had walked 
 through the crowd of which Bully Jones was 
 the centre, boldly, he would probably have been 
 unmolested. But he had tried to sneak round 
 it, and this had drawn notice to him, and an at- 
 tack which might have had serious conse- 
 quences if the Swell had not come to his rescue. 
 
 But he soon revived under the influence of 
 
STEIKING IT EICH 13 
 
 the wine which was opened for him, and from 
 being unpleasantly humble and grateful for his 
 rescue, he became as unpleasantly boastful and 
 talkative. 
 
 He was dressed like a clerk out of a city, and 
 his linen was filthy after his long overland jour- 
 ney. He had been carrying a roUed-up ' ' swag, ' ' 
 which had been flung down into a corner of the 
 hut. He told his hosts he had arrived up that 
 night and was looking about for some place to 
 "camp." 
 
 "I went to the hotel," he whined, "but, my 
 Gawd ! the prices there ! They 'd kill you if you 
 was made of money. ' ' 
 
 This he said with a furtive glance round the 
 hut, as if apprising the chances of his being 
 offered hospitality of a more permanent de- 
 scription than he was now enjoying. 
 
 " Oh ! you '11 soon make money here, ' ' said Big 
 Peter encouragingly. "It's the richest gold- 
 field in the world, and we three have struck it 
 rich, my boy. Fill up your glass again. The 
 more I look at you the more I like you. As 
 long as I've got a crust of bread you shall share 
 it. Make yourself comfortable here as long as 
 you like, and you'll soon strike it rich your- 
 self." 
 
 Thus reassured, the newcomer's attitude un- 
 derwent a quick change. His back lost some 
 
14 BIG PETER 
 
 of its curve, and his eyebrows, which had been 
 lifted, returned to their normal position. 
 
 ' ' My name 's Robert Walker, ' ' he said. ' ' Al- 
 though I dare say I don't look much now, I'm 
 a gentleman, and a solicitor by profession. 
 I'll have the law on that swine who went for 
 me, if there's any law in this God-forsaken 
 place; and you, gentlemen, shan't lose by what 
 you have done for me. ' ' 
 
 He swallowed a tumbler of champagne, and 
 immediately became noisy and excited. While 
 Scotty glowered at him, the Swell turned away 
 in contempt, and began to take off his coat 
 again in preparation for turning in, and Big 
 Peter sat gazing at the visitor in rapt sympa- 
 thy, assuring him that he was among friends, 
 and that he need think nothing more of what 
 had happened. 
 
 When he had emptied another tumbler, 
 Walker unexpectedly changed his attitude into 
 one of high scorn. He kicked over the half- 
 empty champagne bottle which stood on the 
 floor by his side, and threw his glass into a 
 corner of the hut. "What's all this?" he ex- 
 claimed. "Talk about striking it rich — ^you're 
 all beggars to what I'm going to be. I've 
 struck it rich already. I shan't have to work 
 for it, either. There's half a title waiting for 
 me over in the old country, and half a great 
 
STEIKING IT EICH 15 
 
 estate, too, and half of everything I am going 
 to get hold of for some lucky man that I've 
 come here to find. And if he won't give me 
 half of it, then he shall have nothing, and I'll 
 have it all. He needn't think he's going to 
 play with me. He shall give me half or he 
 shan't have anything." 
 
 Big Peter put a large, soothing hand on his 
 knee, "Don't get excited about it, old pal," 
 he pleaded. "I'm sure he's a good fellow and 
 wiU give you half. ' ' 
 
 Walker rose unsteadily and looked round him 
 with ineffable scorn. "What sort of pigstye is 
 this to invite a man to who'll have half a cas- 
 tle of his own by and by?" he asked. 
 
 He got no farther. Scotty also rose from the 
 edge of his bunk, where he had been sitting 
 gazing at him with ever-increasing distaste. 
 "Here, you get out of this," he said, "and take 
 your swag with you. If it isn't good enough 
 for you, go and camp out in the bush. We've 
 had enough of you." 
 
 He laid a forcible hand on his coat collar, 
 and the touch recalled the unpleasant experi- 
 ence from which he had been rescued. In- 
 stantly he wag again the cringing, terrified crea- 
 ture- of half-an-hour before. 
 
 ' ' Oh, I didn 't mean it, " he whined. ' ' Let me 
 
16 BIG PETER 
 
 camp down here. It's so cold outside. I'll be 
 as quiet as a mouse." 
 
 Peter added his entreaties. "Don't be cruel, 
 Scotty," he expostulated. "He's overwrought, 
 that's what he is — overwrought. If you were 
 overwrought you wouldn't like to be turned out 
 into the night." 
 
 "I'm tired of the beast," said Scotty inex- 
 orably. 
 
 But the Swell said from his bunk, where he 
 now lay under his blankets, "Let him stay. 
 But if he talks again out he goes. And you 
 shut up, too, Peter, and turn in. You're drunk 
 — drunk and maundering." 
 
 Big Peter was so overcome by the injustice 
 of this charge that he could only expostulate 
 feebly; and presently there was silence in the 
 hut, while its four occupants slept and the night 
 crept on towards the dawn. 
 
 The next day was Sunday, which was given 
 up to various cleaning processes, when there 
 was anything to clean with, and to general so- 
 ciability and leisure. 
 
 All four occupants of the hut slept late. 
 
 Big Peter was the first to awake. Piercing 
 shafts and pencils of light were making their 
 way in through the cracks in shutter and door, 
 and between the logs which made both inside 
 and outside walls. The cold of the night was 
 
STRIKING IT RICH 17 
 
 gone, and after throwing off his blankets, 
 stretching himself and yawning mightily, he 
 sprang out of his bunk and opened both door 
 and shutter, letting in to the close atmosphere 
 of the hut the sweet freshness of the Australian 
 morning. 
 
 There was no doubt that Big Peter had drunk 
 rather more champagne than was good for him 
 the night before ; but his magnificent health en- 
 abled him to wake up as fresh and keen as the 
 morning itself. He had not drunk so very 
 much, after all, and he had not mixed his bev- 
 erages, but had stuck to the champagne, which 
 had been of a sounder brand than that apt to 
 be supplied for such carousals as he had taken 
 part in. It had been more from excitement 
 than from the wine, that he had seen everything 
 and everybody in such a rosy light the night 
 before. 
 
 Now, as he looked down on the recumbent 
 form of Mr. Robert Walker, who lay stretched 
 on the floor, with his head on his "swag," his 
 red-rimmed eyes closed, and his mouth open, 
 the doubt crossed his mind whether he was 
 quite worthy of the brotherly affection and ad- 
 miration he had expressed for him. 
 
 "Well, I'm not so sure that Bully Jones 
 wasn't right," he said to himself. "You are 
 rather an ugly beggar to look at, and I can only 
 
18 BIG PETER 
 
 hope that your behaviour will turn out to be 
 better than your appearance." 
 
 Mr. Walker's behaviour did not turn out to 
 be very much better than his appearance. He 
 did not arouse himself to do anything to help 
 in the preparations while a fire was made and 
 breakfast prepared outside the hut, and when 
 he was told that his grub was ready for him 
 turned up his nose at the "billy-tea" which the 
 others were drinking, and expressed his pref- 
 erence for the tipple of the night before. A 
 bottle of champagne was opened for him, as he 
 had asked for it, and the laws of hospitality 
 in the Australian Bush are stringent. The con- 
 sequence was that Mr. Walker soon became as 
 unpleasantly boastful as he had been on the 
 night before, and made further allusions to hav- 
 ing struck it rich, and to his title and castle 
 and estates in England. 
 
 "What's the yarn?" asked Scotty disagree- 
 ably, removing the bottle from him. "Let's 
 have it before you get too full." 
 
 After some expostulation at this measure as 
 being rather strong, he embarked on his yarn. 
 "I dare say you coves can help me," he said. 
 "I have come up here on the lookout for a man 
 called Chandos." 
 
 "What do you want with him?" asked Peter. 
 
STEIKING IT EICH 19 
 
 "That's what I'm going to tell you. That's 
 the man whose fortune I'm going to make, and 
 the man who is going to make my fortune, too, 
 or else I'll leave him where I find him." 
 
 "Perhaps he has made his fortune already," 
 said Big Peter, with a laugh. 
 
 "Well, if he has he can't buy the sort of 
 things I'm going to give him out of it. Do you 
 know the man ? ' ' 
 
 "Perhaps I do and perhaps I don't," said 
 Peter. ' ' What is it you 're going to give him ? ' ' 
 
 A sudden access of caution came over the 
 man, who was already halfway on the road to 
 intoxication. "I don't know why I should let 
 it all out to you," he said, with a cunning leer. 
 
 "Well, if you don't, you won't get anything 
 more to drink," said Scotty, and Peter added, 
 "Besides, if I don't choose to tell you who he 
 is, nobody else can." 
 
 "Well, if I do tell you, you won't go back on 
 me, will you? It's my show, and I'm going to 
 work it." 
 
 * ' Cough it up or else keep it to yourself and 
 clear out," said Scotty. "Your company wants 
 something to make it go down, and if you've 
 got a yarn about titles and castles let's have 
 it." 
 
 "I'll trust you," said Walker, handsomely. 
 
20 BIG PETER 
 
 "Give us half a glass to wet my whistle and 
 I'll tip you a yarn as good as you ever read in 
 a story-book." 
 
 His request having been complied with, he 
 embarked on a story, which showed him, in spite 
 of an unprepossessing exterior, to possess some 
 skill in the art of narrative, as he understood 
 it, and some imagination to work on. 
 
 "In one of the most beautiful parts of Eng- 
 land," he began, "there stands an ancient cas- 
 tle, surrounded by lovely gardens and thou- 
 sands of acres of rich land, which has been in 
 the possession of the same family for centuries. 
 That castle and those lands rightfully belong, 
 not to the proud Earl who looks upon them as 
 his, but to a miner on this very field." 
 
 He looked round him to take in the effect of 
 his announcement. The eyes of the Swell were 
 fixed upon him narrowly, but he did not speak, 
 and Walker went on : 
 
 "A hundred years ago a younger son of the 
 twelfth Earl of Cambray married when he was 
 quite a youth a girl out of a little out-of-the- 
 way village in Norfolk. He married in his own 
 name— Mervyn Chandos. But nobody there 
 knew who he really was, and he soon grew tired 
 of his wife. She died within a year of the mar- 
 riage in giving birth to a son, and he had that 
 son brought up in a cottage near Cambray Cas- 
 
STEIKING IT EICH 21 
 
 tie until lie was twelve or thirteen years old, 
 and then he sent him out here, and gave money 
 to the people who brought him, to give him a 
 start. 
 
 "Now in the meantime the Earl had suc- 
 ceeded to his title and married a lady in his 
 own rank of life, none other than the proud and 
 peerless Lady Alicia Vaux, scion of a noble fam- 
 ily as ancient as his." 
 
 "That's good, matey," Peter encouraged 
 him. "You're warming up to it." 
 
 "From this marriage," continued Walker, 
 "sprang the race that now enjoys the Cambray 
 title and estates. The present Earl of Cambray 
 is grandson of the thirteenth Earl and the Lady 
 Alicia. But as I have told you, it was not the 
 Earl's first marriage. The boy who was sent 
 here to work for his living was his rightful suc- 
 cessor, and his descendants after him." 
 
 ' ' Well, I never ! ' ' exclaimed Peter, with eyes 
 wide open. "Is that gospel truth, mate?" 
 
 "It's nothing but a yarn," said Scotty scorn- 
 fully. "If the kid who was sent out here was 
 brought up near the Castle everybody would 
 have known that he was the rightful heir. 
 That's so. Swell, isn't it?" 
 
 The Swell did not appear to have taken much 
 interest in the story, and Walker broke in be- 
 fore he could reply. 
 
22 BIG PETEE 
 
 "They did know he was his son," he said. 
 "Everybody knew he was his son. But they 
 thought he was illegitimate, and his father 
 shipped him off when he wanted to get married 
 to the Lady Alicia." 
 
 "And how do you know he wasn't illegiti- 
 mate?" asked Peter. 
 
 "That's my secret," said Walker. "But I 
 do know. I know where the marriage register 
 is to be found, and when I find this cove, Chan- 
 dos, I'll tell him all about it, when he has signed 
 a paper to say he'll give me half of everything 
 that's rightfully his — title, castle, estates — 
 everything. ' ' 
 
 "How is he going to give you half his. title?" 
 enquired the astute Scotty. "Is he going to 
 call himself Lord Cam, and you call yourself 
 Lord Bray? It's a name that would suit you 
 all right." 
 
 "Well, I don't know about the title," admit- 
 ted Walker. "I dare say he will have to stick 
 to the whole of that. But it has its money value 
 and he will pay me for it." 
 
 "What's going to become of the Earl who is 
 sitting at home in the Castle now?" asked 
 Peter. "Has he got any family?" 
 
 "He is an old man with one daughter," re- 
 plied Walker. "I don't know what's to become 
 of them. They've enjoyed what isn't theirs all 
 
STRIKING- IT EICH 23 
 
 their lives, and they must be content with that. 
 I dare say they will get along somehow." 
 
 Peter looked at the picture of the girl on 
 the wall and his eyes flashed. "What! turn a 
 lovely young girl out of the beautiful home that 
 she's enjoyed all her life," he exclaimed, "and 
 let her go penniless, with an old man who has 
 never been brought up to work for his living? 
 That's a nice thing to be laying up against 
 them. If this man Chandos is anything like 
 the chap I think he is, he will kick you and 
 your yarn out together. You are not the man 
 I thought you, Mr. Walker. I don't like your 
 manners and I don't like your ideas. Finish, 
 your drink and clear out. You're no mate for 
 honest men!" 
 
 Walker's expression changed to one of sur- 
 prise and indignation. ' ' What are you getting 
 at?" he exclaimed. "I didn't say his daughter 
 was a beautiful young girl. If he 's an old man 
 she is probably an old spinster. Besides, it's 
 every one for himself in this world. This Earl 
 of Cambray and his father have kept out the 
 rightful heirs for two generations. It's they 
 who ought to have been out here working for 
 their living. Let them work for it now, and 
 let honest people come into their own." 
 
 "And you're one of the honest people, I sup- 
 pose," said Peter, whose indignation was rising 
 
24 BIG PETEE 
 
 apace. "You're to go in and take half of 
 everything that they've enjoyed — a mean skunk 
 like you, who's done nothing but nose out a 
 scandal a hundred years old. Why, you're 
 nothing but a blackmailer. Take the bottle 
 with you and clear out. We don't want such 
 men as you drinking with us." 
 
 He held out the half-empty champagne bot- 
 tle to him. Walker did not refuse it, but stood 
 with it tucked under his arm while an ugly 
 flush came over his face. 
 
 "You're nothing but a soft fool," he said 
 contemptuously. "I don't want to have any- 
 thing more to do with you. Tell me where this 
 man Chandos is to be found, and we'll soon 
 see if he takes the silly view of matters of 
 business that you do." 
 
 "Where is he to be found?" echoed Peter, 
 striking his broad chest. "Why, he's to be 
 found here. My name's Peter Chandos, and 
 you can take your yarn away with you and 
 drown yourself. I'm a free-born Australian, 
 and I've struck it rich. I don't want any other 
 man's title, or estates either. I'll stand on my 
 own feet. Now clear out." 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 TITLE AND ESTATES 
 
 THE SWELL spoke for the first time. 
 With one glance at Big Peter, he said to 
 Walker, who was standing with his mouth 
 open in the utmost surprise, "Sit down again. 
 We had better have this out. Who are you and 
 how did you get hold of this story?" 
 
 Walker sat down rather unwillingly, while 
 Peter said, "Oh, let him go, we don't want to 
 have anything more to do with him." 
 
 The Swell took no notice of him. "You said 
 you were a solicitor," he said to Walker. 
 "What's your firm and its address?" 
 
 After a moment's hesitation Walker gave an 
 address in a suburb of Sydney. "I'm on my 
 own," he said. "Robert Walker is my name, 
 and that's where you can find me." 
 
 The Swell pencilled down the name and ad- 
 dress. "I dare say we can get hold of some 
 book which will tell us whether you are really 
 a solicitor or not," he said. "You don't look 
 like one." 
 
 25 
 
26 BIG PETEE 
 
 Walker looked uncomfortable. "I'm in the 
 law," he said. "I never said I was a fully 
 admitted Solicitor." 
 
 "Yes, you did," replied the Swell, "and you 
 didn't suppose you would knock against any 
 one who would know how to find out whether 
 you were one or not. Well then, you're not a 
 solicitor, but you've got hold of this story. 
 How did you get hold of it?" 
 
 "It doesn't matter to you how I got hold of 
 it," replied Walker. "And who are you, any- 
 way, to be trying to come over me with your 
 airs? My business isn't with you." 
 
 The Swell looked at him with his eyes nar- 
 rowed. He looked like a man used to the hab- 
 its of command, and the other man's eyes went 
 down before him, as he asked again in a level 
 voice, "How did you come by this story?" 
 
 "It was sent over by a correspondent who 
 had come across the marriage register and fol- 
 lowed up the clue." 
 
 "Was it sent over to you?" 
 
 Walker turned away from him with an elab- 
 orate air of indifference and addressed Peter. 
 "I have got a piece of information to sell," he 
 said, "and I'll sell it to you if you prove to me 
 you're the man I want, either for cash down 
 or on terms to be arranged. I shan't stick 
 OTit for half. That was a piece of bluff to begin 
 
TITLE AND ESTATES 27 
 
 on. I'll leave you to think it over, and come 
 back later on for your answer." 
 
 "And my answer is that I don't want any- 
 thing more to do with you," said Peter. 
 "You're a mean, dirty skunk, and if you come 
 back here I'll spoil your face for you." 
 
 "Wait a minute," said the Swell, as Walker 
 rose once more, with an ugly look in his face. 
 "I want to get to the bottom of this. If you 
 don't, Peter, you can hold your tongue. Now 
 then, sir, how did you get hold of this piece of 
 information? Did you steal it, or what?" 
 
 Walker turned on him with a blasphemous 
 oath. "Find out for yourself!" he began. 
 
 But the Swell said instantly, without raising 
 his voice, "If you speak to me like that again 
 I'll make you sorry for it. You'll answer my 
 question before you go away from here. I want 
 to know how you came across this piece of in- 
 formation." 
 
 "And if I don't tell you?" hazarded Walker, 
 a look of fear beginning to come into his mean, 
 shifty eyes. 
 
 "You are going to tell me," replied the 
 Swell, "and you are going to tell me the truth." 
 
 Walker produced a not very good imitation 
 of a laugh of amusement and sat down again. 
 
 "Well, I see you're going to have it," he said, 
 "and I don't mind. We're all pals here, in 
 
28 BIG PETER 
 
 spite of our little differences, and I know it 
 won't go any farther. Promise me that and 
 I'll tell you all about it." 
 
 "Oh! go on," shouted Scotty, suddenly en- 
 raged. "Tell us without any more havering." 
 
 Walker looked from one to the other, and 
 decided not to press for a promise of secrecy. 
 
 "I was a clerk in a big lawyer's office," he 
 said sulkily, "and had to deal with the cor- 
 respondence. The information came in a let- 
 ter from England and I took a copy of it when 
 I left them." 
 
 "What did you leave them for?" asked the 
 Swell. 
 
 "Well, we didn't get on very well together, 
 and we both thought we'd better part. It was 
 what you might call a mutual arrangement." 
 
 "You were sacked," said the Swell, "for 
 something we needn't enquire into at present. 
 Very well. Then you stole this letter with the 
 information in it? How was it put exactly? 
 What did the man who found it out want for 
 it?" 
 
 Walker's face broke into a sneer. "He was 
 one of those antiquarian fools," he said, "who 
 didn't know a good thing when he saw it. He 
 had got hold of the name of the firm somehow, 
 and wrote to them suggesting that they might 
 find the rightful Earl of Cambray. He said if 
 
TITLE AND ESTATES 29 
 
 they didn't he should keep the information to 
 himself, for the present, as he didn't want to 
 upset existing arrangements." 
 
 "Very sensible of him," said the Swell. 
 ''What did the firm reply!" 
 
 "They wrote him a short letter saying it 
 wasn't the sort of business they wanted, and 
 that was the end of it." 
 
 "No wonder you didn't feel at home in such 
 a firm as that," remarked the Swell. "Well, 
 you thought it was the sort of business that 
 you did want, so you stole the letter, and I dare 
 say you've got a copy of it on you — eh?" 
 
 Walker's face changed. "Look here," he 
 said in a whining voice, "you're not going to 
 take it off me. You're too much of a gentle- 
 man for that. I've told you all you wanted to 
 know. If you want to do a deal I am ready. 
 You're not going to rob me." 
 
 "You needn't be afraid of that," said the 
 Swell contemptuously. "You can keep your 
 stolen property. How did you track down our 
 friend here?" 
 
 In his relief Walker permitted himself to be 
 facetious. "He wasn't very difficult to track," 
 he said, with a glance at Peter. "His goings 
 on were known well enough. ' ' 
 
 "Stow that," said Peter. "We don't want 
 to hear any more about your sneaking ways. 
 
30 BIG PETER 
 
 You've tracked me and you've found I'm not 
 the sort of chap you thought I was. So now 
 you can clear out and keep out. You have 
 drawn a blank, and if you want to make a bit 
 you had better go and find some other way of 
 making it." 
 
 "Yes, I think we've had enough of you, for 
 the present," said the Swell. "You can clear 
 out now, and if we want to see you again, I dare 
 say we shall be able to find you. You can take 
 the bottle with you. Now don't say any more. 
 We've heard enough of your sweet voice. Take 
 your swag and don't take anything else. Good- 
 morning. ' ' 
 
 Walker went inside the hut and emerged 
 with his bundle tightly rolled in a blue blanket. 
 Several times he opened his lips as if to speak. 
 But each time the Swell said, "Now, don't 
 talk." Finally he slunk off in silence. But 
 when he had got a safe distance away he turned 
 and shook his fist at the three men who were 
 watching him, and they replied with a simul- 
 taneous laugh, which sent him finally out of 
 sight in obvious but helpless rage. 
 
 "Well, that's over and done with," said the 
 Swell, rising and stretching himself. "Scotty, 
 it's your turn to fetch the water. You might 
 go now if you've finished, because I want to 
 
TITLE AND ESTATES 31 
 
 shave. Peter and I will clear up while you're 
 gone. ' ' 
 
 His airy dismissal of the subject of Mr. 
 Walker and the story he had brought them, as 
 if it were not worth discussing, or even think- 
 ing about, may rather have surprised the other 
 two. But it was just in this sort of way that 
 he exercised an influence over them, and for the 
 moment they accepted his view of the situation 
 and relinquished the subject. Scotty went off 
 with a somewhat inadequate vessel to fetch the 
 water available for all the uses of all the day. 
 
 When he had left them alone together it be- 
 came plain that the Swell had by no means dis- 
 missed the disclosures made by Walker as un- 
 important. When he and Peter were inside the 
 hut, he turned to him and said, ' ' This is a sur- 
 prising yarn, but it's worth following up." 
 
 Peter looked at him in surprise. "Why? 
 Do you think there is anything in it?" he asked. 
 
 "I think it's worth following up. Did you 
 know anything about your parentage before?" 
 
 Peter did not immediately reply to this ques- 
 tion. "You're not going to advise me to go 
 in with a swab like that, are you?" he ex- 
 claimed. "Whatever I might get through him 
 would stink of his dirty fingers. Besides, what 
 sort of a chap should I be to go and turn an 
 
32 BIG PETEE 
 
 old man and a young girl out of all the riehes 
 and luxury they've been used to all their lives? 
 Why, I couldn't do it. Supposing it was a girl 
 like that one!" — he jerked his thumb towards 
 the picture on the wall, — "and it might very 
 well be, — although not so beautiful, of course 
 — brought up in just such an old castle as I have 
 always thought of her living in. I should never 
 forgive myself. I shall have plenty of money 
 of my own, now. Surely you're not going to 
 advise me to go for dirty money like that." 
 
 "I don't advise you to do anything through 
 Mr. Walker," replied the Swell, "but we will 
 talk about that later. What I want to know 
 is whether you know anything about your father 
 or your grandfather?" 
 
 Peter, somewhat unwillingly, set himself to 
 answer this question. ' ' I know as much as most 
 fellows out here," he said. "My great-grand- 
 father did come from England in the early 
 days, when he was a youngster. But whether 
 he was a boy of twelve or thirteen, or a bit 
 older, I couldn't tell you. Anyhow, he took up 
 land in New South Wales, and my grandfather 
 owned the Maluka Station on the Murrum- 
 bidgee. My father was a hell-raky sort of a 
 chap — you'd know all about him if you had been 
 out here long. He got rid of everything — rac- 
 ing and so on. He left me without a bob. For- 
 
TITLE AND ESTATES 33 
 
 tunately for me, my old grandfather didn't die 
 until I was about eighteen, and he saw that I 
 got some decent education." 
 
 "Wasn't there any tradition in your family 
 about where you came from in England, and 
 who your people were?" asked the Swell. 
 
 "Not that I know of. Well, — there was a 
 sort of idea that we were better than most. 
 You see Chandos is a swell sort of a name. 
 That's why I've never been very keen on claim- 
 ing it in a place like this; and as a matter of 
 fact, I don't believe we've always had the name. 
 I seem to have heard some time or other that 
 my great-grandfather came out here under an- 
 other name, and changed it afterwards. So 
 perhaps after all I am not the fellow that that 
 scoundrel was looking for." 
 
 "If that's so," said the Swell, "it seems to 
 me to make it more likely that you are the fel- 
 low. I dare say your great-grandfather knew 
 whose son he was. He would very likely have 
 been brought up in England under his mother's 
 name, and took his father's when he got on 
 here. Didn't he leave any papers?" 
 
 "Now you mention it," said Peter, "there is 
 a tin box full of papers at my father's law- 
 yer's. It's about all that there is there, for 
 everything else went in the smash. But I have 
 never been through it." 
 
34 BIG PETER 
 
 "Then what you've got to do, my friend, di- 
 rectly you get back to Sydney, is to get hold 
 of that box and see what's in it. Very likely 
 it contains the clue to the mystery." 
 
 "Then you think I really am the chap? It 
 would be a pretty surprising thing if it turned 
 out to be so. Fancy me an Earl, with a castle 
 of my own! That would be a rummy job, 
 wouldn't it? But look here, I'm not going any 
 farther with it. I meant what I said just now, 
 and said before, to that dirty cad. It would be 
 a beastly thing to turn out the other people — 
 that old man and his daughter. What sort of 
 a job should I make of it — ^bossing an estate? 
 He 's been brought up to it, and no doubt plays 
 the game much better than I ever could." 
 
 "He doesn't play the game at all," said the 
 Swell, shortly. 
 
 Peter stared at him. "Why, do you know 
 him?" he exclaimed. 
 
 "I know all about him. He's a dissipated 
 old scoundrel. He has the worst managed es- 
 tate of any man in England. All his cottages 
 are tumbling down, and he won't spend a penny 
 on them. He has bled his tenants for years, 
 and spent the money on himself. It would be 
 the best thing in the world for the people who 
 are dependent on him if he were turned out and 
 a better man took his place." 
 
TITLE AND ESTATES 35 
 
 "You don't say so," exclaimed Peter. "To 
 think of that now!" 
 
 "I tell you," went on the Swell, "that if that 
 man's title and estates are properly yours, it's 
 your duty to claim them. He has almost ruined 
 the property, but you'll have plenty of money 
 now to pull it round. You go for it, Peter, my 
 hoy! Find out whether what that fellow said 
 was true, so that you won't he starting off on. 
 a wild goose chase, and if you find that it's as 
 he says, go straight home to England and put 
 forward your claim." 
 
 "But, my dear fellow," said Peter, "fancy 
 me an earl in a castle! I shouldn't know how 
 to behave." 
 
 "You would know how to behave a good deal 
 better than the man who is there now. You 
 would know how to behave as well as any earL 
 in any castle. You have only got to be your- 
 self. Nobody can ask anything better of you 
 than that. I am not given to flattery, but that's- 
 what I say, and that's what I mean." 
 
 Peter's eyes wandered in perplexity round 
 the hut and rested on the picture of the beau- 
 tiful girl in the carved chair. Gradually his 
 face broke into a smile. "By Jove!" he said. 
 "Supposing I was to find her and tell her I was 
 an earl with a castle of my own, and plenty 
 of money to keep it up with. Isn't that the- 
 
36 BIG PETEE 
 
 sort of thing that might please her? Isn't that 
 the sort of thing that she might expect from a 
 man who wanted to marry her?" 
 
 The Swell laughed. ' ' You go home and try, ' ' 
 he said. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 BIG PETEE IN LONDON 
 
 IN a month's time Big Peter was on his way 
 to England in the R.M.S. "Orusco." 
 He had by no means made up his mind to 
 claim the title and estates which seemed his 
 to claim, but he had found out a good deal about 
 himself. Walker had been lost sight of from 
 the morning of his dismissal from Buckingham 
 Palace, but Peter had gone to Sydney and 
 looked through the box of papers in his lawyer's 
 office. 
 
 He had learnt that his great-grandfather had 
 been sent out to Australia by the Earl of Cam- 
 bray, whose son he had been known to be, al- 
 though neither he nor any one else seemed to 
 have had any idea that he was his son by a 
 legitimate marriage. He had been known as 
 George Holden, but when he grew up and made 
 money he changed his name to Chandos, be- 
 cause he said he was as much a Chandos as any 
 of them, and many natural sons of great men 
 had been recognized by their families when 
 they got on. 
 
 37 
 
38 BIG PETEE 
 
 Peter did not quite approve of this. He 
 thought if it had been he, he would have kept 
 the fact of his birth dark, and started alto- 
 gether afresh.. However, there it was. He 
 was a Chandos, whether he liked it or no. And 
 Walker had said that the marriage register 
 which proved him to be the head of his family 
 was in existence. It was in a village in Nor- 
 folk, but what village he did not know. 
 
 He was persuaded to take definite steps by 
 an old lawyer named Fearon, with whom he 
 struck up a friendship on board ship. Mr. 
 Fearon had taken a long holiday to visit a 
 married daughter in Australia, after a life-time 
 of hard and honest work, which had been 
 greatly to the benefit of those who had put 
 their affairs in his hands, and to his own bene- 
 fit also. He took a fancy to Peter, and was 
 never tired of drawing his yarns out of him, 
 at which he would chuckle dryly. They were 
 mostly yarns of adventure in the Australian 
 bush, and Mr. Fearon was not a little surprised 
 to learn that there was another still more sur- 
 prising yarn in connection with this big, cheery 
 man, whom he had looked upon as a pure prod- 
 uct of Australian life. 
 
 The old man was, of course, cautious about it, 
 and told Peter that the facts could not be con- 
 sidered as settled by any means. This rather 
 
BIG PETER IN LONDON 39 
 
 egged Peter on to defend them, and the end of 
 it was that he made up his mind to search for 
 the register, even if he had to visit every church 
 in Norfolk before he found it. 
 
 Peter made many other friends on board the 
 * ' Orusco, ' ' and among them was a young widow, 
 a Mrs. Saunders, travelling from Australia to 
 England with her child, a delicate-looking boy 
 of ten or eleven. She was rather an insignifi- 
 cant little woman and was evidently very poor. 
 She was travelling second-class, where Peter 
 had as many friends as among the first-class 
 passengers. 
 
 Little Tommy Saunders was a genius with 
 brush and pencil, and the fame of his drawings 
 of everybody and everything around him soon 
 spread through the ship. Big Peter, already 
 anxious to spend some of the fortune he had 
 made out of the Buckingham Mine in helping 
 his poorer neighbours, decided that Tommy 
 would be a good object to begin upon. 
 
 He got Mrs. Saunders's story out of her. 
 She was an Englishwoman who had come out 
 to Australia as a girl, married, as it appeared 
 in rather poor circumstances, and was now go- 
 ing home again to fight the battle of life for 
 herself and her boy, with very little money to 
 do it on. She said almost nothing about her 
 husband, and it was plain that her marriage had 
 
40 BIG PETER 
 
 been an unhappy one. Her immediate relations 
 were dead, she told Peter ; she was going to set- 
 tle down somewhere in London and set up as a 
 dressmaker, and give little Tommy an art train- 
 ing of some sort if she could possibly man- 
 age it. 
 
 It was not long before Peter relieved her anx- 
 ieties on that score. "You leave all that to me, 
 Mrs. Saunders," he said, largely. "I have a 
 lot more money than I know what to do with, 
 and I'll see that the little chap gets his chance." 
 
 He cheerfully brushed aside her tearful grati- 
 tude. "Why, good heavens!" he said. "It's a 
 chance for me just as much as for him. He'll be 
 a great man some day, and his name will be 
 remembered long after mine is forgotten. 
 There's nothing I could do with my money that 
 could give me greater pleasure." 
 
 Peter found it very difficult to get Mrs. Saun- 
 ders to consent to his helping her in any other 
 way. She was very poor, as he made it his 
 business to find out, asking her all sorts of 
 searching questions with a good-natured per- 
 sistence that would take no denial ; but she was 
 also very proud. If he could help her boy to 
 learn, she said, she could do all the rest herself. 
 
 But he pressed her so hard that at last she 
 gave in. "Look here, Mrs. Saunders," he said, 
 "I'm going to take a little house for you, and 
 
BIG PETER IN LONDON 41 
 
 furnish it. And I'm going to make over a little 
 income to you, so tliat you will be able to give 
 Tommy the sort of home that a great artist 
 ought to have when he's a child. I'm going to 
 make myself his guardian. So it's no use your 
 trying to stand out." 
 
 "Oh, how good you are!" she cried. "I've 
 never met a man like you. I didn't know that 
 men could be so good. My experience of them 
 hasn't been a very happy one. Perhaps I ought 
 to stand out, but I can't. Some day I may be 
 able to do something for you in return, and then 
 you can imagine how glad I shall be. Perhaps 
 it is not so unlikely as it seems now. You are 
 casting your bread upon the waters." 
 
 A week or so after he had landed, Peter 
 dined with old Mr. Fearon, in his comfortable 
 house on Campden Hill. 
 
 "Now then, Peter," said the old lawyer, 
 when they were sitting together after dinner 
 with a bottle of port between them, "what steps 
 are you going to take to find this register ? ' ' 
 
 "Well," said Peter, "I have looked up the 
 County of Norfolk on a map, and it seems to be 
 about as big as an ordinary sheep run out west. 
 It won 't take long to run through it and have a 
 look at all the registers until one comes across 
 the right one." 
 
42 BIG PETER 
 
 *'Do you know how many churches there are 
 in Norfolk?" asked Mr. Fearon. 
 
 "No," said Peter, "I suppose there's one 
 in every township, isn't there?" 
 
 The lawyer laughed. "Yes," he said, "there 
 is one in every township, and there are a good 
 many townships in Norfolk. Norfolk is a big 
 county, as counties go. I should think there 
 would probably be more churches in it than in 
 the whole continent of Australia." 
 
 "Oh!" said Peter, somewhat dashed at this 
 piece of news. 
 
 "However," went on Mr. Fearon, "it is the 
 only way of setting to work. You can leave the 
 towns out of account first, and your best way 
 will be to take a tour round the country, say in 
 a motor car, and examine every church register 
 until you find the right one. ' ' 
 
 "I shan't do that," said Peter. "I shall 
 hump my swag." 
 
 "And that means?" enquired Mr. Fearon. 
 
 "That means walking on my two feet with 
 my blanket on my back," said Peter. "I want 
 to see something of the old country, and that's 
 the best way of doing it." 
 
 "I don't know but what you're right. I used 
 to do that sort of thing myself when I was a 
 young man, and enjoy it. But you needn't take 
 a blanket with you. You'll find plenty of nice 
 
Bia PETER IN LONDON 43 
 
 old village inns which will provide blankets, and 
 sheets too. Take a knapsack with you, and 
 send a bag of clothes on here and there, and 
 you'll provide yourself with a pleasant holiday, 
 even if you don't find anything. If you do find 
 something, come to me and tell me about it." 
 
 Big Peter had taken rooms in a quiet Square 
 in Bloomsbury, and when he left Mr. Fearon's 
 house, as the night was fine, and he could never 
 get enough exercise in London, he determined 
 to walk home. 
 
 He had just left the noise and bustle of Ox- 
 ford Street and was walking through a quiet 
 street near the British Museum, when a man, 
 coming down the pavement on the opposite side, 
 suddenly started at sight of him and drew back 
 into the shadow of a doorway, where he stood 
 staring with his mouth half -open and a look of 
 surprise, not unmixed with alarm, on his fea- 
 tures. 
 
 Peter walked on all unconscious of being 
 watched, or indeed of being known, among aU 
 those crowded millions of people in London, 
 where he scarcely knew a soul. He looked very 
 different from the rough miner of the Australian 
 gold-fields, in his high boots, flannel shirt and 
 old slouched hat. One of his amusements had 
 been to acquire an extensive wardrobe of the 
 best clothes he could buy. He wore a beautiful 
 
44 BIG PETER 
 
 silk hat, a thin dark overcoat, with a fine knitted 
 scarf of white silk, and shining patent leather 
 boots under his black trousers. He had still 
 kept to his yellow beard and refused to have it 
 clipped to a point. But it had been trimmed 
 by a Bond Street barber and did not detract 
 from his handsome appearance as he strolled 
 manfully along the pavement. It made him look 
 rather older than his years, but with his fine 
 upright presence and active walk he might have 
 been taken for a well-to-do country squire, more 
 used to the pursuits of country life than to the 
 pavements of London, but quite at home on them 
 all the same. And if he had been seen striding 
 with that self-reliant step in the direction of 
 the House of Lords, it would not have needed a 
 great effort to imagine him an hereditary mem- 
 ber of that assembly. If he should succeed in 
 taking his place in it, in appearance at any rate, 
 he would bring no discredit on it ; and if he still 
 entertained doubts in that respect there was 
 no one who would not have relieved him of them. 
 As he turned the corner of the street, the man 
 who had stood watching him on the opposite 
 pavement moved on, and as he came within the 
 radius of light of a lamp-post, any one who had 
 known him would have recognized the unattrac- 
 tive features of Mr. Robert Walker, whose pres- 
 ence in London boded no good to the man who 
 
BIG PETER IN LONDON 45 
 
 had just passed him so unconsciously, and prob- 
 ably boded no good to any one else, unless his 
 character had considerably changed for the bet- 
 ter since we last met him at Kampurli, on the 
 other side of the world. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 AN ATTEMPTED DEAL 
 
 THE great pile of Cambray Castle stood 
 proudly on the summit of a wooded hill 
 which commanded a magnificent stretch 
 of country, bounded in the distance by the blue 
 line of the sea. The old fortified keep remained 
 much as it had been centuries before, when its 
 owners had used it to terrorize the surrounding 
 country, and to ward off the attacks of those 
 who would have taken from them by force what 
 they had gained and kept by force. But consid- 
 erable additions had been made in more peace- 
 ful times, and the wing of the castle now chiefly 
 inhabited showed a long line of windows look- 
 ing out over the valley, and in front of them a 
 broad terrace, beneath which stretched the beau- 
 tiful gardens, until they were closed in on by 
 the woodlands. 
 
 Along this terrace, one sunshiny morning, an 
 old man was pacing slowly to and fro, leaning 
 on the arm of an attendant. If his movements 
 were feeble, however, the face which looked out 
 from under the wide brim of his hat, was of 
 
 46 
 
AN ATTEMPTED DEAL 47 
 
 almost startling vigour. It was not a face that 
 would be likely to attract any one to its owner. 
 It had something fierce and hawklike in it, some- 
 thing lowering and secret too, with its bushy 
 brows, startlingly black in comparison with the 
 whiteness of the hair and the heavy moustache, 
 which almost hid the mouth and drooped over 
 the heavy protruding chin. There are not many 
 faces of which one can say definitely that they 
 are bad. But this was a bad face. It was the 
 face of a man who had been bold in vice, who 
 had never scrupled to indulge himself in any- 
 thing, but had taken his own course boldly and 
 not feared for the consequences. A sort of ani- 
 mal courage was its only virtue ; the eyes were 
 still strong and piercing, and only the wasted 
 body showed the price that had been paid for a 
 life-time of such habits as a man of strong and 
 bad passions gratifies himself with, when he is 
 so placed that he can gain most of what he wants 
 for the moment. 
 
 The man on whose arm he was leaning had 
 an appearance no more attractive than the Earl 
 of Cambray's own. Perhaps that was why he 
 had remained in his service for some five-and- 
 twenty years, first as a sort of confidential sec- 
 retary, and latterly almost as a body servant; 
 for Lord Cambray, in the wreck of his powers 
 wanted no one about him whom he could not 
 
48 BIG PETER 
 
 trust. Perhaps he trusted Lorrimer no more 
 than anybody; but he paid him well — twice as 
 much for his menial assistance as he had paid 
 him for the work of a gentleman. Lorrimer was 
 a tall dark man of middle-age, and in the course 
 of time his features had taken on a look that 
 made him not dissimilar from his master, al- 
 though he was many years his junior. There 
 was something sinister in his dark reserved 
 look. He held many of his master's secrets, 
 and might have been said to have acted as his 
 minister of evil. His manner was correctly re- 
 spectful as he walked to and fro, giving aid to 
 those weak footsteps. But it was familiar too, 
 with the familiarity of a deep intimacy. The 
 world would not have been edified by the con- 
 versation carried on between these two, as they 
 paced up and down in the sunshine. It was 
 chiefly a revival of old memories, in which the 
 man's part had been almost as important as 
 that of the master. It was a startling comment 
 on the closing years of such a life as Lord Cam- 
 bray had lived, that he was now almost entirely 
 dependent upon this man to give him what com- 
 panionship and pleasure he could still enjoy. 
 
 The sun shone brightly over the lovely scene, 
 and its light was flashed back from the many 
 windows of the great house ; gay flowers of early 
 summer were blooming all about the terrace and 
 
AN ATTEMPTED DEAL 49 
 
 in the garden below it; the birds were singing 
 in the woodlands. Perhaps the old man to whom 
 all these beauties belonged was vaguely affected 
 by them, but if it was so he made no comment 
 on them, but just moved slowly up and down in 
 the sunshine, and fed his mind with the memory 
 of the base pleasures he no longer had the power 
 to seek out and enjoy. 
 
 A footman came out of the house and tendered 
 him a card on a salver. "Mr. Robert Walker," 
 he read, bending his bushy brows with a terrific 
 frown on the footman, who met the look man- 
 fully. "Who the devil is Mr. Robert Walker, 
 and what does he want?" 
 
 "I don't know, my lord. He said he had 
 something of great importance to communicate 
 to your lordship." 
 
 He considered for a moment. "You had bet- 
 ter go in and see who he is and what he wants, 
 Lorrimer," he said. "I will sit down here until 
 you come back." 
 
 The footman departed. Lorrimer helped his 
 master to a seat and went indoors, leaving him 
 sitting there, ia the full sunshine, looking out 
 over the wide stretch of country that was his, 
 with his fierce bad old face telling nothing of 
 the thoughts that were passing through his 
 mind. 
 
 Presently Lorrimer came back. "I can't get 
 
50 BIG PETER 
 
 out of him what he wants," he said. "He says 
 he won't tell it to anybody but you alone." 
 
 "Oh, he won't, won't he?" said Lord Cam- 
 bray with an oath. "What sort of a fellow is 
 he?" 
 
 ' ' Rather a shabby looking man. Looks rather 
 as if he might be a private detective. ' ' 
 
 "Bring him out here and give him a chair 
 not too near me. Get behind the curtains in the 
 morning-room and keep a lookout." 
 
 Lorrimer seemed to be in no surprise at these 
 somewhat unusual instructions, justified prob- 
 ably by more lurid experiences of the past. He 
 came out again immediately, accompanied by 
 Mr. Walker, placed a garden seat for him, not 
 too near that occupied by his master, and re- 
 tired through an open window just behind. 
 
 Mr. Walker took his seat with a jaunty air. 
 His eyes looked a little frightened, and the old 
 man, who fixed his own keen eyes on him, may 
 have noted that look of alarm. But there was 
 none to be noted in the tone in which he said, 
 "Very pleased to have the honour of meeting 
 your lordship. I have come all the way down 
 here to give you a little piece of information 
 which you ought to have. In fact, I've come all 
 the way from Australia, you might say, on pur- 
 pose to give it to you, and it has been rather an 
 expensive trip, my lord." 
 
AN ATTEMPTED DEAL 51 
 
 "Go on," said the old man, still fixing him 
 "with his steel-like glare. 
 
 Walker hitched his chair a little closer, and 
 Lord Cambray suddenly shouted at him, ' ' Keep 
 back, keep your distance ! " in such a tone as to 
 make him jump, and remain where he was. 
 
 "I have something very secret to tell you," 
 he grumbled. "I don't want to shout it out 
 where everybody can hear me." 
 
 * ' Nobody will hear you, and you needn't shout 
 it out. Say what you have got to say. I'm not 
 deaf. I shaU hear you quite plainly where you 
 are. ' ' 
 
 Thus adjured. Walker east about in his mind 
 for a fitting opening of his statement, and find- 
 ing none better than a bald assertion of fact, 
 said, ' ' There 's a man come over from Australia 
 who is going to claim your title and estates." 
 
 Lord Cambray stared at him, and then gave 
 vent to a disagreeable laugh, which was suc- 
 ceeded by an equally disagreeable frown, as he 
 asked shortly, "On what grounds?" 
 
 "On the grounds," replied Walker, taking 
 refuge again in a bald statement of fact, "that 
 your grandfather, the twelfth Earl, was mar- 
 ried to somebody before he married your grand- 
 mother, and had a son that this man is descended 
 from. ' ' 
 
 Lord Cambray did not laugh at this state- 
 
52 BIG PETER 
 
 ment. It took him by surprise. He had not 
 interested himself greatly in the history of his 
 forebears, having had his mind pretty well oc- 
 cupied with his own, and had for the moment to 
 make an effort of memory to recall the facts of 
 his grandfather's marriage. 
 
 "My grandfather the twelfth Earl," he re- 
 peated. "I don't remember him or my grand- 
 mother either. Let me see, he married a Vaux, 
 — Lady Alicia Vaux." He turned to the table 
 at his side and rang a beU and waited. 
 
 Walker began to say something, but he sil- 
 enced him, and after a short interval Lorrimer 
 appeared, but not out of the window through 
 which he had gone into the house. 
 
 "Fetch me a Burke's Peerage," he said to 
 him, and waited again in silence until the book 
 was brought and laid on the table beside him. 
 
 He turned over the leaves until he had come 
 to the record of his own family, and then said, 
 "My grandfather married when he was thirty- 
 five. Now what's this story? You say he was 
 married before. Who to?" 
 
 Mr. Walker coughed nervously. He was not 
 unimpressed by the old lord's autocratic man- 
 ner, and did not relish the idea of arousing it 
 against himself. But he had certainly not come 
 there to give up all his infarmation at a mere 
 
AN ATTEMPTED DEAL 53 
 
 brusque request, and he intimated as mucli as 
 politely as lie could. 
 
 "Well, my lord," he said, with an ingratiat- 
 ing smile, "you will understand, I am sure, that 
 I haven't come all this way just to tell you some- 
 thing that I think you ought to know, and then 
 go back again. It just so happens that I have 
 got hold of all the facts of a very interesting 
 story, and, if you'll excuse me for mentioning 
 it, I think they're worth paying for." 
 
 If it had not been for the expectations he cher- 
 ished, Mr. Walker would have quailed at the 
 frown that was bent upon him. But he stuck to 
 his guns, however uneasily, and said, "If your 
 lordship will think it over, I am quite sure you 
 will see that that is quite reasonable." 
 
 "How did you get hold of this lie?" asked 
 Lord Cambray. 
 
 "It isn't a lie, my lord," replied Mr. Walker 
 quietly. "If it was I shouldn't have thought it 
 worth troubling about." 
 
 For the first time the old man's eyes dropped 
 for an instant, but he fixed them again on 
 Walker's face as he said, "Of course it's a lie. 
 But have it your own way for a moment. How 
 did you get hold of the story?" 
 
 "I have no objection to telling you that, my 
 lord," said Walker. "It was sent over to a 
 
54 BIG PETER 
 
 firm of solicitors I was connected with, by a 
 man who had come across the register of the 
 first marriage. I held a subordinate position 
 in the firm, and I got the sack for doing some- 
 thing I ought not to have done, which I won't 
 trouble you with. So before I left I took down 
 the particulars, as I thought they might be of 
 use to me, and I might be able to make money 
 out of them." 
 
 The impudence of this confession seemed to 
 arouse in Lord Cambray's mind an interest in 
 his visitor which he had not formerly exhibited. 
 ' ' You 're a pretty cool customer, ' ' he said. ' ' But 
 if this fellow has come over here with a claim 
 that has anything in it, I don't quite see what 
 value your information has. We shall hear it 
 all soon enough from him." 
 
 "If that was so, my lord," said Walker, "I 
 shouldn't have troubled you. But he hasn't got 
 the information. He hasn't got the most impor- 
 tant part of it." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 "He doesn't know where the register is to 
 be found, and I do. He's not likely to be able 
 to find it either, for he doesn't know where to 
 look. It is in a part of England that he would 
 never think of looking in, and as it has been 
 hidden there for a hundred years, it is no more 
 likely to be found now than it was before." 
 
AN ATTEMPTED DEAL 55 
 
 There was one little fact Walker was una- 
 ware of. He did not know that in the half- 
 drunken excitement in which he had told Big 
 Peter the story which he had now brought to his 
 kinsman, he had let out that the village where 
 the marriage had taken place was in Norfolk. 
 But his statement impressed Lord Cambray, 
 who now proceeded to ask him many questions. 
 
 "I see," he said, with a sneer, when Walker 
 had answered such as he meant to answer, and 
 refused to answer those that were cunningly 
 designed to draw from him what he wished to 
 conceal. "You tried to sell this information to 
 the other side, and when you find they won't 
 deal, you come to me with it." 
 
 "That's so, my lord," said Walker, un- 
 ashamedly. "It's a matter of business." 
 
 "Very well then, Mr. Walker, you are some- 
 thing of a rascal and I won't mince matters 
 with, you. I am very much obliged to you for 
 what you have told me. The most important 
 part of it seems to be that this register of mar- 
 riage, if there is one, is where nobody is in the 
 least likely to find it. It's a great relief to hear 
 that. If you would like any Innch before you go 
 back where you came from, my servant shall 
 see that you have some, and he wijl send you 
 back to the station so as to save you the expense 
 
56 BIG PETER 
 
 of a fly. I owe you something for the entertain- 
 ing half-hour you have given me." 
 
 His hand moved towards the bell on the table, 
 but he did not immediately ring it, and Walker, 
 who was quite as sharp in his own way as he 
 was himself, noted this fact in the midst of the 
 unpleasant surprise caused by his speech. 
 
 ' ' Wait a minute, my lord, ' ' he said. ' ' I don 't 
 think you've quite got the hang of it all yet. 
 The secret isn't hidden now. It is known to 
 the man who discovered it, and I know who that 
 man is. ' ' 
 
 "And from what you have told me about him, 
 he's not likely to do anything about it." 
 
 * ' Oh, well ! ' ' said Walker, with an air of un- 
 concern. "If you are willing to run that risk! 
 But I'll remind you, my lord, he isn't the only 
 one who knows it. 7 know it." 
 
 "Yes, and what use is it to you? You tried 
 to sell it to the other side and they wouldn't buy. 
 And you've tried to sell it to me. Who else is 
 going to buy it of you?" 
 
 "Nobody else," said Walker boldly, "who 
 willpay me for getting rid of the evidence?" 
 He said this slowly with a meaning look that 
 was not lost on Lord Cambray. "That's why 
 I don't want to go away before we've discussed 
 it further. I want to make big money out of 
 this, and I don't mind saying so. But as fpr 
 
AN ATTEMPTED DEAL 57 
 
 making some money out of it, if you send me 
 away, that won't be very difficult. There are 
 plenty of papers who would pay handsomely for 
 such a story as that." 
 
 Lord Cambray ignored the last statement. 
 "What do you mean," he asked, "when you 
 talk about being paid for getting rid of the evi- 
 dence? Do you know what you're saying!" 
 
 "I know very well, my lord, what I'm saying, 
 and what I'm doing too. I'm putting myself in 
 your hands. But from what I have heard of 
 your lordship I am not much afraid of doing 
 that." 
 
 "I have got such a reputation for kindness 
 and goodness, haven't I?" sneered the old lord. 
 
 "I don't mean that. I shouldn't put my head 
 in the lion's mouth if I didn't know that I had 
 got some means of preventing the lion from 
 shutting it on me. ' ' 
 
 Lord Cambray laughed at this. "Well, what 
 do you mean?" he asked, with an approach to 
 good humour. 
 
 Walker hitched his chair a little closer, and 
 this time he was not rebuked. 
 
 "I mean," he said, in a low but expressive 
 voice, ' ' that I am ready to do the work for you 
 that you couldn't do for yourself. I am ready 
 to go and steal this register and bring it to you. 
 I am not asking you to pay for mere informa- 
 
58 BIG PETER 
 
 tion. What I'll sell you is what I'll steal, and 
 what you couldn't buy if it wasn't stolen." 
 
 Lord Cambray looked at him with something 
 like admiration. This was bold wickedness of 
 a sort that he could appreciate. But all he said 
 was, "A pretty sort of a fool I should be if I 
 were to let myself be drawn into compounding 
 a felony with a fellow like you ! Your appear- 
 ance doesn't exactly inspire confidence, Mr. 
 Walker." 
 
 "Well," said Walker coolly, "perhaps your 
 lordship would Hke to think it over for an hour. 
 I shall be much obliged for that lunch you kindly 
 offered me just now, as I've had a long journey 
 and haven't had anything to eat since I left 
 London this morning. If you'll excuse me, I'll 
 just point out to you that I don't ask you to do 
 anything till I bring you what I've said. Sup- 
 posing I got caught in helping myself to it, 
 there will be nothing to show that you had had 
 any connection with it at all. I am willing to 
 run all that risk myself, and you can deny all 
 knowledge of me. But if I get it, because of the 
 price that we should agree upon — I've got to 
 trust you for all that — ^then I'll ask you how 
 much it's likely that I shall split and land my- 
 self in gaol, when I shall have got everything 
 that I've run all the risks for." 
 
 "You put it very lucidly, Mr. Walker," said 
 
AN ATTEMPTED DEAL 59 
 
 Lord Cambray. "As you Eire so much to be de- 
 pended upon, perhaps there is no harm in ask- 
 ing you what price you would suggest for doing 
 this little service for me?" 
 
 Now that it had come to this point, Mr. Walker 
 showed some hesitation in naming a price. He 
 began to enlarge on the dangers of the enter- 
 prise and the expense and trouble to which he 
 had already been put. 
 
 "You can drop all that," said Lord Cambray 
 coolly. "I am quite aware of what it means. 
 You are going to suggest some absurd price, 
 which you know I should not think of paying. 
 Don't be shy. Let's have it out." 
 
 Thus encouraged, Mr. Walker plumped out, 
 "Five thousand pounds." 
 
 ' ' Ah ! ' ' said Lord Cambray. "I thought you 
 would have asked ten. Well, I dare say you 
 think I'm a far richer man than I am, Mr. Wal- 
 ker. In these hard times a person in my posi- 
 tion finds it somewhat difficult to raise a sum in 
 cash, however important the object may be. I 
 even had to refuse our excellent Vicar here a 
 subscription towards reseating the church last 
 week, although you can imagine that it gave me 
 an almost sleepless night to think that perhaps 
 he might not be able to do it after all." 
 
 Walker laughed nervously at this pleasantry, 
 and waited for what should come. 
 
60 BIG PETEE 
 
 ''But I'll tell you what I'll do," Lord Cam- 
 bray continued. "If you bring me what you 
 say you can bring me — ^you talk in a crude sort 
 of way about stealing it, but of course I couldn't 
 countenance anything of that sort — I will under- 
 take to raise five hundred pounds for you, and 
 I call that a very handsome offer under all the 
 circumstances. ' ' 
 
 Walker's face showed a dull flush of resent- 
 ment. "Your lordship is playing with me," he 
 said sulkily. "I didn't come here prepared to 
 bargain. I made up my mind what I would ask 
 and I dare say I was a bit nervous in bringing 
 it out, because it's a pretty tidy sum of money. 
 But I shouldn't have been in the least nervous 
 about stating a sum of money that I expected 
 to have cut down. Five thousand pounds is my 
 price, my lord, and I won't take a penny less." 
 
 "Very well, then," said Lord Cambray qui- 
 etly. "I don't feel inclined to pay your price, 
 and that seems all that there is to be said about 
 it. If at any time you feel inclined to accept 
 my offer, you have only got to give me the pleas- 
 ure of another visit, from you, Mr. Walker. I 
 shouldn't write, if I were you. Better not to 
 put that sort of thing in writing. I will now 
 give you over to my servant." And this time 
 he rang the bell without further hesitation. 
 
AN ATTEMPTED DEAL 61 
 
 "Oh! wait a minute, my lord," cried Walker 
 as before. 
 
 But Lord Cambray said, "Do you accept my 
 offer or not?" 
 
 "No, of course I don't. But—" 
 
 "Very weU then, I have nothing more to say. 
 I want my own luncheon and I dare say you are 
 quite ready for yours. Lorrimer, give this gen- 
 tleman something to eat and tell them to drive 
 htm wherever he wants to go to afterwards. 
 Good morning, Mr. Walker. We have had a 
 very interesting conversation." 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 MASTEB AND MAN" 
 
 LORRIMER waited with perfect patience 
 and propriety until Ms master should 
 choose to enlighten him as to what had 
 passed between him and Walker. He knew that 
 it would not be long before he was taken into 
 confidence. Lord Cambray could do nothing 
 without him. He might think and scheme and 
 bend his terrific brows over all sorts of plans 
 and ideas, but when it came to putting them 
 into practice he was as helpless as a child. He 
 could not even write a letter, except it passed 
 through Lorrimer's hands; and he was prob- 
 ably under no illusions as to what would happen 
 if he wrote a letter on any subject he might 
 wish to keep from Lorrimer, if that gentleman 
 did not see the necessity of secrecy. 
 
 After his solitary luncheon Lorrimer came 
 and led him into the room he mostly occupied 
 and helped him to lay himself down on a sofa 
 by the open window for an afternoon nap. This 
 was the invariable programme, and the attend- 
 
 62 
 
MASTER AND MAN 63 
 
 ant was free for an hour. At the end of that 
 time his bell would ring, and for the rest of the 
 day he was on duty. It was perhaps hardly 
 the life that one would have expected a man of 
 Lorrimer's appearance to choose for its own 
 sake. One might say that an active bodied man, 
 whose days were spent waiting hand and foot 
 and brain on the whims and necessities of a 
 capricious tyrant, would be doing so with the 
 hope of some reward; and that the reward ex- 
 pected would be more than a handsome salary. 
 
 This afternoon, when the hour had passed. 
 Lord Cambray's bell was still silent, and it was 
 not until another hour had gone that its in- 
 sistent summons called Lorrimer to his mas- 
 ter's side. 
 
 "I've had something to think about," growled 
 the old lord in half apology. With very little 
 left to him but to eat and to sleep, it still irked 
 him to have it thought that he had slept away 
 two hours of a sunshiny afternoon. "I'll drive 
 now, and you can come with me. ' ' 
 
 Within a few minutes master and man were 
 seated side by side in a roomy carriage, driving 
 quickly through the country roads. There were 
 not many horses left in the stables of Cambray 
 Castle now, but such as there were were good 
 ones, and it was one of Lord Cambray's pleas- 
 ures thus to drive far and fast, even although 
 
64 BIG PETER 
 
 he had to sit in a barouche like any old dowager, 
 while a coachman held the reins. 
 
 After a time he entered on the subject that 
 Lorrimer was waiting for, and told him all 
 about it. 
 
 "I dare say there's something in it," he said. 
 "As the fellow won't come down in his price, 
 which is, of course, out of the question, the best 
 way might be to let him think he is going to 
 get it, and get the paper, whatever it may be, 
 from him somehow." 
 
 He said this quite naturally, in a thoughtful 
 tone of voice, as if robbery by force or cunning 
 were quite an ordinary suggestion to be made 
 by a nobleman to his paid companion. And the 
 way Lorrimer took it seemed to show that it 
 was not such an extraordinary suggestion from 
 this particular nobleman to this particular com- 
 panion. 
 
 "I think a better way than that," said Lorri- 
 mer smoothly, "would be for me to go and find 
 the register." 
 
 "Of course it would," said his master, "and 
 you would be sent off pretty quickly to do it, 
 if we had any idea where the register was." 
 
 Lorrimer 's face showed a trace of disappoint- 
 ment, aroused, as it appeared by his next speech, 
 by the fact of his master taking it quite for 
 granted that he would consider the stealing of 
 
MASTER AND MAN 65 
 
 .a parish register, or a part of one, as coming 
 within the bounds of his duty. 
 
 ' ' Of course you wouldn't expect me to do such 
 a thing as that," he said, "without taking the 
 danger into consideration." 
 
 "Of course I shouldn't," sneered Lord Cam- 
 bray. "Do you suppose I look to get anything 
 out of you but what I pay you for ? ' ' 
 
 Lorrimer let this go by, but his face showed 
 a dull flush. "If I might suggest something," 
 he said — "It is quite possible that there are 
 papers or letters somewhere in the house that 
 might give you a hint as to the part of the coun- 
 try in which this marriage took place. Her lady- 
 ship found some old diaries which her maid men- 
 tioned to me, in a cupboard in one of the attics 
 in the Keep." 
 
 "I know she did," replied Lord Cambray, 
 "but they were older than that. They were at 
 the beginning of the eighteenth century." 
 
 "I was only meaning that there must be a lot 
 more papers here and there that nobody knows 
 anything about." 
 
 Lord Cambray considered this. "It might be 
 worth while," he said, "to have a search made. 
 I might get Lady Margaret to do it when she 
 comes back. But in the meantime something 
 may happen. She will be in London for another 
 fortnight." 
 
66 BIG PETEE 
 
 "But you wouldn't like Lady Margaret to 
 know anything about this," suggested Lorri- 
 mer. 
 
 "I don't know that I should. But I could get 
 her to bring me any papers she might come 
 across, and I could look over them myself." 
 
 "Then wouldn't it be better if I were to make 
 the search under your supervision ? ' ' 
 
 "I dare say it might. It isn't a bad idea. It 
 would give us something to do, and God knows 
 there's little enough in these days. "We'll do 
 that, Lorrimer. We'll go right through the 
 house and find out what's in it. I don't know 
 half the things I possess. We may come across 
 valuables hidden away somewhere." 
 
 Master and man searched through all the hid- 
 den receptacles of that great house for a week, 
 and when the last lumber-room had been turned 
 out they had found all sorts of curious and in- 
 teresting things, but not what they wanted. 
 
 And yet they had got very close to it. An old 
 diary had come to light written by the mother 
 of that twelfth Earl whose record they were 
 trying to find. It was racy, and rather scanda- 
 lous, an.d in it occurred the following passage : 
 
 "Mervyn has been away for four months, 
 and if he is not getting into mischief I know 
 nothing of the breed from which he comes. 
 
MASTER AND MAN 67 
 
 His letters amuse me, and I keep them. 
 Some day I will make him tell me what it is 
 that keeps Mm in so dead-alive a part of 
 the country at a time when there is no sport 
 to amuse him, and I promise myself some 
 amusement in reading between the lines of 
 his letters, and rebuking him for not per- 
 mitting his mother to share in his amuse- 
 ments. ' ' 
 
 Lord Cambray read out this passage to Lorri- 
 mer, who was standing by him. 
 
 "The letters were kept, you see," he said. 
 "Confound the old girl for not mentioning 
 where they came from, and him for not making 
 them plainer ! If there was any wickedness on 
 foot, she would have enjoyed hearing of it as 
 much as anybody." 
 
 "Perhaps the letters were destroyed," sug- 
 gested Lorrimer. "If he wanted to hush it all 
 up, he would not be likely to let them remain. ' ' 
 
 "He wouldn't mind, if he had not given him- 
 self away. If he had happened to come across 
 them he would probably have kept them as a re- 
 minder of an amusing summer." 
 
 Lorrimer 's eye wandered round the big room, 
 wondering whether it had given up all its se- 
 crets. "Have you looked through your own 
 desk?" he asked. 
 
68 BIG PETER 
 
 Lord Cambray looked up at him with a sneer 
 on Ms face. A heavy old-fashioned piece of 
 Spanish furniture stood in a corner of the room. 
 ,Part of it would open out to make a writing- 
 table, but it was seldom so used. Its various 
 drawers and cupboards had been fitted with 
 inviolable locks, and he wore the keys of them 
 hung round his neck by a little gold chain, night 
 and day. The desk contained the very few se- 
 crets he still kept from his familiar. 
 
 "You would like to go through that with me, 
 wouldn't you?" he said. 
 
 "I should suggest that you went through it 
 yourself," said Lorrimer, unmoved by the sneer. 
 "It is the only thing that we have not searched." 
 
 That night Lord Cambray found what he was 
 looking for tucked away at the back of a drawer 
 in this old bureau. His grandfather had used 
 it before him for his secret papers, and when 
 he had taken it for his own he had simply 
 pushed aside in the lower drawers what he had 
 found there, without taking the trouble to exam- 
 ine it, and had forgotten all about it since. 
 
 If the old lady to whom the letters had been 
 addressed had ever discovered a clue to what 
 had puzzled her in them, she had left no record 
 of it on the letters themselves, as she had threat- 
 ened. They were as she had received them, — 
 the hasty scrawls of a young man idling away a 
 
MASTER AND MAN 69 
 
 summer in what, as it seemed, was to him rather 
 an unusual way. His descendant, re-reading 
 them after a hundred years, thought he under- 
 stood quite well what the astute lady of the diary 
 had seen, reading between the lines. The cor- 
 ners of his mouth twitched as he read a very 
 stilted description of a sunset, and another iU- 
 spelt rhapsody over a country of flat land and 
 flat water. Yes, it was quite plain that Mervyn 
 Chandos was not the kind of young man who 
 would be content to linger in an out-of-the-way 
 village for the three months during which the 
 letters lasted, for the sake of scenery or sunsets. 
 
 "When he had read the last of them, he tied 
 them up again into a packet and rang his bell 
 for Lorrimer, first of all locking the drawer in 
 which he had found them. 
 
 "You were quite right," he said; "here are 
 the letters, and I know the name of that village. 
 Now we can talk." 
 
 "Yes," said Lorrimer, standing in front of 
 him. 
 
 Lord Cambray talked in short sharp sen- 
 tences : ' ' Better not to waste time. You can go 
 up directly to this place, get leave to examine 
 the register, and cut out the sheet. You talked 
 about a reward. I don't expect you to do this 
 for nothing. I will add five hundred pounds to 
 your legacy. Is that satisfactory?" 
 
70 BIG PETER 
 
 "No," said Lorrimer at once. "You are ask- 
 ing me to commit a crime for which I may get 
 into serious trouble. I want a much bigger re- 
 ward than that." 
 
 "The devil you do !" said his master, bending 
 a terrific frown on him. 
 
 For once Lorrimer took the initiative. He 
 said without waiting for more, "I shall be run- 
 ning a great risk. What I've got to do won't be 
 easy, but I am prepared to do it on my own 
 terms." 
 
 "Well, I don't say that it's going to be so 
 easy. I can't pay you any money now. I can't 
 get hold of it; and I don't suppose you want 
 money now ; you 're content to wait. But I don 't 
 mind adding a bit to what I'm going to leave 
 you, and I'll show you the codicil to my will if 
 you like. How much money do you want ? ' ' 
 
 "I don't want money at all." 
 
 "Don't want money. Then what do you 
 want?" 
 
 Lorrimer drew a little breath and then made 
 the astounding statement, ' ' I want your permis- 
 sion to pay my addresses to Lady Margaret." 
 
 If a tendency to apoplexy had been one of the 
 aihnents to which Lord Cambray's excesses had 
 brought him, it would probably have carried him 
 off then and there. His face became crimson, 
 his eyes started out from his head, and he half 
 
MASTER AND MAN 71 
 
 rose from his chair as if he would have niEide a; 
 furious assault on the man who stood quietly 
 before him, his eyes fixed on his face and his 
 breath coming a little short, but otherwise un- 
 moved. 
 
 ' ' You scoundrel ! " he cried at him. ' ' You im- 
 pudent rascal! How dare you talk to me like 
 that?" 
 
 ' ' If you will listen to me quietly, I will tell you 
 exactly," replied Lorrimer; and he went on 
 speaking, heeding no interruptions until he had 
 finished. 
 
 "I am a gentleman by birth, though now I'm 
 practically your servant. I have been with you 
 for nearly five-and-twenty years. I have served 
 you in everything and taken plenty of risks on 
 myself in doing so. For years past I have lived 
 the life of a slave, doing everything for you and 
 scarcely enjoying an hour to myself all that 
 time, except when you were asleep. You owe 
 me for all that what can never be repaid by 
 money. And that's not all. I know secrets of 
 yours that would send you to spend your last 
 years in a prison instead of in Cambray Castle, 
 if I were to let them out. I have got you com- 
 pletely in my power. I have never said a word 
 to Lady Margaret that I ought not to have done ; 
 I have been a great deal more careful of her 
 than you, her father, have. You would have 
 
72 BIG PETER 
 
 sold her willingly to the highest bidder, if any 
 man in your own station had cared to come in 
 search of a wife to such a place as this. It can't 
 make any difference to you what happens after 
 you're dead. I shan't want the marriage recog- 
 nized as long as you're alive, and I'll be to you 
 exactly what I have been as long as you live. 
 That's my offer." 
 
 "Get out of the room!" his master shouted 
 at him. ' ' Send that footman Henry to me, and 
 don't dare to show your face here again. You'll 
 be paid what's owing to you to-morrow, and if 
 you're not gone by the evening, I'll send for the 
 police to turn you out. ' ' 
 
 Lorrimer did not stir. * ' You don 't suppose, ' ' 
 he said, with a sneer, that made his face very 
 much like that of his master, ' ' that I can be got 
 rid of as easily as that. You're only wasting 
 time. If you were to dismiss me, I should im- 
 mediately go and do what I told you. That is, 
 let out some of your secrets. And if I went out 
 of this room, I should take with me that bundle 
 of letters. I shouldn't care about a struggle 
 with a helpless man like you, but you can't have 
 much doubt that if I wanted them I could have 
 them. Then where would you be? Instead of 
 spending the rest of your time here at Cambray 
 Castle, looked after in the way I have always 
 looked after you, and shouldn't alter. You 
 
MASTER AND MAN 73 
 
 ■would be nobody at all, and wouldn't have an 
 hour worth living for the rest of your days." 
 
 The old man looked at him as if fascinated. 
 His face was horrible to see, but behind all its 
 fury and passion there was a baffled conquered 
 look which showed that he realized the truth of 
 what had been said. He had put himself into 
 the power of this man ; he was dependent on him 
 for practically everything that still remained to 
 him in life for enjoyment. "Whatever the price 
 asked he would have to pay it. 
 
 But that he would consent to pay it at once, 
 Lorrimer was far too astute to imagine. It 
 must be brought home to him that he was help- 
 less, that his mastery had been taken away from 
 him and claimed by one who had the power to 
 enforce his claim. Until those facts sank in 
 there was nothing further to be done. 
 
 "I don't want an answer now," said Lorri- 
 mer. "I have stated my terms, and I will leave 
 you to think over them. In the meantime, if you 
 are ready for bed, I wiU take you there." 
 
 It was not until a week later that Lord Cam- 
 bray, with rage in his heart and a fixed and 
 furious determination to punish this man for 
 his insolence by some means or other, ostensibly 
 capitulated. 
 
 Lady Margaret had returned to the castle. 
 He eared nothing for her, and was always far 
 
74 BIG PETER 
 
 more at his ease when she was absent. But she 
 was his daughter, of the proud and ancient blood 
 of the Chandoses, and it seemed to him an un- 
 speakable insult that this man should have dared 
 to raise his eyes to her. He was visibly the 
 worse in health since Lorrimer bad first put 
 forward his proposal. He would lie shaking 
 with anger when he was left alone for the night, 
 and he had become frightened at the effect his 
 agitation was having on him. He was in Lorri- 
 mer 's grip and he knew it ; and Lorrimer would 
 wait no longer. If he did not consent to his 
 terms at the end of a week, he had said that he 
 would act. Lord Cambray knew at last that he 
 could not face his action. 
 
 He waited until the last moment, until Lorri- 
 mer was about to leave him for the night. 
 
 Lorrimer stood respectfully by the door and 
 looked towards the great canopied bed where 
 the fierce lowering old face lay among the piled- 
 up pillows. "The time has run out," he said. 
 "If you have nothing to say to me now, you 
 will not see me again." 
 
 If there had been any power in the frightful 
 curse which his master threw at him with all 
 the passion of which he was capable, he would 
 have had small gain out of his presumption. 
 But he stood there quite unmoved, and waited 
 for the capitulation which he knew was to come. 
 
MASTEE AND MAN 75 
 
 ' ' Have it your own way, ' ' growled the old man 
 in the big bed, with another violent oath, "and 
 get ready to go and get that cursed paper to- 
 morrow. ' ' 
 
 Lorrimer took a step towards him. He showed 
 no triumph, but only a cold capability in bar- 
 gaining. Lord Cambray, he said, must prepare 
 the way for him with his daughter himself, and 
 until a secret marriage was arranged he would 
 not move. 
 
 But in this he was worsted. "You're such a 
 scoundrel, ' ' was the gist of the argument, ' ' that 
 you are quite capable of throwing me overboard 
 when you have got all you want out of me." 
 
 It was a case of two scoundrels, neither of 
 whom trusted the other, fighting for the mas- 
 tery, and in the end the older, and perhaps the 
 greater, scoundrel won. "When Lorrimer at last 
 left the room, the compact was that he should 
 pay his own addresses to Lord Cambray's 
 daughter. In a week's time, whether he had 
 been successful or not, he was to go and steal 
 the register. When he came back with it Lord 
 Cambray was to bring pressure to bear on his 
 daughter, if she had not already capitulated; 
 and not until Lorrimer had had his way was the 
 register to be put into his hands. 
 
 The old man lay awake until long after day- 
 light had begun to filter in through the thick 
 
76 BIG PETER 
 
 curtains of his room. The thoughts which set 
 him quivering and shaking with helpless rage 
 were a punishment almost great enough for the 
 sins of his life. He had sacrificed everything 
 almost to his base passions, and now the last 
 thing that he had left, the youth and happiness 
 of his daughter, who had flowered like a rose out 
 of the foul soil in which she had been nurtured, 
 was to be given in payment for them. It was 
 he, her father, who was to soil her purity, and 
 to fix disgrace upon her which would last long 
 after he was laid in a dishonoured grave. 
 
 He may have thought of that as he lay through 
 long hours, thinking over everything, but if it 
 had had any weight with him, he would have 
 made up his mind, even at this late hour, to 
 break the wicked compact and take his punish- 
 ment on his own shoulders. Then, for once in 
 his life he might have fallen asleep peacefully, 
 with a conscience cleared of its foulest blots. 
 As it was, the last muttered words that broke 
 the silence of the great room were, "I will make 
 you pay for it." And then with another fierce 
 oath, "I will make you pay for it." 
 
 The disturbance of mind which Lord Cambray 
 had gone through, and his sleepless nights, had 
 their revenge on his enfeebled body. The next 
 
MASTER AND MAN 77 
 
 moming he was ill, and it was more than a week 
 before he eoold rise from his bed. 
 
 During all this time Lorrimer nursed him 
 with the ceaseless vigilance that he had always 
 used, and that made him, whatever his charac- 
 ter in other respects, the most priceless of serv- 
 ants. He was always at hand when wanted, 
 never seemed to require any sleep for himself, 
 or at any rate no sleep that he could not be 
 wakened out of at the slightest whisper from 
 the fevered uneasy being ia the great bed, at the 
 foot of which he rested. 
 
 During aU these days and nights, no word 
 passed between master and man as to the evil 
 compact there was between them. And yet Lord 
 Cambray knew, as surely as if he had been able 
 to rise from his bed and f oUow Lorrimer wher- 
 ever he went, that during the times he was ab- 
 sent from him he was doing that which it still 
 shook him with anger to think of. Perhaps it 
 was something in the man's face, perhaps it was 
 what he knew of his persistent ruthless nature. 
 He would have given anything to have known 
 what was happening on the other side of his 
 chamber doors. But no whisper from the great 
 house reached him. No one entered his room 
 but the doctor and Lorrimer, and once or twice 
 in the day a frightened looking maid, who did 
 
78 BIG PETER 
 
 her duties as expeditiously as slie could, and 
 "Went out again with a sigh of relief at getting 
 away from the range of those fierce eyes. 
 
 On the first day of his illness a message was 
 brought to him, but not by Lorrimer, from his 
 daughter, asking that she might come and see 
 him. 
 
 He refused. The next day she asked again. 
 And again he refused. After that there were 
 no more messages. What his daughter was do- 
 ing he knew no more than if she had been a 
 hundred miles away instead of under the same 
 roof. 
 
 The day before he was well enough to get up, 
 he marked a subtle change in Lorrimer 's face. 
 If he had not known the man so well and watched 
 him so eagerly, he would not have marked it at 
 all; and he could not interpret it. But it cer- 
 tainly did not betoken satisfaction, and he had 
 a fierce moment of joy in the conjecture that 
 the servant presuming to climb had been foiled 
 in his endeavour. 
 
 But his satisfaction was short-lived. If Lor- 
 rimer could not get his way by himself, then it 
 was part of their compact that he should see 
 that he got it. And there was no getting out 
 of that compact, if he wanted to evade the dan- 
 ger that was hanging over him. 
 
 After all how was it likely that Lorrimer 
 
MASTEE AND MAN 79 
 
 could have succeeded? His daughter was noth- 
 ing to Lord Cambray. If anything, her pres- 
 ence in his house had been a hindrance to the 
 licence with which otherwise he would have sur- 
 rounded himself. She had been in his way. He 
 had no feeling of tenderness for her at all. But 
 she was of his blood, and if Lorrimer had come 
 and told him that she had given way, his indif- 
 ference to her would have turned into hatred 
 and contempt, because she had lowered her 
 pride. 
 
 The explanation of the change in Lorrimer 
 came when for the first time he led his master 
 to his chair on the sunny garden terrace. 
 
 "I am sorry to have to tell you," he said, 
 when he had settled him there with a rug over 
 his knees, "that Lady Margaret has left the 
 Castle with her maid. It was not within my 
 power to stop them and — " 
 
 "Of course it wasn't in your power," said 
 the old lord angrily.. "Why didn't you tell 
 me?" 
 
 "I didn't want to touch on those matters un- 
 til you were better. Lady Margaret has gone 
 to Grrosvenor Square." 
 
 The Countess of Marlow, who had a house in 
 Grosvenor Square, was the sister of Lady Mar- 
 garet's mother. She had long since ceased vis- 
 iting at Cambray Castle, and would have had 
 
80 BIG PETER 
 
 lier niece to live witli her permanently if Lord 
 Cambray would have allowed it. But he hated 
 her because she had dared to stand up against 
 him and to rebuke him for his vices, and out of 
 spite to her he would not allow his daughter to 
 do more than visit her occasionally. 
 
 "Oh! she's gone to Grosvenor Square, has 
 she?" growled the old man. "Well then, she'd 
 better stay there for the present." 
 
 Lorrimer now dropped something of his re- 
 spectful tone. "I beg your pardon," he said; 
 "that is not keeping to our agreement. I have 
 not been able to get Lady Margaret to listen 
 to me." 
 
 "Did you ever suppose you would?" sneered 
 Lord Cambray, with a ferocious scowl. 
 
 "Not unless I told her," said Lorrimer coolly, 
 "that there were reasons why she should. I did 
 tell her that, and she knows that unless she 
 gives way something or other is going to happen 
 that will cover her name and yours with dis- 
 grace." 
 
 "Curse your impudent face!" shrieked the 
 old man at him. "What did you tell her that 
 for?" 
 
 "For the reason I have given you," said Lor- 
 rimer, unmoved by the outbreak. "I couldn't 
 expect her to listen to me without giving her a 
 hint of what might happen if she didn't. Now, 
 
MASTER AND MAN 81 
 
 according to our agreement, it is for you to send 
 for her and exercise your authority." 
 
 Lord Cambray choked down his fury. "That 
 is not the next step in our agreement, ' ' he said. 
 "I was to exercise my authority when you 
 brought me that paper. Go and get it. Set off 
 to-day. I have been lying here doing nothing 
 for ten days, and that blackguardly little cad 
 who came here may have set to work already. 
 I haven't heard a word from him. We've put 
 it off too long already." 
 
 "I'll keep my part of the bargain," said Lor- 
 rimer, "I'll go off this evening. But you must 
 keep yours. You must write to Lady Margaret 
 to come back here, and when I return with the 
 paper, you must be ready to do what you prom- 
 ised. If you will write the letter when you go 
 indoors, I will see that it is posted before I go. " 
 
 There was no getting away from it. Lord 
 Cambray wrote two letters, one to his daughter, 
 ordering her to return home at once, and one to 
 'his sister-in-law, telling her that if she did not 
 send Margaret home at once he would come up 
 to London himself and fetch her, ill as he was. 
 
 Lorrimer took off the two letters in triumph, 
 and that afternoon went up to London, on his 
 way to Norfolk. 
 
 Two days later Lord Cambray received a let- 
 ter from Lady Marlow which ignored the rude- 
 
82 BIG PETER 
 
 ness of his own, told him that Margaret had not 
 come to her, nor written to her, and begged him 
 to let her know where she was, if he had since 
 learnt. 
 
 He could do nothing but wait in impotent an- 
 ger until Lorrimer should return. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 petee's luck 
 
 BIO PETER took Mr. Fearon's advice, sent 
 on a bag of clothes from one town to an- 
 other, and with a light knapsack on his 
 back and an ordnance map in his pocket, started 
 to explore one by one every village in that great 
 county of Norfolk. At the end of a fortnight 
 he sat down on a bench outside the inn in which 
 he was about to spend the night and stared at 
 the map in front of him, appalled by the magni- 
 tude of his task. He had visited some dozens 
 of churches and marked each of them off as he 
 had done them; and only one little patch on 
 his map was so marked. 
 
 When he had been walking and searching for 
 a month, keeping mostly to the waterside vil- 
 lages, partly because he liked them best, partly 
 because it had occurred to him that a young 
 man, such as his great-grandfather had been, 
 holiday-making in the summer, would be more 
 likely to go where there was fishing and sailing 
 to be had, he came one afternoon to the little 
 village of Hollow Weir. 
 
 83 
 
84 BIG PETER 
 
 It was an encliantiiig spot, far away from 
 the beaten track, and many miles from a rail- 
 way station. The old inn to which he made his 
 way was one of the best he had come across. 
 It was a long, low house, with latticed windows, 
 irregular tiled roof and deep eaves, under 
 which the house martins were building. In- 
 side, it was full of old oak beams and cavernous 
 chimney corners, rambling passages and little 
 bits of ballustraded staircase. Its furniture 
 could hardly have been changed for a hundred 
 years, and as Peter looked round the bedroom 
 to which he had been shown to wash off the dust 
 of the roads, he thought to himself that if this 
 should turn out to be the place to which young 
 Mervyn Chandos had found his way, he must 
 be looking on the very same four-post bedstead 
 and the very same sporting prints on the pan- 
 elled walls that his great-grandfather's eyes 
 had rested upon during that momentous visit 
 a century before. 
 
 But he had had too many disappointments to 
 make him very hopeful, and was thinking more 
 that this would be a pleasant place in which to 
 spend a day or two, as he went down the uneven 
 stairs, than of the ultimate object with which 
 he had come. 
 
 The sun was shining above the tall trees 
 among which this quiet old inn nestled. The 
 
PETEE'S LUCK 85 
 
 waters of the weir, which was immediately in 
 front of it, were splashing with a musical sound. 
 The rooks were homing across the evening sky- 
 to their nests in the treetops, and he was look- 
 ing forward to the meal which instinct told him 
 such an inn as this would provide for him after 
 his long day's tramp. For the present he had 
 all he wanted, and life in this beautiful country 
 and in the glorious weather was very sweet. 
 
 He had not been wrong about the meal. Such 
 eggs, such butter, such thick cream and such 
 home-cured bacon had never yet been set be- 
 fore him, and he did full justice to them, sit- 
 ting in a cosy parlour with the windows open 
 to the setting sun, and the pleasant country 
 sounds outside greeting his ears. 
 
 When he had finished he strolled over to the 
 weir with his pipe in his mouth, and the land- 
 lord came out and joined him and bade him 
 welcome in the way of good old-fashioned inn- 
 keepers. 
 
 He was an old man, and only half an inn- 
 keeper, farming a good acreage of land and 
 keeping on the house more because his father 
 and grandfather had had it before him than for 
 the profit he made out of it. So he told Peter, 
 and promised him, if he would stay a few days, 
 as good fishing as he would get anywhere in 
 Norfolk. And Peter made up his mind that 
 
86 BIG- PETEB 
 
 he would send for Ms bag and stop for a day 
 or two. He would take a little holiday. He 
 had the whole sununer before him, and if he 
 found the evidence that would give him an earl- 
 dom and an estate to-morrow, he could gain no 
 more satisfaction out of life than he felt now. 
 
 If only he could have found the girl in the 
 picture ! That was all he wanted to make his 
 happiness complete. He thought about her sen- 
 timentally as he strolled through the grasses 
 by the riverside. This beautiful peaceful place 
 seemed to speak of her, somehow. If only he 
 could come across her in this sweet time of the 
 year and among all this quiet beauty, buried 
 deep in the heart of the green country! But, 
 alas! such things never happened. Happiness 
 was never perfect in this imperfect world. 
 
 The landlord had told him that a mile away 
 from the inn the river opened out into a Broad, 
 which he ought to see, as it was one of the pret- 
 tiest in all that country of Broads, with trees 
 growing down to the water's edge and a fine 
 church standing quite by itself in a curve of a 
 little bay, to which most people went by water. 
 
 It was only about six o'clock. There were 
 hours of daylight yet, and Peter thought he 
 might as well spend them on the water. 
 
 It took him some time to complete the busi- 
 ness of hiring a boat, and quelling the desire of 
 
PETER'S LUCK 87 
 
 its owner to come with him. The wind was 
 freshening considerably, but he laughed at the 
 fears expressed of his inability to handle her. 
 
 "Have you ever heard of Sydney Harbour?" 
 he asked. "That's where I learnt to sail a 
 boat, and if you get upset there, there are 
 sharks about, so you learn not to get upset 
 more than is necessary." 
 
 The owner of the boat had never heard of 
 Sydney Harbour, but Big Peter's confidence im- 
 pressed him, and when he had watched him 
 taking a tack or two down the river, very clev- 
 erly for one who was used to rather more room 
 for his operations, he left the river bank quite 
 at ease with regard to his cherished dinghy and 
 its occupant. 
 
 When Peter reached the Broad there was one 
 other sail on it besides his own. It showed 
 white against the blue ripples of the water a 
 mile or more away at the other end of the 
 Broad. It was coming down towards him with 
 a free breeze, and he could not at first see who 
 was sailing it. 
 
 But after he had made a tack or two he saw 
 that the sheets and tiller were held by some one 
 in a white cap and jersey ; — then that some one 
 was a girl; and then — ! 
 
 When his heart gave its first incredulous 
 bound he was crossing the bows of the boat, and 
 
88 BIG PETER 
 
 her face was hidden for a moment by the sail. 
 He crossed to windward, and the other boat 
 came leaping towards him. Then he saw her 
 plainly. 
 
 The day of miracles was not over after all. 
 Big Peter was looking straight into the eyes of 
 the girl of the picture. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE GIBL OF THE PICTUEB 
 
 YES, it was the girl of the picture herself. 
 Her cheeks were full of colour from the 
 fresh wind, and her great dark eyes 
 looked straight at Peter, just as they had looked 
 out from the picture, and pierced right down 
 to the very centre of his heart. 
 
 He kept his eyes on her face, until her boat 
 rushed through the water across his stern. He 
 had only time then to gaze and to wonder. But 
 he made such use of the time that she withdrew 
 her eyes from his with a slight change of ex- 
 pression, and then he realized that however fa- 
 miliar her face was to him, his was not at all 
 familiar to her, and he must have appeared to 
 her just a stranger staring rather rudely. 
 
 He tacked down to the end of the Broad with 
 his eyes always upon the other boat and the 
 white figure in it, which put about and beat to 
 and fro after him, until it was his turn to fly 
 before the wind and pass her again. This time 
 the girl did not look at him, and the fearful 
 
 89 
 
90 BIG PETER 
 
 thouglit came to him that she had been offended 
 by his stare, and that it would be out of the 
 question to challenge her to a race, as he had 
 half-formed the bold intention of doing, with 
 the object of beginning an acquaintance. 
 
 The next time they passed he did not dare 
 to manoeuvre so as to come near her, for fear 
 that she would divine the intention. But how 
 long was this going to last? He must do some- 
 thing. Now that he had so astonishingly found 
 her, hidden away from him on purpose, as it 
 were, in one of the most beautiful places he 
 had ever seen, he was not going to leave the 
 Broad without getting into closer touch with 
 her somehow. If a fellowship in sport was an 
 excuse not good enough, he must find some 
 other way. 
 
 The excuse was found for him in a somewhat 
 alarming fashion. He was sailing up the 
 Broad, and was getting near to her, at about 
 the point where a boathouse stood, with some 
 cottages on a little rise above it. The wind 
 was blowing more strongly than ever, and her 
 boat was heeling right over, and she was lean- 
 ing out of it towards him in a way which 
 brought his heart to his mouth. He had seen 
 that she handled her boat cleverly, but it was 
 foolhardiness to carry on with sail so close- 
 hauled and with such a wind as this on her 
 
THE GIRL OF THE PICTURE 91 
 
 "beam. He watched eagerly, edging closer to 
 her to see her go about. 
 
 Just as she seemed ready to do so, a sharp 
 gust struck his own sail and made his boat leap 
 forward faster than ever, and the next moment 
 the wind had struck hers, and before she could 
 cry out her boat had capsized and she was strug- 
 gling in the water. 
 
 Fortunately Peter was no distance from her, 
 but it seemed an eternity before he could come 
 up. The hull of her boat was drifting awUy 
 from her, and she was trying to swim towards 
 it. But her skirts clogged her, and as Peter 
 raced through the water he saw that she could 
 not keep up much longer. He shouted to her, 
 and brought his own boat alongside just in the 
 nick of time, let loose the sheet and leant over 
 and caught her in his powerful arms. She 
 clung to him, frightened and gasping, and then 
 with difficulty he dragged her inboard over the 
 stem, and she sat down shivering, and trying 
 to laugh and thank him at the same time. 
 
 By the time they had reached the bank one or 
 two men who had seen the capsizing of the boat 
 were waiting for them, and a woman came run- 
 ning through the trees from the cottage crying 
 out and wringing her hands. 
 
 "Oh, my lady! My lady!" she cried, as 
 Peter ran the boat into the bank; and the girl 
 
92 BIG PETER 
 
 stood up suddenly and said in a voice that 
 hardly betokened the respect due from a niece 
 to an aunt: 
 
 "Don't be silly, Aunt Ann. I am perfectly 
 all right, thanks to this gentleman. I have only 
 had a ducking, and there's nothing to make a 
 fuss about." 
 
 Peter had not caught the strange form of ad- 
 dress used by the other woman, who now turned 
 on him with manifest disapprobation, as if he 
 had been the cause of the accident, and said, 
 "Thank you, sir, I will take care of my niece 
 now." 
 
 He had been helping her out of the boat, with 
 perhaps more attention than was absolutely 
 necessary, although it is true that her knees 
 were shaking, and she had by no means yet re- 
 covered from her sudden immersion. 
 
 Miss Parker — he found out later that that 
 was the name of the two ladies — was certainly 
 a somewhat remarkable contrast to her niece, 
 who in spite of her severely simple costume, 
 had the air and bearing of a young princess. 
 She was a plain woman of middle-age, with 
 sparse hair, plastered sleekly down on her head, 
 and a black gown rather more like what would 
 be worn by an upper servant than by a lady 
 of quality. 
 
 But Peter had no eyes for Miss Parker at 
 
THE GIRL OF THE PICTURE 93 
 
 all. She might have been without hair entirely 
 and dressed in sackcloth, for all the attention he 
 paid her, for the girl was smiling at him now, 
 and he was holding her hand in his as she 
 thanked him sweetly for saving her, and said 
 good-bye to him for the present. Then she 
 went away quickly with her aunt, and Peter was 
 left to think it all over. 
 
 His heart was singing loud paeans as he sat 
 in his boat again, after having helped the men 
 to recover the capsized craft floating in the 
 water, and housing her snugly. 
 
 What luck ! "What immense, unheard-of luck ! 
 She had been in danger, and he had saved her. 
 Perhaps he had even saved her life. She was 
 grateful to him. She had smiled on him, a 
 lovely radiant smile that had made her more 
 beautiful than ever, and driven away all that 
 sadness in her face which had so touched him. 
 He had spoken to her and she had spoken to 
 him. She had said good-bye * ' for the present. ' ' 
 He hugged those three little words "for the 
 present." "What could they mean but that she 
 would let him see her again, and that she would 
 be pleased to see him? 
 
 The slow but sunny hours of the next day 
 went by until the time came when Peter might 
 make his call at the cottage. As he clicked the 
 white-painted gate and walked up the garden 
 
94 BIG PETER 
 
 path, he saw that the parlour was occupied. 
 Miss Parker was standing near the window, and 
 when she saw him turned with a pinched ex- 
 pression towards a part of the room which he 
 could not see, and said something which he 
 could not hear. But it was evident from her 
 expression that if he received a welcome it 
 would not be from Miss Parker. 
 
 The landlady who opened the door received 
 him with a friendly countenance. There was 
 not an old woman in the world who could have 
 resisted Big Peter. 
 
 ' ' The ladies will be glad to see you, ' ' she said, 
 and opened the parlour door with the announce- 
 ment, "Here's the gentleman come." 
 
 "Please come in," said Miss Parker, coming 
 to the door almost with the manner of a serv- 
 ant, and not offering to shake hands with him. 
 
 But he had no eyes for her. The girl of the 
 picture was lying on the sofa under a rug. She 
 looked pale, but she smiled at him in a friendly 
 way and put out a slender hand, which he took 
 gently into his big one. 
 
 "It is so good of you to come and see me — 
 to see us," she corrected herself. "We both 
 want to thank you for saving me from a watery 
 grave. We have come to the conclusion, 
 haven't we. Auntie? — that I should most cer- 
 
THE GIEL OF THE PICTUBE 95 
 
 tainly have been drowned if you hadn't come 
 np jnst at the right time. ' ' 
 
 She turned towards the older woman, as if 
 she were anxious to bring her into the conversa- 
 tion, and ahnost as if she were giving her in- 
 structions as to what to say. 
 
 Miss Parker set a chair for Peter by the 
 couch, and said rather primly, but not disagree- 
 ably, "I think we ought to be very thankful 
 that you happened to be there. I didn't think 
 enough last night how providential it was, and 
 how mnch we both owe you." 
 
 But Big Peter could never bear to be thanked 
 for anything. "Yes. it was a great piece of 
 luck," he said, in his big voice, which seemed 
 so much too large for the little room, and mean- 
 ing a good deal more than his words indicated. 
 "But to teU vou the truth, I had an idea you 
 might be carrying too much saiL The wind was 
 blowing pretty strong. You have to be care- 
 ful, even on little bits of water like that." 
 
 "And I am afraid I wasn't very careful," 
 she said with a smile. "Do you know what I 
 was really doing? I was racing you, although 
 you didn't know it. You had got ahead of me 
 by nearly half a tack. I thought I could sail a 
 boat with anybody, but you beat me handsomely 
 yesterday. ' ' 
 
96 BIG PETER 
 
 Peter, enchanted by this confidence, declared 
 that his boat was bigger than hers, and that if 
 they had changed places, she would have been 
 just as far ahead of him as he was of her. Then, 
 greatly daring, he ventured to propose a regu- 
 lar sailing match when she should be ready to 
 go out again. 
 
 "Oh, but I hope you won't think of sailing 
 by yourself again after what has happened," 
 Miss Parker put in. "I shouldn't get a mo- 
 ment's peace if you went out in that boat now." 
 
 The girl laughed at her. "I'll promise you 
 not to go, Auntie," she said, "when there's 
 such a stiff breeze. But you can't be so unkind 
 as to want to stop me from sailing altogether." 
 
 Miss Parker did not seem able to issue a 
 prohibition, which she would obviously have 
 liked to do. She took up her work and sat for 
 the most part silent, while the two young peo- 
 ple talked. 
 
 When a man and a girl get into conversation 
 for the first time, it is generally the man who 
 does most of the talking, but it is the girl who, 
 unknown to him, directs the conversation, and 
 she usually directs it into a channel which will 
 give her information about him. Very soon 
 Peter was telling her about his life and adven- 
 tures in Australia, and she was listening with 
 
THE GIRL OF THE PICTURE 97 
 
 her eyes fixed on his face, as if he were open- 
 ing out to her an existence of which she had 
 had no conceptions, but could not hear too much. 
 In everything he said he revealed himself, dar- 
 ing and modest at the same time; bold as a 
 lion in face of danger; tender as a woman 
 where tenderness becomes a man. 
 
 Even Miss Parker looked up at him once or 
 twice from her work with something like ap- 
 proval on her thin face. He was a gentleman 
 through and through. It was quite plain that 
 he admired her niece, more than she would have 
 had a strange man admire her, but his attitude 
 towards her was irreproachable. There was 
 not the faintest trace of presumption in it, and 
 even towards herself he was considerate, for 
 he turned to her once or twice and included 
 her in what he was saying. 
 
 Presently the girl said to her, "I think we 
 might have tea now. Auntie. It is rather early, 
 but I want to hear such a lot more about Aus- 
 tralia that we must offer Mr. — ' ' Then she hesi- 
 tated. "We must offer our guest some refresh- 
 ment." 
 
 "I haven't told you my name," Peter said 
 instantly. "It is Peter — " and then he paused. 
 In this place he did not want his name to be 
 known at present. 
 
98 BIG PETER 
 
 "Mr. Peter," she said; "and my name is 
 Margaret Parker, So now we are introduced 
 in proper fashion." 
 
 Peter had tea with her and looked around 
 him sometimes, wondering whether it could 
 really all be true, or whether he would not pres- 
 ently awake out of a heavenly dream. 
 
 They were already friends. He was as com- 
 pletely at his ease with her as it was possible 
 for him to be, considering the sweetly disturbed 
 state of his mind. He had come to the con- 
 clusion that she was far more beautiful than 
 her picture. Since they had been together that 
 pensive look had not once appeared on her face. 
 Her voice was very sweet, and as she spoke 
 she revealed to him a mind and a nature which 
 seemed to be fittingly allied with her beauty. 
 The picture had lacked life, and yet he had 
 fallen in love with it. Now he knew her, he 
 was more in love with her than ever, for there 
 was twice as much to fall in love with, — ^her 
 face and her mind, too. 
 
 He did not leave her until an hour after old 
 Mrs. Geering cleared away the tea-things; and 
 then he tore himself away with difficulty. 
 
 By this time Miss Parker had more or less 
 capitulated to him. She had watched her niece 
 constantly, and seemed to be gratified at the in- 
 
THE GIRL OF THE PICTURE 99 
 
 terest he had aroused in her. When he took 
 his leave she said, in a more naturally cordial 
 tone than she had yet used to him, "You have 
 cheered us both up wonderfully. ' ' But she did 
 not invite him to come again. 
 
 But Margaret did. 
 
 "I want to hear a lot more about the Bush 
 and about the gold-fields," she said as she shook 
 hands with him, half-raising herself from her 
 couch. "It is stupid of me to be lying down 
 like this, but I did get rather a shock yesterday, 
 and I still feel shaky if I try to walk. Come 
 and see us to-morrow morning, if yon have noth- 
 ing else to do." 
 
 So Peter walked back to his inn in such a 
 state of elation as he had never felt in his life 
 before. So far his luck had stood by him sur- 
 prisingly, and it rested with him now to use it. 
 
 He went to the cottage the next morning, not 
 too early, and found Miss Parker and her niece 
 sitting out under the trees of a tiny orchard 
 next to the garden, from which they could get 
 a view of the silver waters of the Broad. 
 
 Margaret was much better, she told him, and 
 quite hoped to be able to sail a match with him 
 the next day or the day after. 
 
 Again they talked together as if they had 
 known each other all their lives, while Miss 
 
100 BIG PETER 
 
 Parker sat stitching, stitching at her needle- 
 work, and left them ahnost entirely to them- 
 selves. 
 
 Peter had formed a resolution during the 
 hours since he had last seen her. He wanted 
 to tell her something, but he did not want to 
 tell her while her aunt was there. 
 
 Presently, however, Miss Parker, whose mind 
 now seemed to be set completely at rest about 
 him, rose and went into the house, saying that 
 she was going to fetch a glass of milk for her 
 niece, and Peter, welcoming the opportunity, 
 but not without some inward perturbation, said 
 at once, "I have got something to tell you. Miss 
 — Miss Margaret. I am afraid that when I 
 first saw you when you passed me in your boat, 
 I stared at you rather harder than I ought to 
 Tiave done." 
 
 "Well," she said with a smile, "you certainly 
 did stare rather hard. I thought it was prob- 
 ably because I had been hidden by the sail, 
 and you had expected to see a man, and were 
 rather surprised to see a girl instead." 
 
 "No, that wasn't the reason," said Peter. 
 "The reason was that I had been looking every- 
 where for you and could hardly believe my eyes 
 when I saw it was really you." 
 
 She stared at him with a face from which 
 ^very vestige of colour gradually receded, until 
 
THE GIRL OF THE PICTUEE 101 
 
 it seemed to leave nothing but a pair of fright- 
 ened eyes. 
 
 Peter was terrified. "Oh! you're ill," he 
 cried, springing up. "What have I saidi 
 Shall I call Miss Parker?" 
 
 She seemed to make an effort to control her 
 emotion. "I felt a little faint," she said, "but 
 I am all right now. Tell me what you mean." 
 
 A little colour had come back into her cheeks. 
 She now looked at him steadily, as if she were 
 nerving herself for anything he might say, and 
 when he again asked if he should call her aunt, 
 said rather impatiently, "No, no, she will be 
 out in a minute. Tell me what you mean by 
 saying you were looking for me, before she 
 comes." 
 
 Peter, somewhat disturbed at this reception 
 of his statement, said, "If I had known your 
 name I might have found you before. It 
 wouldn't have been for want of looking. Miss 
 Margaret, do you know that at Buckingham 
 Palace, out in Kampurli, your portrait was 
 hanging up on the wall ? It was the only picture 
 in the place, perhaps the only picture on the 
 whole field." 
 
 Her colour had come back to her now, and 
 she laughed, nervously, but still as if what he 
 had said had relieved her of some fear or other. 
 "What a curious coincidence!" she said. "I 
 
102 BIG PETER 
 
 suppose it is of some girl very much like me." 
 
 "No. It was you, yourself. It was cut out 
 of some illustrated paper. You were sitting in 
 a Mgh-backed oak chair, playing with a little 
 chain. ' ' 
 
 "Oh!" she said, with a change of tone, "you 
 mean it really was my portrait. But wasn't 
 my name underneath it?" 
 
 "I wish it had been," he replied. "It had 
 been cut off before I got it." 
 
 Again she laughed, this time more naturally. 
 "How very odd!" she said, "and you really 
 recognized me when you saw me in the boat?" 
 
 "Yes," said Peter, "I wasn't likely not to." 
 
 He said it leaning forward a little, looking 
 straight at her. She was sitting in her low 
 wicker chair, looking out across the water, and 
 she did not turn to him to receive this state- 
 ment; but it almost seemed as if she felt his 
 eyes fixed on her face, for the delicate rose on 
 her cheeks grew deeper. 
 
 Peter was about to say more, but just at that 
 moment Miss Parker came out from the garden 
 carrying a little tray, and her niece said to 
 her, "Auntie, you are spoiling me. I don't 
 want all this feeding up. I am not an invalid ; ' ' 
 and she went on talking as if she did not wish 
 him to pursue the subject. 
 
 So he kept silence about it, with a feeling 
 
THE GIRL OF THE PICTURE 103 
 
 towards Miss Parker less friendly than hith- 
 erto. 
 
 But it seemed that the girl wanted to hear 
 more on the subject, for presently she said, 
 "Auntie, the whole of me is feeling terribly 
 lazy except my hands. Would you mind fetch- 
 ing me that needlework that I haven't touched 
 yet, and I'U go on with it as we talk?" 
 
 Miss Parker rose at once, as if she were used 
 to running her niece's errands. "I am not sure 
 whether I unpacked it," she said, "but I will 
 go and find it." 
 
 Directly she was out of earshot the girl said 
 to Peter, "What paper did that picture come 
 out of, and what was it doing in Buckingham 
 Palace?" 
 
 She mentioned the name of his late residence 
 with a little smile, and he took her question as 
 a challenge to declare himself further, and felt 
 a great disturbance of heart as she asked it. 
 
 "I don't know what paper it was in," he said. 
 "If I hadn't had the wonderful luck of finding 
 you here, directly I got back to London I should 
 have bought all the papers from a year back 
 and gone through them until I found it, and 
 found out who you were." 
 
 "Well, you needn't do that now," she said 
 rather hurriedly, "because you know who I 
 
104 BIG PETER 
 
 "Thank heaven, I do!" said Peter fervently. 
 "You can't think how much I wanted to know. 
 Why, I have carried that picture about with me 
 wherever I have been. I have got it with me 
 in the inn now. The first thing I did when I 
 made that money I told you of at Kampurli, 
 and got down to a city, was to buy the hand- 
 somest frame I could find for it. It was only 
 silver, and I couldn't get one large enough to 
 put the picture in without cutting it a trifle 
 more. If I hadn't been a fool I should have 
 taken down a bar of gold out of the Buckingham 
 Mine and had a frame made up out of that, for 
 that's what I felt like about your picture." 
 
 This was straight speaking indeed, and the 
 girl did not affect to misunderstand it, although 
 the colour dyed her face again as she listened 
 to him. She looked at him with her beautiful 
 eyes a little narrowed. 
 
 "I have never had a compliment paid me like 
 that before," she said. "Thank you very 
 much, Mr. Peter." 
 
 Again Miss Parker interrupted them, having 
 found her niece's needlework much more quickly 
 than Peter had hoped for; and this time she 
 remained with them until he could no longer 
 put off his departure. 
 
 As he went away he made a desperate bid for 
 another near invitation. ' ' I should like to show 
 
THE GIEL OF THE PICTUEE 105 
 
 you that book of Gordon's poems tliat I told you 
 about," he said. "I am sure you will like 
 them. I shall be sailing on the Broad this 
 afternoon; may I bring them in to you?" 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Peter," she said, as she 
 gave him her hand. "Come to tea this after- 
 noon and read them to us. I am sure I shall 
 understand them much better than if I were to 
 read them to myself." 
 
 So he had taken the first step. He had de- 
 clared his admiration for her, and she had not 
 rejected it. Well, with Gordon to help him, he 
 hoped he might be able to get a little farther 
 that afternoon. Faint heart never yet won fair 
 lady, and although the faintest hint of offence 
 on her part would throw him out terribly, there 
 had been none so far. He got into his boat and 
 sailed up to Hollow Weir again, building all 
 sorts of castles in the air, all of which had for 
 their foundation the memory of a pair of beau- 
 tiful kind eyes and a sweet, low voice, and the 
 soft pressure of a little hand. 
 
 He spent nearly two hours with her that 
 afternoon. But Miss Parker did not leave them 
 alone together this time, and nothing could be 
 said, even if she had wanted it said, which was 
 perhaps a little doubtful, that would make 
 clearer the feelings with which he regarded her. 
 
 But their intimacy had certainly advanced. 
 
106 BIG PETER 
 
 and wlien he left her it seemed only natural 
 that they should arrange to meet again on the 
 morrow, when she promised, if she was well 
 enough, to sail again. 
 
 When Peter got back to the inn and sat down 
 to his tea, the landlord came in to have a word 
 or two with him. 
 
 "You're not the only gentleman going about 
 on a walking tour in these parts," he said. 
 "There was another one here this afternoon, 
 and he seems to be interested like in the old 
 churches, the same as you are. He thought 
 there must be one here, and seemed surprised 
 when I told him that we were in Thaixted parish 
 and our church was a couple of miles away down 
 the Broad. He said he shouldn't have time to 
 see it, as he was going off in another direction. 
 But I told him it was worth seeing. You ought 
 to see it, too, you know. There's an old screen 
 in it with painted panels well worth seeing." 
 
 The landlord seemed almost excited at having 
 had another visitor. With such hospitality as 
 his comfortable old house and excellent fare 
 could afford, it was rather surprising that he so 
 seldom had demands made upon it. He told 
 Peter that he liked to see a little life som.etimes 
 and added proudly that when people did come 
 that way they generally stayed a day or two 
 if they had the leisure, and sometimes came 
 
THE GIRL OF THE PICTUEE 107 
 
 again. "I have had artists more than once," 
 he said, "and fishermen, but my little piece of 
 water is too small to bring many of them. I 
 wish there was more gentlemen like you who 
 had the sense to walk through the country and 
 take their time about it. This other gentle- 
 man seemed in too much of a hurry ; didn 't look 
 like a walker, neither. A tall, thin man he 
 was, with a face I wouldn't trust too far. I 
 call him a gentleman, but he wasn't quite like 
 one, although he spoke soft and was dressed, — 
 well, rather too well for a walking holiday, I 
 should say." 
 
 Peter did not pay much attention to him as 
 he went rambling on. But something or other 
 that he said caused him to ask how long the inn 
 had been in the occupation of his family. 
 
 "Ah, you may well ask that," said the land- 
 lord. "You're asking more than I can tell you. 
 There was a fire here once and it burnt all the 
 old books and papers. But I've heard my 
 grandfather tell of it, and you may believe that 
 it's a tidy time ago since he died. I remember 
 he always used to speak as if we had had the 
 place long before that. Anyhow, everything 
 most that you see round you was put in here 
 new and has been here ever since. I've been 
 offered a good deal of money for some of the 
 things, but I wouldn't part with them. They 
 
108 BIG PETER 
 
 have always been here and belonged to us, and 
 they'll stop here as long as I do." 
 
 "How far do your records go back?" Peter 
 asked him. "Would they give the names of 
 anybody who might have stayed here, say a 
 hundred years ago?" 
 
 "No. The fire must have been a bit since 
 then," said the landlord, "and we've kept a 
 visitors' book. I was thinking more of ac- 
 counts and things that had to do with the bit of 
 land that's always gone with this place." 
 
 "It can't have altered much in a hundred 
 years," said Peter. 
 
 ' ' No, I doubt if it has. I should think if you 
 could look into this room a hundred years ago, 
 you might have seen my old grandfather stand- 
 ing talking to a gentleman staying here, just 
 the same as I am talking to you. They'd be 
 dressed different, of course, but there wouldn't 
 be much changed in the room." 
 
 Then still in the same easy, droning voice 
 he said a thing that caused Peter to stop eat- 
 ing and to stare at him with open mouth, asking 
 himself if he could possibly believe his ears. 
 
 "Now I come to mention it, I remember my 
 grandfather talking of a young gentleman, just 
 the same as it might be you, who came here 
 for a day or two and stopped on for most of 
 the summer. I dare say they often used to 
 
THE GIEL OF THE PICTURE 109 
 
 talk together in this very room. There's a 
 story about that, too, but it had ahnost gone out 
 of my head, for it's many years ago since I 
 thought of it. I'll sit down, if you'll excuse 
 mCj while I tell it you." 
 
 "I should like to hear that story," said 
 Peter. "What was the name of the young 
 man?" 
 
 "What was his name? Ah ! there you've got 
 me. I know his name — and yet I don't know 
 it, if you understand. It'll come back to me 
 when I'm not thinking of it. Well, whatever 
 his name was, he used to go fishing and sailing 
 on the Broad, just the same as you do. Well 
 now, there's another thing that he done like 
 you. He went courting at the very same house 
 as you've been at." 
 
 This fresh instance of similarity rather dis- 
 concerted Peter. "What, at the cottage on the 
 Broad?" he said, dropping his eyes for a mo- 
 ment. "But I have not exactly gone courting 
 there, you know." 
 
 The old man chuckled. "No more did he at 
 the first, ' ' he said. ' ' There was a pretty young 
 woman who lived at that house. Her name's 
 gone from me, too. Whatever was it? It was 
 a name I ought to know, for it belonged to folks 
 about here — was it Barrett, or Parr, or what 
 was it? I don't remember, but it will come 
 
110 BIG PETER 
 
 back to me. Anyhow, this young gentleman, 
 who seemed to be pretty high up in the world, 
 stayed here most of one summer a-courting of 
 this young woman, who wasn't high up in the 
 world herself, you'll understand; and there was 
 a bit of a talk about it. Then one fine day, 
 when my grandfather was thinking of anything 
 but his going away, he told him he was off the 
 next morning, and off he was. But when folks 
 began to look about a bit, they found that the 
 young woman had gone off, too. ' ' 
 
 "Yes," said Peter breathlessly, "but he had 
 married her, hadn't he?" 
 
 The landlord's face fell. "Why, what ever 
 made you think of that?" he asked. "I was 
 just a-coming to it. Yes. He'd married her 
 all right. He had got the parson to do it one 
 morning, in the church, too, when nobody was 
 thinking anything of the sort. I suppose you 
 could do those sort of things in them days, and 
 it's true that the church stands where anything 
 might happen without folks knowing about it." 
 
 "And what was the end of the story?" asked 
 Peter. 
 
 "Well, there wasn't any end of it, except 
 what I told you. I don't know as they was 
 ever heard of again. But I remember my 
 grandfather laughing over it and saying that it 
 was the only time he had heard of folks being 
 
THE GIRL OF THE PICTURE 111 
 
 disappointed in that way, thinking something 
 wrong had happened and making a mighty fuss 
 about it, and then finding that the young gen- 
 tleman, what he had always stuck up for, had 
 done the right thing by the girl after all. It's 
 a curious story though, ain't it?" 
 
 ''It's a very curious story," said Peter 
 quietly, "and I'm much obliged to you for tell- 
 ing it to me," 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE CHTJECH BY THE BEOAD 
 
 PETER went to bed, but be could not sleep. 
 Tbe events of tbe day bad been too ex- 
 citing. 
 For a time even tbe tbougbts of tbe girl wbo 
 was sleeping not so far away from bim were put 
 out of bis mind by tbe discoveries be bad made. 
 He bad come to tbe end of bis searcb; tbere 
 could be very little doubt of it. Tbe young man 
 wbose story tbe landlord bad told bim must 
 bave been bis great-grandfatber and no otber. 
 It was impossible to tbink otberwise. It was 
 in Tbaxted Cburcb, tbe Cburcb on tbe Broad, 
 that be bad been married. Tbe next day be 
 would ask permission to examine tbe registers, 
 and get a certified copy of tbe entry be would 
 surely find. His beart leapt with joy as be 
 tbougbt now of wbat be could offer to tbe girl 
 wbom be so ardently desired to make bis own. 
 He rose and went to tbe window and leaned 
 out to drink in some of tbe deep peace wbicb 
 lay all about bim. 
 
 112 
 
THE CHURCH BY THE BROAD 113 
 
 It was past midnight. The earth was lying 
 in a deep sleep. The only sound to be heard 
 was the rush of the weir, which seemed to fill 
 the whole purple vault of night with music. 
 The sky was powdered with stars. There was 
 no moon, but the dark masses of foliage and the 
 misty white meadows could be plainly seen. A 
 bed of night-scented stock in the little garden 
 at the side of the inn sent up to him wafts of 
 sweet perfume. It was such a night as seemed 
 to be made for lovers, such a night as that on 
 which sweet Juliet leaning out of her window 
 had whispered her love to the stars, and young 
 Romeo had breathed out his passion for her. 
 
 Peter stood for a long time at his window, 
 and his thoughts were filled with the sweetness 
 of his own love, which was so strong that it 
 seemed to overflow his whole being, and to be 
 part of all the warm-scented splendour of the 
 night. 
 
 He turned from the window and put on his 
 clothes. Then he stole downstairs and opened 
 the door, which was not even locked, so little 
 fear was there of any harm coming to this quiet, 
 sheltered spot, and went out under the stars. 
 
 He walked down the path by the river, and 
 presently quickened his footsteps. Almost 
 without knowing it he had formed an intention. 
 He would go and stand beneath the window of 
 
114 BIG PETER 
 
 Ms love, and ease the sweet pain in his breast 
 by his nearness to her. 
 
 He made his way through the wood, and came 
 out, treading softly through the wet grass, in 
 front of the cottage. The window of the room 
 in which he knew she slept was open. The 
 thought thrilled him that if she were lying 
 awake and he whispered her name, she would 
 hear him. But it was a thought that brought 
 him a certain amount of uneasiness, too. These 
 secret adventures of the ardent lover must be 
 kept even from the beloved one. It would have 
 covered him with confusion if she had sud- 
 denly appeared at the window and caught him 
 standing there gazing up at it. 
 
 He withdrew on tip-toe under the shade of a 
 great tree, and stood there for a long time, 
 feeding his mind on sweet thoughts, and stirred 
 by deep emotion when he thought that to-mor- 
 row he would see her. 
 
 A long time passed, and then at last, with 
 one more look at the open window, Peter moved 
 softly away. 
 
 But he was not yet ready for bed. It seemed 
 to him that he was more wakeful than he had 
 ever been in his life. His mind was in a fer- 
 ment, and the beauty of the summer night 
 seemed to make his thoughts still more tender 
 and to sink into his spirit in a way he would 
 
THE CHURCH BY THE BEGAD 115 
 
 never forget as long as he lived. He wandered 
 on throngh the wood, hardly realizing that he 
 was going in an opposite direction to Hollow 
 Weir, but taMng that path probably because 
 the idea of going prosaically home to bed was 
 distasteful to him. 
 
 By and by he came out on to the edge of the 
 Broad, and stood awhile looking over the stiU 
 water, in which the innumerable stars were mir- 
 rored almost as brightly as if they were shining 
 there instead of up in the sky. 
 
 There was just the faintest hint of coming 
 dawn in the east. It was hardly more than a 
 gradation of light from deep, velvety purple 
 to a fainter touch of grey. But it showed up 
 the dark mass of trees at the end of the Broad, 
 and the square tower of the church above them. 
 
 Peter had wandered a long way from his inn, 
 and had just turned to retrace his steps through 
 the wood, when he turned round again sharply 
 and stood looking in the direction of the lonely 
 church. He had thought he saw a point of light 
 there; but after standing for some time, came 
 to the conclusion that he must have been mis- 
 taken. Perhaps as he had turned away the re- 
 flection of some star brighter than the rest in 
 the water just below the church had caught 
 his eye. Again he turned away, and again he 
 caught the glimmer of light and stood stiU. 
 
116 BIG PETER 
 
 This time there was no doubt about it. The 
 light was not on the water; it was just where 
 the dark bulk of the church itself would have 
 been if it had been distinguishable from the 
 trees by which it was surrounded. It was mov- 
 ing, too. Some one was there, carrying a light, 
 and perhaps trying to find a way into the church 
 itself; though what he could be doing in the 
 very dead hours of the night in a place removed 
 by a mile or more from any other building, it 
 "was difficult to imagine. 
 
 But Peter, as he had stood looking over the 
 water towards the church, had found time to 
 remove his mind for an instant from the sub- 
 ject that filled it, and to reflect that hidden some- 
 where in the dark recesses of that old building, 
 was the key to a problem of the most momen- 
 tous importance to him, and that before very 
 long it would be in his possession. He was not, 
 therefore, disinterested in what happened in 
 and about this old church, and thought he might 
 as well investigate the mysterious occurrence. 
 
 The church was at least half a mile from 
 where he was standing, and considerably far- 
 ther by the path round the shores of the Broad. 
 He set off at a smart pace, and presently broke 
 into a run. Supposing somebody should be 
 trying to break into the church, to tamper with 
 
THE CHURCH BY THE BROAD 117 
 
 that very record which was of such importance 
 to him! But presently he slowed down again, 
 laughing at himself over his fears. The record 
 had lain hidden there, unknown to anybody con- 
 cerned, for over a hundred years. It was ab- 
 surd to suppose that any one should be taking 
 just this opportunity of tampering with it. 
 Besides, who was there who could possibly want 
 to do so? 
 
 He walked on, however, at a quick pace. 
 Something odd was going on that he ought to 
 know about, because his interest in this par- 
 ticular church at the present moment was prob- 
 ably greater than that of anybody else in the 
 world. It was even a sort of proprietary in- 
 terest, and he must see that no harm came to it. 
 
 As he neared the church he came upon the 
 road leading from the village down the river, 
 but kept to the grass by its side, unwilling to 
 run the risk of his footsteps being heard. Soon 
 he was able to see the south wall of the church 
 with its rows of tall windows ; but there was nO' 
 light in them. 
 
 He went into the churchyard under the old 
 lych gate, and, keeping to the grass, tip-toed 
 round the chancel end, to where the wall, jut- 
 ting out on the north side, showed either a 
 chapel or a vestry; and immediately he had 
 
118 BIG PETER 
 
 turned the comer he stopped abruptly and 
 caught his breath, for the latticed window im- 
 mediately in front of him was lighted up. 
 
 For a moment he felt a sensation of nervous- 
 ness, to which he was almost a complete 
 stranger. A dark churchyard in the dead of 
 night, round a lonely church far from human 
 habitation, was not the most soothing of spots 
 in which to receive a sudden shock. Peter be- 
 lieved in ghosts as little as any man. But there 
 is something in the human mind, however well 
 balanced, that responds to superstition, and it 
 was not until he had called himself to task that 
 he crept on round the heavy masonry. 
 
 The window which had faced him was just 
 too high for him to look through, without rais- 
 ing himself, and he would not do that for fear 
 of being seen by whoever was inside. But an- 
 other window, facing south, was lower, and as 
 he came round the corner he ducked his head 
 and then drew back to where he could see 
 through it without fear of being seen himself. 
 The glass was half opaque, and all he could see 
 was a candle flame. But he heard sounds which 
 seemed to show that whoever was inside had 
 left open the door by which he had entered, 
 and without losing time he went on round the 
 farther corner and came upon a heavy oak door 
 standing slightly ajar. 
 
THE CHURCH BY THE BROAD 119 
 
 Again he stood a little way off and peered 
 through the aperture, and was rewarded hy see- 
 ing a man kneeling on the floor, engrossed in 
 some task which there was neither light enough 
 nor space enough for him to distinguish. But 
 the man's back was towards him, and he crept 
 closer up until he stood right on the threshold 
 and could watch him as closely as if he had 
 "been inside. 
 
 He was kneeling in front of a great, old chest, 
 closely bound with bands of iron, which stood 
 up against the wall of the narrow chamber. 
 By his side on the floor was spread an array of 
 instruments, which it was not difficult to recog- 
 nize as those of a locksmith, especially as he 
 was working with one of them at an elaborate 
 steel lock fixed to the lid of the chest. He did 
 not look like a burglar. He was well-dressed, 
 in dark clothes ; his hat, which lay on the floor 
 by the tools, was a new felt one ; the soles of his 
 boots, of which Peter had a good view, were al- 
 most new. But there was no doubt that he was 
 busily intent on an act of sacrilege, if not of 
 robbery, and Peter did not wait long before 
 making up his mind to stop him. 
 
 Standing out of sight, he pushed gently at 
 the door, prepared if it should creak, to step 
 in boldly. But it did not creak. He opened it 
 wide enough to admit his body, and then crept 
 
120 BIG PETER 
 
 in and stood Tight over the man, who had just 
 impatiently thrown down one instrument and 
 picked up another. 
 
 For a moment Peter stood there, so close 
 to him that he could have touched him without 
 taking another step forward. And still he 
 :worked on, and Peter watched him. 
 
 He rapped out an oath of disgust, and said 
 aloud, "I don't believe it's to be shifted with- 
 out dynamite!" 
 
 Peter waited, and then said quietly, "No, I 
 don't believe it is. I should drop it if I were 
 you." 
 
 There was a long drawn gasp of agonized ter- 
 ror. The man crouched away from him and 
 looked up with his eyes starting out of his head 
 and a face so contorted by fear that it seemed 
 hardly human. Every one knows the painful 
 shock occasioned by a human voice immediately 
 beside one, when one thinks oneself quite alone. 
 Imagine that shock increased a hundredfold, 
 and it is small wonder that the man Peter had 
 surprised should suddenly have fallen over side- 
 ways and collapsed in a swoon of terror. 
 
 "Here, I say," said Peter, "this won't do. 
 Sorry to have disturbed you, but if you set out 
 to rob a church, you ought to have a bit more 
 nerve than that." 
 
 The man had not lost consciousness, and re- 
 
THE CHUECH BY THE BROAD 121 
 
 covered himself quickly; but his face was still 
 livid, his breath came in gasps, and he could 
 only stare up at Peter with the face of a fox 
 brought to bay. 
 
 Perhaps it would be nearer to say with the 
 face of a wolf. The thin lips drawn back 
 showed teeth like fangs; the eyes were blood- 
 shot ; the face seemed drawn to a point like that 
 of a desperate animal. 
 
 "Well," said Peter, "what have you got to 
 say for yourself?" 
 
 The man still crouched at his feet and looked 
 up at him panting. But his eyes insensibly 
 changed, and his gasps seemed to come more 
 regularly, but at the same time not so naturally. 
 In the rough life of the Bush, Peter had not 
 been altogether unused to desperate characters, 
 and he held himself on the alert. 
 
 "Hadn't you better get up?" he said at last. 
 "You may catch cold sitting on those stones." 
 
 Yes, this was what he wanted. There was 
 no mistaking the glint in his eyes. Still with- 
 out speaking, he raised himself slowly to his 
 feet, and the moment he stood upright made a 
 dash for the candle, which was standing on an 
 oak table behind him. But Peter's foot hap- 
 pened to be in the way, and he came down heav- 
 ily, striking his head against the corner of the 
 table with a sickening thud. But he was up 
 
122 BIG PETER 
 
 again in an instant, and now made a dash for 
 the door. But Peter caught him by the shoul- 
 der, turned him about roughly and threw him 
 against the wall, where he stood glaring fero- 
 ciously. 
 
 "No good trying on that game," said Peter. 
 "I've got you, and I'm not going to let you go 
 until I know what you're up to." 
 
 Now he had found his voice, and cursed 
 Peter furiously, with a malevolence that was 
 frightful to witness. 
 
 Peter took a step towards him. * * Stow that, ' ' 
 he said roughly. "Eemember where you are. 
 "What are you up to? What do you want to 
 find in that chest?" 
 
 Again that blank stare of terror, real or simu- 
 lated, which did not disguise the springing up 
 of an idea behind it. 
 
 "I have done no harm to the chest," he said. 
 "You can see for yourself." 
 
 He turned his eyes towards it, no doubt ex- 
 pecting Peter to do the same, as any one not on 
 the alert would naturally have done, and his 
 hand went quickly behind him. 
 
 Peter sprang forward and grappled with him. 
 There was a furious struggle for an instant or 
 two, Peter using his enormous strength with a 
 will, and his opponent writhing and snarling 
 with impotent passion. The struggle ended by 
 
THE CHUECH BY THE BEOAD 123 
 
 his being thrown once more forcibly against 
 the wall, and Peter standing back holdiag in 
 his hand a revolver, which he had torn out of 
 the thief's hip pocket. 
 
 "Now I think that's about enough," he said. 
 "I think you will have understood by this time 
 that I'm a good deal stronger than you, and 
 I've got my wits about me. You had better 
 come with me without trying it on any more. 
 Whatever you're after here, you're a dangerous 
 character to have about a place, and I shall 
 feel a good deal more comfortable when I see 
 you locked up in the police station." 
 
 The man was quiet now and looked half- 
 dazed. He had received some pretty rough 
 treatment, and the blood was oozing down his 
 face from a wound in his forehead where he had 
 struck the table. He was not an attractive 
 looking spectacle. But still he was surprisingly 
 unlike what one would expect a man to be who 
 broke into churches in the dead of night. 
 
 Peter cast an eye at the chest, which in spite 
 of its great age and the clumsiness of its elab- 
 orate lock, had triumphantly resisted the at- 
 tacks made upon it, and upon the tools which 
 littered the floor. 
 
 "I think we'll leave things here as they are," 
 he said. "Nobody is likely to disturb them, and 
 they will show what you've been up to. Go 
 
124 BIG PETER 
 
 and stand at the door while I blow out the can- 
 dle, and if you try to clear out — ! Well, you 
 had better not try to clear out!" 
 
 The man did as he was bid. He had appar- 
 ently come to the end of his ideas for resistance 
 or escape, and moved as if he were half -dazed. 
 
 Peter blew out the candle and followed him. 
 ' ' We '11 shut the door, ' ' he said. ' ' How did you 
 open it, by-the-by?" 
 
 There was no reply and he repeated this ques- 
 tion more sharply. 
 
 "I picked the lock," said the man sulkily. 
 He seemed to be recovering his wits, but his 
 voice was not pleasant to listen to, 
 
 "Oh, I see," said Peter. "Then we can't 
 lock it. But if we shut it tight, like this, I don't 
 suppose anybody who happens to come along, 
 if anybody does come along, which is unlikely, 
 will think of trying it." 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 A LET OFF 
 
 THE dawn had stolen on, even in the short 
 time since Peter had approached the 
 church, and it was now light enough to 
 see everything outside without difficulty. The 
 hirds had already begun to sing loudly, and a 
 light breeze was stroking the waters of the 
 Broad, which was spread out in front of them. 
 In spite of his adventure, and the serious- 
 ness of the matter in hand, Peter experienced 
 a thrill of pleasure at this dawning of a new 
 day, a day which was to bring him so much 
 happiness. The tree-crowned cape, upon the 
 other side of which nestled the cottage on which 
 his thoughts had been exclusively fixed, until 
 his dealings with the man by his side had for 
 the moment changed their current, could be seen 
 from the churchyard path down which they were 
 walking, and not even the necessity of keeping 
 an eye on his companion prevented him from 
 turning his face towards it, and letting his 
 thoughts follow. 
 
 The pleasure he experienced from his look 
 
 125 
 
126 BIG PETER 
 
 even softened his mind a little towards the man 
 whose evil intentions he had frustrated. He 
 had fought him and he had got the better of 
 him, and a man of Big Peter's character is apt 
 to feel not ill-disposed towards another man 
 whom he has beaten in fair fight, even if the 
 fairness has only been one-sided, as in this case. 
 Perhaps his late opponent, now walking de- 
 jectedly by his side, regarded him with less 
 good will. But he did not show any rancour 
 when Peter asked him in a pleasantly conver- 
 sational tone, "Come now, what were you up 
 to? You don't look like a fellow who is ac- 
 customed to robbing churches." 
 
 The man, perhaps encouraged by an enquiry 
 made in a tone that was almost friendly, threw 
 a look at him, and then said in a low voice, 
 "You have got the better of me, sir. I am com- 
 pletely in your hands. It will be a terrible 
 thing for me to face the punishment you are 
 taking me to. You can see for yourself I am 
 not a common thief, and I swear to you sol- 
 emnly that I have never done a thing like this 
 before, and never will again, if you will be mer- 
 ciful and let me go. You have handled me 
 pretty roughly, and you have prevented me 
 doing the slightest damage. Can't you let 
 that be enough?" 
 
 If Peter had looked at him, he would again 
 
A LET OFF 127 
 
 have seen that look in his eyes which betokened 
 an idea springing up. But he was not looking 
 at him. "Well," he said pleasantly, "I can 
 quite believe that it's going to be very awkward 
 for you, and it's quite true that you don't look 
 like an ordinary thief. Come now, what were 
 you up to? I don't suppose you want money, 
 and if you did you wouldn't be likely to find 
 it where you were looking. What do they keep 
 in a chest like that that's of any value?" 
 
 Then at last the idea suddenly struck him 
 that this was just the place where the particular 
 thing that was of value to him would be likely 
 to be kept. He threw a suspicious glance at 
 his companion. "It isn't papers you were 
 after, is it?" 
 
 His glance was returned. "Papers?" re- 
 peated the man, with an air of bewilderment. 
 "What papers should I be likely to find that 
 would make me take the risk that I was fool 
 enough to take?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," said Peter, rather sorry 
 that he had mooted such an idea. "I was only 
 wondering what there could be of any value. 
 Come now, what was it ? " 
 
 The other appeared to be ready to answer 
 the question now. "Will you let me go if I 
 tell you?" he asked. 
 
 "No, I won't," said Peter. "You seem to 
 
128 BIG PETER 
 
 be about as desperate a character as they make 
 'em. I am used to pretty strong language 
 where I come from, but I shan't easily forget 
 yours when I caught you. Besides, if I hadn't 
 had my wits pretty well about me, you wouldn't 
 have had any scruple in murdering me. That's 
 not a thing a man forgets in a hurry, or for- 
 gives, either. You must have been up to some 
 desperate game to come prepared in the way 
 you did." 
 
 Suddenly as they were walking on side by 
 side, the man reeled and fell against Peter. 
 Peter sprang quickly away, fearing a sudden 
 attack, and then as quickly seized hold of him, 
 for if he had not done so, he would have fallen. 
 No doubt the mingled emotion to which he had 
 been subjected, the wound in his head and the 
 rough handling he had received had been too 
 much for him. He had not exactly fainted, but 
 he had gone very near to it. 
 
 At the side of the road just here there was a 
 stretch of grass bordering the waters of the 
 Broad, and on it was a fallen tree-trunk. Peter 
 led his captive to this and fetched water in his 
 cap for his refreshment. 
 
 He soon came completely to himself once 
 more and said in a sulky voice, "I don't know 
 that I've ever fainted before in my life, but 
 
A LET OFF 129 
 
 what you're going to do is enough to make 
 anybody lose control over himself." 
 
 "Well, it is certainly going to be pretty awk- 
 ward for you," said Peter, regarding him with 
 less aversion on account of the very natural 
 weakness he had shown. "But there's no par- 
 ticular hurry. We'll sit down here for a bit, 
 and you can tell me what you were up to; 
 though you mustn't expect that you're going 
 to persuade me not to give you up to the po- 
 lice." 
 
 The man's face was quickly turned away, and 
 a gleam of satisfaction came into it. He an- 
 swered at once. 
 
 "I don't know whether you've ever heard of 
 the collector's mania," he said. "It is a thing 
 that takes people strongly, and makes them do 
 all sorts of foolish things. If I were to tell 
 you who I was — ^but nothing wUl induce me 
 to give up my name to the police — ^I dare say 
 you would recognize me, if you know anything 
 about such things, as a man who is known to 
 have one of the finest collections of church plate 
 of a certain date in the country. Well, there 
 is an old silver cup belonging to that church. 
 It isn't of much value in itself, but I would give 
 anything to possess it; in fact, my desire for 
 it is so strong that I have got myself into your 
 
130 BIG PETER 
 
 hands, and now I suppose the whole of my life 
 will be spoilt, and I shall never be able to hold 
 up my head again." 
 
 Peter was the most guileless of beings where 
 anything was concerned that did not come 
 within the scope of life as he had had experi- 
 ence of it, and this story explained, as far as 
 it went, why a man of this appearance should 
 have been found robbing a church. Still, he 
 was not prepared to accept it entirely without 
 further question. Little as he knew about such 
 matters it did strike him that this man, although 
 he did not look like a common thief, did not 
 look, either, like a man whose passion in life 
 was art in any form. 
 
 "Well, that's a pretty sort of thing to con- 
 fess to," he said. "What were you going to 
 do with it when you got it? If you had put it 
 in your collection it would have been recog- 
 nized." 
 
 The man turned to him eagerly. Peter had 
 not spoken as if he entirely disbelieved the 
 story. "Do with it?" he exclaimed. "Why, 
 keep it locked away to gloat over it. You don't 
 suppose that a collector who loves these sort 
 of things for their own sake, wants to show them 
 all about, do you? Haven't you heard of fa- 
 mous pictures being stolen that couldn't have 
 been worth a farthing to the thieves — that 
 
A LET OFF 131 
 
 couldn't have been shown to a soul? That's 
 the sort of risk people will run to have things 
 of that sort in their possession. And I swear 
 to you that that is what I wanted. I'll swear, 
 too, although you may not believe me, that 1 
 should have sent the value of the cup secretly 
 when I got hold of it. Look here, sir, you 
 stopped me committing this crime — for, of 
 course, I don't deny that it's a crime, whatever 
 my motives may have been — and the cup is safe 
 enough now; naturally, I've had enough of try- 
 ing to get hold of it — can't you let me go? 
 Just think what it will be to a man like me to 
 be charged with robbing a church." 
 
 "Well, you were robbing a church, you. 
 know, ' ' said Peter. ' ' If you like to run the risk 
 of that sort of thing you must put up with the 
 consequences. Besides, I don't know much, 
 about the sort of people who have a passion for 
 church plate, but I shouldn't have thought they 
 had quite such foul language ready to their lips 
 as you had when you found yourself baulked; 
 and I don't forget that you wouldn't have stuck 
 at murder as well as robbery if I hadn't been 
 a bit too sharp for you." 
 
 Then the man began to plead with him with 
 intense and painful eagerness. He had been 
 almost mad, he said, with the fear of being 
 caught and punished for this crime. He would 
 
132 BIG PETER 
 
 not deny that in his passion he would have shot 
 Peter if he could, and would not have cared 
 until afterwards if he had shot him dead. He 
 had been saved from that crime, and he should 
 never think of that afterwards without thank- 
 fulness. 
 
 He told Peter that he was a man of consid- 
 erable wealth; that he had a wife and young 
 children, and was looked up to in the place 
 where he lived with respect. If he was sent 
 to prison his name was bound to come out, and 
 the lives of his wife and his children would be 
 ruined. 
 
 "I love my wife," he said pathetically, "and 
 it would kill her if this were to become known. 
 If you are married yourself," he said, "you 
 must have pity on me, for her sake if not for 
 mine. You can't bring such disgrace and 
 trouble upon an innocent woman." 
 
 Peter was undoubtedly touched by this. He 
 cast his eye over the Broad, to the place where 
 that little thatched cottage was standing be- 
 hind the trees, and thought what it would be to 
 him if he were married to Margaret and had 
 done something that would part them, and bring 
 disgrace upon her. 
 
 He began to waver, and the man who was 
 pleading with him, his eyes fixed earnestly on 
 
A LET OFF 133 
 
 his face, saw it — saw the soft look which, came 
 into Peter's eyes fixed upon the trees far down 
 the Broad, and redoubled the earnestness of his 
 plea for mercy. 
 
 At last Peter got up and said gruffly, "I 
 oughtn't to let you off, but I suppose I shall 
 have to." 
 
 The man covered him with unwelcome ex- 
 pressions of gratitude, which he cut short with- 
 out much ado. ' ' Oh, I am not doing it for your 
 sake, ' ' he said. ' * You 're a blackguard, whether 
 your story's true or not. Will you swear me a 
 solemn oath that you're not lying to me; that 
 you have got a wife and children?" 
 
 He swore with such fervour that Peter cut 
 him short again. "Well, all I can say is that 
 I pity them," he said. "The more I look at 
 you the less I like you. Come along with me 
 now and I will think what's to be done as we 
 walk along." 
 
 "But you won't give me up," pleaded the 
 man. "You said you wouldn't." 
 
 "Oh, I'm not going to give you up. I dare 
 say I'm a soft fool, but, after all, you haven't 
 got what you wanted, and I shaU be able to tell 
 the parson here that he had better look after 
 his treasures a little more carefully. I'D. take 
 your name and address, by the by, so that if I 
 
134 BIG PETER 
 
 ever hear of anything missing from this church 
 I shall be able to tell them whom to suspect. 
 Have you got a card on you?" 
 
 Yes, he had a card in his pocket and produced 
 it, stipulating that it should not be used unless 
 what Peter feared should come to pass, and 
 assuring him that it wouldn't. 
 
 The card bore the name of J. W. Morgan, 
 F.R.S., with an address in Hampstead, and it 
 happened to be the only one he had about him. 
 
 Peter took it and looked at it. "I don't 
 know what 'F.R.S.' means," he said, "but I 
 suppose it's some honour you've had done to 
 you. The people who gave it you would be 
 pretty surprised if they knew what sort of a 
 fellow you really were. Well, I'll keep this for 
 my own interest, and it will rest with you 
 whether it is ever used for any other purpose. 
 I shouldn't advise you, Mr. Morgan, to let it 
 be announced at any time that you have come 
 into possession of something particularly valu- 
 able in the way of church plate. Now I'll see 
 you on your way off the premises, so to speak, 
 and then I'll go and inform the parson of this 
 church that he had better send and see what's 
 happened here. I take it that you'll go straight 
 back to Hampstead and tell your wife and fam- 
 ily that your little walking tour in Norfolk has 
 come to an end. I suppose you're the man, 
 
A LET OFF 135 
 
 by the by, that was at the inn at Hollow Weir 
 yesterday. The old landlord there would be 
 rather surprised if I told him that I had come 
 across you. He said you looked rather like a 
 gentleman's servant, if I remember right. 
 Gentlemen don't keep men-servants to any ex- 
 tent where I come from, and I don't know that 
 I've ever seen one. But I think you do look 
 rather more like that sort of thing than an 
 'F.E.S.' Here, what's up? You're not going 
 to faint again, are you?" 
 
 "I'm all right," said the man, whose face 
 had once more gone deadly pale. "It's only 
 that I'm so relieved at having got off, which is 
 much more than I could have hoped for. I 
 won't say any more to thank you, but if you 
 will leave me now I'll make my way to a sta- 
 tion and get back home as soon as I can; and 
 you can go and do what you said you were 
 going to do." 
 
 Peter looked at him with a quizzical air, and 
 his eyes dropped. ' ' I think if you don 't mind, ' ' 
 he said, "I won't leave you alone in this par- 
 ticular spot. It is rather too early to call on 
 the parson. I will set you a mile or two on 
 your way. I suppose you're going to Heathside 
 station. I'll take you as far as the high 
 ground and see you well across the heath be- 
 fore I come back." 
 
136 BIG PETER 
 
 So any idea that Mr. Morgan may have had 
 of being left alone, within a stone's throw of 
 the church, either to take away the signs of 
 his attempt, or perhaps even to carry it out, 
 were destroyed. 
 
 As they set off along the road, Peter cast 
 one look back at the church. "It doesn't look 
 as if any one had been near it," he said, "since 
 last Sunday, and I think we may safely leave 
 it an hour or two longer." 
 
 Heathside Station was rather more than 
 seven miles away. They trudged up out of the 
 valley for three miles or so, and came to a high- 
 lying heath, crossed by a ribbon of road that 
 could plainly be seen for the greater part of 
 its length. Neither of them had spoken a word 
 since they had left Thaxted Church. 
 
 "Now," said Peter, "if you will go on, I will 
 stay here, until I have seen you well out of 
 sight ; and you may thank your lucky stars that 
 you are not safely lodged in gaol by this time." 
 
 Morgan walked away from him without a 
 word. Peter stood watching him for a few 
 minutes, and then threw himself down on the 
 short grass by the roadside. 
 
 Morgan went on without looking back for 
 about half a mile. Then he turned and stood 
 in the middle of the road. Peter's figure must 
 have been hidden from him at that distance, 
 
A LET OFF 137 
 
 but he probably remembered that he had an- 
 nounced his intention of staying there until he 
 was out of sight, and if he had had any inten- 
 tion of returning made up his mind to relin- 
 quish it. 
 
 He turned round and pursued his way again, 
 but not before he had passionately shaken his 
 fist in the direction from which he had come. 
 
 Peter laughed at this display of feeling. 
 "Now there's gratitude for you!" he said. 
 "I'm not at all sure that I was right in letting 
 you go, Mr. Morgan, F.R.S." 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 DISAPPOINTMENTS 
 
 PETER lay on the warm turf for the best 
 part of an hour, busy with his thoughts, 
 which were not entirely taken up by his 
 late adventure. At the end of that time Mr. 
 Morgan's figure was a black spot in the far dis- 
 tance, which only eyes as keen as Peter's could 
 have distinguished at all. Whether he would 
 go back to London at once, as he had promised, 
 did not much matter now. He certainly would 
 not be able to get back to Thaxted Church be- 
 fore Peter had warned those responsible; and 
 it was pretty certain that he would not try to 
 get back. But it was still only about half-past 
 four in the morning. 
 
 However, Peter raised himself from the turf 
 and set out for the village, where he had learnt 
 that the Vicar lived. It was about two miles 
 from Thaxted Church, which stood quite by it- 
 self. The Vicar served the two churches. 
 
 Arrived at the village he went into the church- 
 yard to look about among the tombstones. 
 
 The Vicarage garden was divided at one place 
 from the church-yard only by a low oak fence, 
 and as he was busy peering about among the 
 
 138 
 
DISAPPOINTMENTS 139 
 
 headstones, he was suddenly startled hy a voice : 
 "Hallo, my man, what are you doing there?" 
 
 He looked up and saw a ruddy-faced gentle- 
 man in shirt sleeves and grey flannel trousers 
 standing in front of some rose bushes, and look- 
 ing over the fence at him. It was obviously the 
 Vicar himself, no doubt an enthusiastic rose- 
 grower, since he was up among his flowers be- 
 fore six 'clock in the morning. 
 
 "Well, if you're the parson of this place," 
 he said, "I was hanging about till it was a bit 
 later and I could come and see you. I've got 
 something rather important to tell you." 
 
 The Vicar's face changed. "Oh, I beg your 
 pardon," he said, "I didn't see you were a gen- 
 tleman. Come in here," and he indicated a 
 gate from the church-yard to the garden. 
 
 Peter recounted shortly his adventure of the 
 night, and the parson's face became serious. 
 "You've let him go?" he said, with an expres- 
 sion of disapproval. 
 
 "Well, yes, I did," said Peter. "The poor 
 beggar pleaded so hard, and I had already given 
 him a bit of a doing. Besides he hadn't done 
 any harm, and he's not likely to try it on again." 
 
 "But what on earth was he trying to break 
 open the old chest for?" exclaimed the par- 
 son. "If he wanted money he wouldn't expect 
 to find it there." 
 
140 BIG PETER 
 
 ' ' I haven 't told you all yet, " hji id Peter. ' ' If 
 he had been an ordinary burglar, perhaps I 
 shouldn't have let him «"> though I don't know 
 that what lio wanted to do wasn't really worse. 
 He was after your famous old cup," 
 
 The Vicar looked at lilm in blank astonish- 
 ment. "What famous old cupT' he nnkcAl. 
 
 "Well, he said he was a collector of church 
 plate, and there was a famous silvor cup be- 
 longing to that church which he had made up 
 his mind to have. He was orje of those collect- 
 ing maniacs, and he ran all that risk for the 
 sake of something? that ho could never have 
 shown to a soul, and that must have made him 
 feel jolly uncomfortable whenever he looked 
 at it." 
 
 The Vicar's face was still completely puzzled. 
 "But there's no cup there," he said. 
 
 Peter looked at him and then burst into his 
 big laugh. "Oh! you don't keep it there!" he 
 exclaimed. "Then if he had managed to break 
 open that great old lock he would have found 
 nothing after all. By Jove ! I wish I had just 
 stood by and seen his face when he got it open 
 and found nothing there. Still, I think you're 
 very wise, sir, not to keep such a treasure as 
 that in that lonely place. I suppose you've got 
 it safely locked up here." 
 
 "I don't know what you're talking about," 
 
DISAPPOINTMENTS 141 
 
 said the Vicar. "There's no plate of any sort 
 belongs to Thaxted Church, and none of any 
 value that belongs to this church." 
 
 It was now Peter's turn to look serious. "By 
 Jove!" he cried out, when he had stared for 
 some time in blank amazement at the Vicar. 
 "Then the blackguard cheated me after all! 
 He told me lies from beginning to end, unless 
 he was mistaken himself. Isn't there anything 
 of value, sir, in that old chest?" 
 
 "There's something of considerable value to 
 antiquarians," said the Vicar. "There's a reg- 
 ister which goes back to the year 1660. But why 
 that should tempt a thief, I don't know. I 
 can't help wishing you hadn't let this man 
 go." 
 
 The mention of the register aroused Peter at 
 last to some activity of thought. Supposing 
 after all that it was that that this man had been 
 trying to get hold of ! 
 
 "I wonder if we could catch him still!" he 
 said. "I saw him out of sight on the road to 
 Heathside station. "When is the first train there 
 that he could get away by?" 
 
 The clergyman looked at his watch. "There's 
 one at six o'clock," he said, "to Norwich, and 
 it's a quarter to, now. There's not much object 
 in following him either, as you have fortunately 
 been able to prevent him doing any harm. 
 
142 BIG PETER 
 
 Didn't you find out who he was, or anything 
 about him?" 
 
 "He gave me his card," said Peter, taking it 
 out of his pocket after a moment's hesitation. 
 "I made him do that in case I heard anything 
 further about him that would make me want to 
 follow him up. I said I wouldn't let his name 
 be known unless he gave me some reason. But 
 I don't think I need be as particular as all that 
 now. Here it is." 
 
 The parson took it and looked at it. "It's 
 quite unlikely to be his own card," he said, "but 
 we can easily find that out. If he's a Fellow 
 of the Royal Society his name is very likely to 
 be in "Who's Who"; and we might be able to 
 find out at once. Come inside, sir. I shall go 
 down to Thasted Church before breakfast, and 
 you might like to come with me." 
 
 They went into the clergyman's study, where 
 there was water already boiling over a spirit 
 lamp. Evidently this parson did not insist that 
 his servants should emulate his own zeal for 
 early rising. 
 
 He took a red-covered book from his writing- 
 table and turned over the leaves. ' ' Here he is, ' ' 
 he said. ' ' How old did you say your man was ? " 
 
 "Oh, about forty," said Peter, "more or 
 less." 
 
 The parson laughed. "Mr. Morgan is — let 
 
DISAPPOINTMENTS 143 
 
 me see — seventy-eight," he said. "He was — 
 Oh! of course, I remember his name now — he 
 is the famous Egyptian scholar. There 's a good 
 deal about him here, but I don't know that it's 
 of any particular interest to us. I don't think 
 we need trouble to enquire of Mr. Morgan what 
 he was doing last night. It's pretty obvious at 
 his age he wasn't breaking into Thaxted Church, 
 and if he had done he wouldn't have expected 
 to find anything bearing on his particular line 
 of research. No, I am afraid your friend was 
 after the register, but what he wanted with it I 
 don't know. However, these old registers do 
 sometimes contain entries that people would 
 give a good deal to have expunged. It's a curi- 
 ous thing that an antiquary stayed here for a 
 few days, a year or so ago, and examined that 
 one at Thaxted Church with great interest. He 
 was writing a book about parish registers, and 
 said he had got more curious information out of 
 it than any he had seen. He also told me, now 
 T remember it, that there was an entry in it of 
 a marriage that had taken place about a hun- 
 dred years ago, which might change the suc- 
 cession to a peerage, and he was going to inves- 
 tigate it when he got back to London. ' He 
 wouldn't tell me what the names were and I 
 haven't had the curiosity to look it up. As a 
 matter of fact, he was rather a garrulous old 
 
144 BIG PETER 
 
 gentleman, and I didn't pay much attention to 
 all that he said; but" — he broke off in his prep- 
 arations over the stove, and looked at Peter. 
 "I say," he said, "it's just occurred to me — 
 perhaps that is what your friend wanted from 
 the chest!" 
 
 Peter had come to that conclusion long ago. 
 He was immensely chagrined at having let the 
 pseudo-Morgan escape him, and greatly dis- 
 turbed in his mind at the discovery that the 
 facts about the Chandos marriage were known, 
 and known apparently to people who would 
 make no scruple in destroying them. He gave 
 vent to an expression, customary enough in the 
 society of the Australian Bush, but which made 
 the Vicar exclaim in expostulation. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, sir," he said. "I'm a 
 rough sort of fellow and I was forgetting whose 
 company I was in. But this is a very serious 
 business for me. I have been in search of the 
 record of that marriage for a good many weeks 
 past. By Jove ! if I had known how near I was 
 to losing it last night! But who on earth can 
 this man be?" 
 
 "You have been in search of it?" exclaimed 
 the parson. His offence at Peter *s language 
 was done away with by the interest of this state- 
 ment. "Then who are t/oM may I ask?" 
 
 "Well, I hadn't meant to say who I was," 
 
DISAPPOINTMENTS 145 
 
 said Peter, "until I had found out what I have 
 been looking for ; and there are particular rea- 
 sons just now why I don't want it generally 
 known. Would you mind keeping it to yourself 
 if I tell you?" 
 
 ' ' Certainly, ' ' said the Vicar, on whom Peter 's 
 frankness of speech and manner had made a 
 favourable impression. "I'll keep it to myself 
 until you give the word. Are we going to be the 
 centre here of an exciting contest for a peerage, 
 and are you going to be the claimant ? ' ' 
 
 "Well, I haven't quite made up my mind 
 about it yet, ' ' said Peter. ' ' It will depend upon 
 a good many things, and therefore I want noth- 
 ing known about it at present. At any rate, I 
 want to get hold of the proofs first, if the proofs 
 exist. ' ' 
 
 The Vicar was all eagerness. Peter hesitated 
 for a moment, and then said, ' ' My name is Peter 
 Chandos. I have lived all my life in Australia, 
 where my great-grandfather emigrated a great 
 many years ago. He had always been supposed 
 to be the natural son of the Earl of Cambray of 
 those days, born before his marriage. But if 
 my information is correct, the register in your 
 church will show that his father did marry his 
 mother, and in that case it was the next heir 
 who was the natural son, by a bigamous mar- 
 riage ; and my great-grandfather was really the 
 Earl of Cambray." 
 
146 BIG PETER 
 
 The Vicar was deeply interested. "Wliy", 
 it 's like a story out of a book, ' ' lie said. ' ' Drink 
 your coffee and let's go down to the church at 
 once, and see if we can find the record. Of 
 course, that's what that man wanted to steal. 
 I wonder who on earth he was ? Certainly some- 
 body who wants it hidden up. Why do you 
 think the marriage took place at Thaxted, by 
 the by?" 
 
 Peter told him of the story that he had heard 
 from the landlord the evening before. 
 
 "Holden!" exclaimed the Vicar. "Why, of 
 course, that's a well-known name in this village. 
 And do you know, now I come to look at you, 
 you're extraordinarily like an old farmer who 
 lives not far from here of that name. It has 
 been puzzling me ever since I saw you to think 
 who it was you reminded me of. He's a great 
 •deal older than you, but you might have been 
 his son. Well, really, Mr. Chandos, this is very 
 exciting. Would you like a wash or anything 
 before we go off! " 
 
 Peter refused this offer. He was all eager- 
 ness to get back to Thaxted Church, and the 
 Vicar seemed hardly less eager than he was. 
 
 They set off and walked quickly, and in half- 
 an-hour came to the church. " It 's a lonely spot, 
 isn't it?" said the Vicar, as they approached it 
 through the trees. "It was an extraordinarily 
 
DISAPPOINTMENTS 147 
 
 good piece of fortune that you happened to take 
 a fancy for a midnight walk. Why, anybody 
 might break into the church in the full light of 
 day without running much risk of being 
 seen ! ' ' 
 
 They went into the vestry, through the door 
 which had been broken open. There were the 
 locksmith's tools all scattered over the floor, 
 and everything was just as Peter had left it 
 after his struggle with the would-be thief. 
 
 The Vicar unlocked the chest with an un- 
 wieldy key, and took out of it an old parchment- 
 covered book, carefully wrapped up in a water- 
 proof cover. He laid it down on the table and 
 turned the pages easily. The entries for each 
 year were few, and it was not difficult to turn 
 to the right one at once. 
 
 Suddenly he exclaimed, "Why, what's this! 
 Here's a jump of two years, just about the time 
 we want too. You haven't got the exact date, 
 have you?" 
 
 Before Peter could reply he cried out again, 
 ' ' There 's a page missing. See here — it has been 
 cut out with a knife ! ' ' 
 
 The two men looked at one another in con- 
 sternation. Peter's disappointment was acute. 
 
 ' ' Then he got it after all, ' ' he said. ' ' And be 
 was fooling me all the time!" 
 
 But the Vicar said, "Didn't you tell me that 
 
148 BIG PETER 
 
 you interrupted him before he opened the 
 chest?" 
 
 "Yes, I did," said Peter. "Certainly he 
 hadn't opened the chest. He must have sneaked 
 back and got it. But he couldn't have done 
 that either. I'll take my oath I saw him three 
 miles away, and he was pretty well done. ' ' 
 
 "Besides," said the Vicar, "if he had hur- 
 ried back and managed by a miracle to pick the 
 lock of the chest at once, he certainly wouldn't 
 have taken the trouble to put the book back 
 exactly as it was before, when he knew that 
 every minute was of value." 
 
 "No," said Peter, "I am perfectly certain 
 he couldn't have come back and done it in the 
 time. You're quite sure, I suppose, that a 
 page is missing!" 
 
 The Vicar showed him where it had been cut 
 out, very neatly, close to the binding; and the 
 dates of the two pages that now came together 
 showed a break of just two years. 
 
 "Besides," said the Vicar again, "I remem- 
 ber this page that has gone quite well. Not 
 many months ago I looked up all the entries 
 that had to do with this family of Barrett — you 
 see this entry here of a marriage. They are 
 still in the village, and I remember quite well 
 that the entry on the top of the next page was 
 of the birth of a son, and on the page after there 
 
DISAPPOINTMENTS 149 
 
 was the death of the young mother. I remem- 
 ber it all as well as anything, and I've got the 
 copies in my house. I can show them to you 
 and prove that I am right. No, somebody has 
 had the register and cut out that page since I 
 saw it. What a wicked thing to do ! If I find 
 out who did it I'll prosecute him." 
 
 But there seemed no possible way of finding 
 out who had done it. It was not even clear 
 how the register had been got at. The lock 
 was absolutely uninjured, and if it had been 
 picked, it must have been by a far more expert 
 hand than that of the thief of the night before. 
 The whole thing was a mystery. Peter felt that 
 he was wading in deep waters, since there were 
 two people besides himself who wanted that 
 register, and neither of them had apparently 
 stuck at foul measures to get it. 
 
 His disappointment was almost sickening. 
 The cup had seemed to be actually in his grasp ; 
 by a piece of good fortune almost unbelievable, 
 he had seemed to have foiled one attempt to 
 wrest it from him, and now came the discovery 
 that that had been no piece of good fortune at 
 all. If he had never chanced to be passing the 
 church the night before, the man he had sur- 
 prised would have broken open the chest at last 
 and found himself disappointed, just as Peter 
 himself was. 
 
150 BIG PETER 
 
 At present, however, there seemed nothing 
 to be done. He could only go away to think it 
 all over, and leave his friend, the parson, also 
 to think it over, and see if any steps would sug- 
 gest themselves to him of tracing the missing 
 page. 
 
 Peter went back to Hollow Weir, and gave 
 what explanations occurred to him of his noc- 
 turnal disappearance. He did not tell the land- 
 lord of anything that had happened. And pres- 
 ently he almost forgot about it himself. For 
 now the time had come when he was once more 
 to see Margaret, and nothing that had happened 
 had altered his intention of telling her of his 
 love and pleading for its acceptance. 
 
 He sailed down to the Broad in the boat in 
 which he hoped she would come out with him. 
 As he sat in the stern sheets with tiller and 
 sheet in his hands, an idea came to him which 
 encouraged him enormously. The register was 
 gone — or at any rate that part of it that con- 
 cerned him. But the man who had first come 
 upon it — the antiquary — had almost certainly 
 made a copy of it. He would have found him 
 out long before if he had had any idea where to 
 look for him. But his friend, the Vicar, would 
 know; and he would be able to testify that the 
 page had gone, but had certainly been there. 
 And surely, with that and the antiquary's copy 
 of the entry, his case would be as good as ever; 
 
DISAPPOINTMENTS 151 
 
 he would still have rank, as well as wealth, to 
 offer to the girl who would become them both 
 so well. 
 
 He came to the cottage. There was no one 
 about, and it had an air almost deserted. He 
 knocked at the door, and waited for some time 
 without hearing any voices. Margaret and her 
 aunt must be out somewhere he thought, al- 
 though it was odd that they should be so, be'- 
 cause it had been arranged that he should come 
 at that hour. He knew that old Mrs. Geering 
 was a little deaf, and after knocking several 
 times w^nt round to the back of the cottage,, 
 where he found her busy in her outside wash- 
 house. When she saw him she threw up her 
 hands, and he asked her with a strange sinking 
 of heart where the ladies were. 
 
 "Oh! haven't you heard, sir?" she said. 
 "They've gone. They went off last night — all 
 in a hurry, and I was so flummoxed about it I 
 hardly knew what I was doing ! ' • 
 
 Peter could only stare at her with his heart 
 sinking lower and lower. Gone ! They certainly 
 had had no idea of going when he had seen them 
 last! What could be the meaning of it? 
 
 "Didn't they leave any word for me?" he 
 asked. 
 
 No, they had left no word for him, and they 
 had left no address. 
 
 Mrs. Geering became voluble about it. Miss; 
 
152 BIG PETER 
 
 Margaret had gone out for a little stroll in the 
 wood soon after he had left them the eve- 
 ning before. She had never gone out before 
 without her aunt, but Mrs. Geering had 
 heard her tell her that she didn't want her 
 to come with her. She seemed to want to be 
 alone-like. 
 
 Peter's heart contracted at this. Didn't it 
 mean that she had wanted to be alone to think 
 of him, just as he loved to be alone to think of 
 her? 
 
 Well, she had come in looking frightened to 
 death. Mrs. Geering had seen her, and she had 
 been so white that the old woman had cried out 
 that she must be ill, and Miss Parker had come 
 running down, and they had gone away together 
 and talked for a long time. Then to Mrs. Geer- 
 ing 's intense surprise. Miss Parker had come to 
 her and said that they must leave that evening ; 
 she was to get a cart to take them and their lug- 
 gage to the station. She had given no explana- 
 tion whatever, but had insisted upon paying her 
 for the rooms for an extra fortnight. They had 
 been gone out of the house within an hour of 
 Miss Margaret's coming in. All Mrs. Geering 
 could think of was that she must have met some- 
 body who had frightened her like, though who it 
 could be in that place she didn't know. None 
 of the men about wouldn't have done such a 
 
DISAPPOINTMENTS 153 
 
 thing, and there was no strangers ever came 
 near; it was such an out-of-the-way spot. 
 
 So she chattered on, and presently expanded 
 still further and told Peter that she never 
 wished to have two nicer ladies staying in her 
 house, but she couldn't help feeling there was 
 something queer about them. They had not had 
 a single letter since they had been there, and 
 neither of them had ever written one ; they had 
 never let out a word as to where they had come 
 from, and as to telling her where they were 
 going to when they left in such a hurry she knew 
 no more than the man in the moon. 
 
 It was evident that the old lady was working 
 up a mystery which would by and by reach 
 alarming proportions. Without much hope that 
 his intervention would be successful, Peter told 
 her that he would make it worth her while to 
 keep what she had told him to herself ; and pre- 
 sented her with a sum of money that must at 
 any rate have persuaded her that he was in 
 earnest in his request. 
 
 Then he left her, sick at heart over the second 
 disappointment that had befallen him that morn- 
 ing, for he did not believe in Mrs. Geering's 
 theory that Margaret had seen anybody whom 
 she must at all costs avoid; — unless it was him- 
 self. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 PETER IN LONDON 
 
 PETER went to see old Mr. Fearon directly 
 he got to London. He wanted to take his 
 advice about the surprising discoveries he 
 had made, but he did not mean to tell him any- 
 thing yet about his meeting with the girl in the 
 picture and her sudden disappearance. 
 
 The old man looked grave when he heard his 
 story. 
 
 ' ' There 's only one man in the world, ' ' he said, 
 "to whose interest it is to have that record de- 
 stroyed, and he is the last man you will be able 
 to get information from." 
 
 "You mean Lord Cambray?" 
 
 "I do. He has heard the story, and he has 
 paid to have the leaf of the register stolen." 
 
 "Who could he have heard it from?" 
 
 "From Walker. There is nobody else. You 
 said that that antiquary who first made the dis- 
 covery was dead, didn't you?" 
 
 "Yes, the Vicar told me that. It was a very 
 great disappointment. But who was the man I 
 caught — the man who called himself Morgan?" 
 
 154 
 
PETER IN LONDON 155 
 
 ' ' We can find him, I think. He must have been 
 somebody whom the real Morgan met and got 
 into conversation with. I will make enquiries 
 at once." 
 
 Mr. Pearon did so. The old gentleman whose 
 name had been used so unscrupulously told him 
 that he had met an intelligent man travelling 
 up in the train from the West country, had got 
 into conversation with him and given him his 
 card. The stranger had not returned the com- 
 pliment. But the journey on which the two had 
 met had been made from that part of the coun- 
 try in which Cambray Castle was situated. 
 
 * * I thought so, " said Mr. Fearon. ' ' You had 
 better go down there, Peter, and make a few 
 enquiries. You may come across the gentleman 
 — probably will." 
 
 But Peter was not ready to do that yet. He 
 had another search to make. He would willingly 
 let all chances of assuming his title go by if he 
 could find Margaret by doing so. 
 
 His only clue was the picture, and he set 
 about finding the paper from which it had been 
 cut out in the way he had told her he should 
 have done if he had not met her. He got a 
 ticket for the British Museum and spent every 
 day in looking through the illustrated papers 
 of the past five years. When he should find the 
 one he was looking for he would know who Mar- 
 
156 BIG PETER 
 
 garet was. Then he would have something to 
 go upon. 
 
 He searched and searched, for days that ran 
 into weeks, but could not find what he was look- 
 ing for. He began to get sick at heart, and even 
 to lose flesh. This was the unhappiest time in 
 his life. 
 
 One Sunday afternoon he went to see Mrs. 
 Saunders and little Tommy, whom he found 
 making wonderful progress with his brush and 
 pencil. But there seemed to be something wrong 
 about Tommy's mother. She seemed unhappy; 
 and yet she told Peter eagerly that she was do- 
 ing well and wanted for nothing. There were 
 signs of poverty about her too, which certainly 
 ought not to have been there. She had no serv- 
 ant, and did all the work of the house herself 
 as well as her dress-making. 
 
 Peter left her disappointed. His visit had 
 seemed to cheer her, and she thanked him for 
 coming. But she did not press him to come 
 again, and he went away with the impression 
 that she did not want him to come too often. 
 
 Peter dined that night in a restaurant, and 
 walked home to his rooms in Bloomsbury. 
 
 As he was turning a corner, he almost ran 
 into two men walking along arm in arm and both 
 of them the worse for liquor. 
 
 "Steady on, now!" said Peter, and then, in- 
 
PETER IN LONDON 157 
 
 stantly recognized one of the roysterers as 
 Walker. 
 
 Walker recognized him at the same time and 
 his face showed the utmost horror at the meet- 
 ing. He turned to run away, but Peter had him 
 by the collar of his coat. His friend set up a 
 drunken shout, and, immediately, a policeman 
 came round the corner and wanted to know what 
 it was all about. 
 
 Unfortunately, Peter could not tell him what 
 it was all about without making his whole story 
 public, which he was not yet prepared to do. 
 
 "I have reason to believe that this man is 
 concerned in a felony," he said, using language 
 he had heard from Mr. Fearon, and speaking 
 impressively. "I want him kept under observa- 
 tion, and his address taken." 
 
 " It 's a lie, ' ' said Walker, indignantly. ' ' This 
 man has assaulted me. You saw him do it, con- 
 stable. Take his name and address." 
 
 The policeman happened to be new to the 
 force, and hardly knew how to act. But the tak- 
 ing of names and addresses he did understand, 
 and produced his pocket-book for that purpose. 
 
 Walker's companion, who was rather more 
 under the influence of liquor than Walker him- 
 self, now took part in the proceedings. "Take 
 the constable's number," he said, solemnly, and 
 Walker produced his own pocket-book and did 
 
158 BIG PETER 
 
 so, with some difficulty, as the shock of meeting 
 Peter, which had sobered him for the time, was 
 beginning to wear off. 
 
 It was the only note that was made. The po- 
 liceman, possibly outraged at the idea of his 
 number being taken by a half -drunken man, put 
 up his book and said, "Here, you all of you 
 move along, or you'll get into trouble." 
 
 Walker instantly took advantage of the order 
 and made off, his companion lurching after him. 
 Peter expostulated and was for following them, 
 but the policeman said, "You'd better go home, 
 sir. I saw you catch him by the collar, and if he 
 liked to have you up for assault I should be 
 obliged to tell what I saw." 
 
 Peter turned on his heel and strode off, too 
 angry to make any reply. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 A CONSPIEACY 
 
 ON the evening of the third day after his 
 departure Lorrimer came back. Lord 
 Cambray had rung the bell for the foot- 
 man who had taken his place, and Lorrimer 
 walked into the room, the same soft-footed, 
 capable attendant that he had always been. But 
 his face was pale ; there were dark rings under 
 his eyes, and on his forehead there was a livid 
 mark. 
 
 "Oh! it's you at last," cried his master with 
 an oath. "Why on earth didn't you send me a 
 telegram? You've bungled it I can see. What- 
 ever made me put such an affair in the hands of 
 a clumsy fool like you ! ' ' 
 
 Lorrimer was pretty well used to these in- 
 sults, in regard to which he seldom showed any 
 signs of resentment. But at this reception his 
 face flushed a dull red and he said with subdued 
 passion, "If I had been the fool you say I am, 
 I should have been safely lodged in gaol by this 
 time. It's true that I have failed. There isn't 
 
 169 
 
160 BIG PETER 
 
 a man in the world who wouldn't have done so 
 under the circumstances, and there are precious 
 few men who could have got away as I have." 
 
 "Oh, of course, I am vastly relieved at seeing 
 you back," said the old lord, with an ugly sneer. 
 "Nothing much matters as long as you've saved 
 your skin. I've been in a terrible state of mind 
 for fear that something might have happened 
 to you. ' ' 
 
 Lorrimer kept his mouth doggedly closed, and 
 busied himself over certain little duties that his 
 keen eyes showed him that the footman who had 
 taken his place had neglected. Presently Lord 
 Cambray grew tired of girding at him and said, 
 ' ' Well, let 's have your story. I don 't say I shall 
 believe all of it. You've failed, and of course 
 you will put up the best excuse for yourself that 
 you can." 
 
 Upon this not very encouraging invitation 
 Lorrimer told his story. He had bought an ord- 
 nance map and studied the whereabouts of 
 Thaxted Church carefully. He had approached 
 it from a station twelve miles away, so as to 
 cover his tracks if anything should go wrong. 
 He had stopped for an hour in the evening to 
 have a meal at the inn at Hollow Weir from 
 which Mervyn Chandos had written those let- 
 ters which had put them on the track. 
 
 "What on earth did you want to do that for?" 
 
A CONSPIRACY 161 
 
 grumbled the old lord. "You take immense 
 pains to put them ofE the track, and then you 
 show yourself in the very place." 
 
 Iiorrimer told him that Thaxted Church was 
 some miles away from Hollow Weir, and that 
 he had made enquiries of the landlord as to 
 quite a different route. He had also got out of 
 him without asking any questions about it, the 
 fact that Thaxted Church stood in a lonely place 
 quite by itself, and that nobody ever went near 
 it, except on Sundays. He had thought himself 
 quite safe. He had gone off and lain hidden in 
 a wood until he knew that every one anywhere 
 near would have been long since in bed and 
 asleep. Then, with great diflSculty, he had picked 
 the lock of the vestry door, and had made up 
 his mind that if the register was in the church 
 at all it must be in an old chest that was in the 
 vestry itself. He had worked at the lock of the 
 chest for half an hour, without making the 
 slightest impression upon it. It was a very old 
 lock that had been well looked after, and noth- 
 ing he could do would shift it. 
 
 "For half an hour!" exclaimed Lord Cam- 
 bray. "Why didn't you break the chest open? 
 I would have had the register out of it and been 
 half way home by that time." 
 
 The chest was one of the strongest he had 
 ever seen, said Lorrimer, of thick oak as hard 
 
162 BIG PETEH 
 
 as iron, and bound everywhere with, steel. It 
 was just as strong as a modern safe. 
 
 Then he told him how he had been surprised 
 by a man coming in and standing over him; 
 how he had tried to escape, and how the man 
 had thwarted his every attempt, and even torn 
 his revolver out of his hip pocket. He told this 
 story in such a way that even Lord Cambray, 
 with a sneer always on his face, was convinced 
 by it. Besides, there was no doubt about the 
 ugly mark on his forehead, which so far cor- 
 roborated him. 
 
 "Who was this man?" asked the old lord. 
 "What was he doing there at that time of 
 night?" 
 
 Lorrimer did not know. He looked like a gen- 
 tleman on a holiday, — fishing or something. He 
 did not belong to that country, because once he 
 had said something about coming from another 
 place. No doubt he was up to some mischief of 
 his own, being about at that time of night, but 
 what it was Lorrimer couldn't say, although he 
 did not refrain from making some vile sugges- 
 tion, with a curse at his iU-luck at being foiled 
 in that way. 
 
 He described his assailant as a man of unusual 
 strength, and Lord Cambray sneered again and 
 said, "Oh ! I've no doubt he was a sort of Sam- 
 son, or he couldn't have got the better of you." 
 
A CONSPIRACY 163 
 
 Then Lorrimer went on to tell him how his 
 captor had determined to give him up to the 
 police, and how he had worked upon his feelings 
 and told him a yarn which had persuaded him 
 to let him go. Evidently he took great credit 
 to himself for the story he had invented, and 
 Lord Cambray did not deny that it was a smart 
 trick. 
 
 Going up in the train Lorrimer had read in 
 a snippety paper a story of a man who had 
 stolen a valuable piece of plate out of a church, 
 just for the sake of possessing a unique speci- 
 men, although he could never exhibit it in his 
 collection; and he had appropriated that story 
 and told it to the man who had caught him. He 
 had also, some time before, during another jour- 
 ney, got into conversation with an old gentle- 
 man who had given him his card, and that card 
 he fortunately had had with him, although he- 
 had got rid of all marks of his own identity. 
 
 He told how he had tried to get rid of his 
 captor, so that he could go back to the church 
 and finish his work ; but it had been no use. He 
 had watched him out of sight for miles and 
 miles, and he was so done up by all he had been 
 through that if he had had the opportunity he 
 would not have been able to get back before the 
 alarm was given and the tools he had left in the 
 vestry had been removed. 
 
164 BIG PETER 
 
 When he had heard the story out, Lord Cam- 
 bray instantly dismissed it as without impor- 
 tance at all. "The fact is you've failed," he 
 said, "and now there's nothing to be done but 
 to wait for that little brute to shoot at us, and 
 then try and buy him off." 
 
 There did indeed seem nothing to be done. 
 One piece of projected villainy was foiled for 
 the time being, and the other, that had been dis- 
 cussed between this precious pair, was discussed 
 no longer. Whether Lorrimer had given up all 
 hopes of being able to get his way with his mas- 
 ter 's daughter there was nothing to show, but 
 at any rate he made no mention of her, and Lord 
 Cambray seemed to have forgotten altogether 
 that she had left her home, and that nothing 
 had been heard of her whereabouts. Perhaps 
 he thought that she would turn up again in her 
 own good time. Perhaps he did not care wheth- 
 er she turned up again or not. Her maid, who 
 had been with her ever since she was a child, 
 was with her now, wherever she was, and what- 
 ever paternal anxiety he might have felt on her 
 behalf could not be acute since she was in the 
 care of the invaluable Parker. 
 
 Two days after Lorrimer had returned to 
 Cambray Castle, Lord Cambray, who was sit- 
 ting on the terrace reading the morning paper, 
 suddenly exclaimed forcibly at something which 
 
A CONSPIRACY 165 
 
 caught his eye, and then rang his bell violently 
 for Lorrimer. When the servant came he fixed 
 him with a glare. 
 
 "Look here, what does this mean?" he cried. 
 "You've been playing me false, you dog! 
 
 You've got that register after all. By Gr ! 
 
 if you play any of your games upon me I'll pun- 
 ish you for it if it costs me everything I've got. ' ' 
 
 Lorrimer 's blank stare of surprise was not 
 without its effect upon the furious old man. 
 "Here, read that," he said, giving him the 
 paper, "and tell me what it means." 
 
 He pointed to an advertisement in the Agony 
 Column, which was to the effect that a page of 
 an ancient register, containing entries of such 
 and such dates, had been cut out and stolen 
 from Thaxted Church, Norfolk. A reward of 
 five hundred pounds was offered for its return, 
 and for information which would lead to the 
 conviction of the thief. Application was to be 
 made to Messrs. Fearon & Son, Solicitors, of 
 Old Jewry. 
 
 Lord Cambray's attention had been drawn to 
 this advertisement by an article in the paper 
 itself, pointing out how valuable some of these 
 ancient parish registers were and how care- 
 lessly some of them were kept. 
 
 Lorrimer laid down the paper, still with an 
 air of complete bewilderment. 
 
166 BIG PETER 
 
 "Don't stand there looking like a fool!" said 
 his master. "What is the meaning of it?" 
 
 Lorrimer had nothing to say. It was so plain 
 that he did not know that even Lord Camhray 
 relinquished his hastily formed idea that he had 
 after all got it himself. 
 
 "Somebody must have stolen it," said Lorri- 
 mer. 
 
 "Oh! you think that, do you?" sneered the 
 old lord. "You've got an extraordinarily in- 
 ventive brain. Did that fellow who gave you 
 such a hiding steal it? Who was he? It has 
 occurred to me once or twice that it's just pos- 
 sible he may be that Australian fellow, who has 
 come over here to claim the title. From what 
 you have said of him, he sounds rather as if he 
 might have been a colonial. Could he have taken 
 it?" 
 
 Lorrimer gained a slight revenge for the in- 
 sults with which any remark or suggestion of 
 his was generally met. "Perhaps you will tell 
 me," he said quietly, "why he should want to 
 steal the register. I may be a fool, but I should 
 have thought that it would only have been of 
 use to him if it was in the church." 
 
 "H'm, ha!" said Lord Camhray. "No, I 
 don't suppose he could have taken it, whoever 
 he was. I don't suppose you have either, al- 
 though I did think at first that you were playing 
 
A CONSPIRACY 167 
 
 some game with me. But who would want to 
 have it destroyed, except me? There's no doubi 
 about its containing the very entry we want; 
 the dates given here show that." 
 
 "If I may venture to say so," said Lorrimer, 
 "the only person who is likely to have stolen 
 it is Walker, and you will hear from him pretty 
 soon I should think, with another offer." 
 
 This prophecy was fulfilled in a few days' 
 time. A letter came from Walker which ran as 
 follows : 
 
 "My Lord: 
 
 I have secured a certain document which 
 was the subject of conversation between us, 
 when I had the honour of waiting upon your 
 lordship. I shall be pleased to hand it over 
 on receipt of four thousand pounds, which 
 is the lowest price I am prepared to accept. 
 
 I am your lordship's obedient servant, 
 Robert WAiiKEB." 
 
 "Now we've got him!" exclaimed his lord- 
 ship in fierce glee. "What we haven't got un- 
 fortunately is the modest price he demands ; but 
 as I am the only possible purchaser he can find, 
 I dare say I can persuade him to let me have it 
 at my own price, which is five hundred pounds, 
 as I have told him. Write and tell him to come 
 
168 "BIG PETER 
 
 and see me. I don't know why lie hasn't done 
 so : I told him not to write. ' ' 
 
 "I don't think it's in the least likely that he 
 will let it go for that sum." 
 
 "Why not? "What good is it to him if he 
 doesn't sell it to me?" 
 
 "Well, there is a reward offered of five hun- 
 dred pounds." 
 
 "He couldn't claim that without giving him- 
 self away." 
 
 "Don't you think he would be clever enough 
 to make up some story which would clear him- 
 self and get him the money?" 
 
 Lord Cambray considered this. "He seems 
 to be a pretty resourceful sort of rascal," he 
 said. "Certainly he was clever enough to suc- 
 ceed in doing what you failed to do. Well then, 
 what do you suggest?" 
 
 "I suggest," said Lorrimer quietly, "that 
 you should leave me to deal with Mr. Walker. 
 If I succeed in getting the paper off him the 
 bargain we made is to hold as before." 
 
 This suggestion was received with a terrify- 
 ing scowl, but was then discussed, Lorrimer 
 sticking doggedly to his opinion that the only 
 way of getting the paper out of Walker was 
 either to pay him his price, or something pretty 
 near it, which was out of the question, or else 
 taking it by force. 
 
A CONSPIRACY 169 
 
 "Oh! but you can't do that here," said Lord 
 Cambray at last. "The fellow would kick up a 
 hullabaloo, and everybody about the place would 
 know that he had been robbed." 
 
 Then Lorrimer disclosed his scheme. 
 
 It was one which showed the cold-blooded in- 
 genuity of this resourceful villain. He was to 
 write to Walker on behalf of Lord Cambray to 
 say that he would not give the price that Wal- 
 ker demanded, but that he would give a sum 
 very much larger than he had originally offered. 
 But he would do nothing at all unless Walker 
 came down to discuss it with him in person. 
 Walker was to write making an appointment, 
 and he was to return this letter as a guarantee 
 that it would not be made use of. He was not 
 to discuss the arrangement in his letter, or to 
 write about it again under any circumstances. 
 
 Lorrimer was also to write in his own name, 
 and tell Walker that he was in his master's 
 counsel, and thought he could persuade him to 
 better the offer he was prepared to make. But, 
 naturally, if he put Walker up to getting a great 
 deal more money than he would be able to get 
 by himself, he should expect to share it. He 
 could not leave the castle for long without his 
 lordship's knowing of it; but if Walker would 
 come up from the station, not by the main drive, 
 where there was always a certain amount of 
 
170 Bia PETER 
 
 traffic, but by a footpath, through the wood, 
 which he gave him directions how to find, he 
 would meet him somewhere near the house, 
 where they could talk unobserved, and there 
 was no reason why they should not come to an 
 agreement after a few minutes' conversation. 
 This letter Walker was also to return, as a 
 gniarantee of good faith. If he did not do so, 
 Lorrimer would not meet him, and he might 
 make the best bargain he could for himself with- 
 out his help. 
 
 Lord Cambray grunted appreciatively over 
 this precious effusion. ' ' I am not sure though, ' ' 
 he said, "that an invitation to meet you in a 
 wood, where nobody is likely to disturb you, is 
 calculated to give him much confidence. I know 
 1 should think twice before I met you in a wood, 
 if I had once set eyes on you; especially if I 
 were a little fellow like this Walker." 
 
 Lorrimer smiled with appreciation at this 
 compliment, which had been made in a tone of 
 good temper. "I think," he said, "that the 
 touch about getting a bit for myself will per- 
 suade him that no harm's intended." 
 
 "Well," conceded Lord Cambray, "I dare 
 say that may bring him. Being a rascal him- 
 self he win have a fellow feeling for another 
 rascal. We can but try it on. I don't see in 
 what way the invitation is to be bettered. It's 
 
A CONSPIRACY 171 
 
 annoying having to write these things, but after 
 all he can't do much against us without doing it 
 against himself, and he will probably see the ad- 
 visability of complying with our request that 
 the letters shall be sent back." 
 
 In due time Walker's answers came back, to- 
 gether with the letters that had called them 
 forth, and which were immediately destroyed. 
 That to Lord Cambray was a short acceptance 
 of his offer for a conference. That to Lorrimer 
 was longer, and showed the kindly appreciation 
 of a thief invited to enter into a deal with an- 
 other thief. He should be pleased, he said, to 
 hear of any way by which they might "diddle" 
 the old man together, and he proposed a divi- 
 sion into thirds of any extra sum he might be 
 able to secure by Lorrimer 's help; he to take 
 two-thirds and Lorrimer one. 
 
 "I think you will say," he wrote, "that this 
 is a generous offer, and I quite hope we shall 
 be able to do business together." 
 
 "Very well then," said the old lord, whose 
 brows had drawn together at the disrespectful 
 reference to himself. ' ' Now you have got your 
 chance again, and don't miss it this time. Don't 
 take a revolver — that's a fool's game — no one 
 carries firearms in this country, and although 
 the wood is lonely enough, if you had to use it 
 you might be heard." 
 
172 BIG PETEE 
 
 Lorrimer's shifty eyes dropped, as the black 
 wicked ones of his master were bent on him. 
 
 "Get that paper," said the old man, leaning 
 forward and glaring at him with evil intensity. 
 "I'll give you five hundred pounds for jt when 
 it's put into my hand. You can hand that on to 
 Walker, or do what you like with it. Make a 
 bargain with him. I don't care. I shan't en- 
 quire any farther about Walker. But — get — 
 that — paper!" 
 
 He sank back in his chair, overcome by the 
 expression of his own eagerness. Lorrimer had 
 to wait upon him with the skill and the attention 
 of a trained nurse, and as he went about his du- 
 ties his face bore something of the evil intensity 
 of that of the wicked old man who had just 
 incited him to — ^what! 
 
CHAPTER Xni 
 
 IN THE WOOD 
 
 CAMBEAY CASTLE stood on a deeply 
 wooded rise, and could be seen from the 
 south over many miles of country. Be- 
 hind it was level ground, over many acres of 
 which stretched its beautiful gardens ; and then 
 the woods enclosed it once more. 
 
 The village was at the bottom of the hill, 
 many hundred feet down, and the drive wound 
 up through the trees, taking clever advantage 
 of the inequalities of the steep hill. But if you 
 entered the wood through a gate some way from 
 the main entrance, you could go up by a steeper 
 path, which was sometimes quite near the road, 
 and sometimes at a considerable distance. It 
 was shorter than the drive, but even then cov- 
 ered a distance of something like a mile. 
 
 About halfway down this wooded path was a 
 rustic bridge, crossing a stream which had its 
 rise in the springs of the lake that lay behind 
 the castle at the top of the hill. And leaning 
 over the parapet of this bridge, looking down 
 
 173 
 
174 BIG PETER 
 
 into the water, Lorrimer stood and waited for 
 Walker. 
 
 He had some time to wait, and showed impa^ 
 tienee — ^something like fear, too, for his lips 
 were dry and his face was white, and he never 
 remained long in one position. 
 
 But when at last he heard a footstep, and 
 presently round a curve in the trees Walker 
 came and caught sight of him, he was leaning 
 over the bridge in a careless attitude, and his 
 face was composed, as he straightened himself, 
 and said in a careless tone, "Your train must 
 be a bit late. I've been waiting here for some 
 time." 
 
 "I don't think my train was late," said Wal- 
 ker. "I have been walking at a tremendous 
 pace. Are we anywhere near the top? This 
 path seems as if it would wind on for ever." 
 
 "Not far off now," said Lorrimer. "But we 
 shall have time to have our talk. His lordship 
 told me to see you first and prepare you for his 
 offer. He's in a pretty bad state of health just 
 now, and he doesn't want a very long interview 
 with you." 
 
 "Sorry to hear he's indisposed," said Wal- 
 ker. "He's an amiable old gentleman and I 
 should think you have a pretty easy job with 
 him, don't you?" 
 
 Lorrimer smiled at this pleasantry. "Ah I 
 
IN THE WOOD 175 
 
 you take things lightly," he said. "It's well 
 to be you, Mr. Walker, with all your time to 
 yourself and a handsome deal in prospect, by 
 which you will be able to make a small fortune." 
 
 Walker's eyes lit up with cupidity. "Is he 
 prepared to come down handsomely?" he asked, 
 and then looked rather suspiciously at Lorri- 
 mer. "I'd no idea," he said, "that he was go- 
 ing to let anybody else into the secret. I sup- 
 pose you can be trusted to keep things to your- 
 self." 
 
 "Well, considering he can't write a letter 
 with his own hands, ' ' said Lorrimer coolly, ' ' and 
 I've been his right-hand man getting on for 
 thirty years, you mustn't be surprised at my 
 knowing as much about things as he does him- 
 self. If you've got any idea of holding back 
 anything from me, Mr. Walker, you may as 
 well put it out of your mind at once. I'm in 
 this deal, and I propose to make something out 
 of it." 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Walker, as if at an 
 excellent joke. "I thought you were the right 
 sort from your letter. Come now — I don 't know 
 what your name is — " 
 
 Lorrimer told him. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Lorrimer," he said, "what are 
 we going to make out of this? What's the old 
 gentleman prepared to pay? He ought to come 
 
176 Bia PETER 
 
 down pretty handsomely, for I've run a great 
 risk of getting myself locked up for a pretty 
 long term of imprisonment, trusting to him to 
 do the right thing when I brought him what he 
 wanted." 
 
 "How did you get it?" asked Lorrimer, who 
 seemed anxious to keep the conversation off the 
 purpose for which they had come together as 
 long as possible. "Did you get the whole book 
 or only a piece of it?" 
 
 " Oh ! we will talk about that when we 've fixed 
 up our little business," said Walker. "What's 
 the old boy prepared to pay?" 
 
 "I say," said Lorrimer, suddenly showing 
 anger, as if his nerves were on the stretch and 
 he could not control his irritability, "that we 
 will make certain about having what we're bar- 
 gaining for first. I dare say you and I will get 
 on all right together, but I may say at once that 
 I don't trust you any farther than I can see you, 
 Mr. Walker, and I would like some account of 
 how you did the trick." 
 
 "Oh well," said Walker, hastily, showing 
 some surprise at his change of tone, and prob- 
 ably anxious to keep him in a good humour, "I 
 don't mind telling you how it was done if you 
 want to know. The Church is quite a long way 
 from everywhere, and nobody ever goes near it. 
 I walked over from a place some miles away 
 
IN THE WOOD 177 
 
 and got there about three o'clock in the morn- 
 ing when nobody was likely to be about. I didn't 
 go at night because I should have had to use a 
 light, which might have brought somebody I 
 didn't want, just to see what I was up to. I 
 know a little about opening locks that I don't 
 happen to have the keys of, and I got into the 
 church quite easily and shut it up after me again 
 when I left. There was an old chest where I 
 judged the register would be, if it was kept in 
 the church at all, and I got that open. But I 
 can tell you it was a teaser. It took me longer 
 than any lock I have ever tackled. Well, there 
 was the register all right, wrapped carefully up 
 in a nice httle bit of mackintosh to keep it from 
 the damp, and there was the entry. I didn't 
 want to take the whole book, so I cut out the 
 page, as neatly as ever I could, and put every- 
 thing back as I found it; and unless anything 
 quite unlikely happens it may be years before 
 anybody discovers that there's a page missing 
 in that old register at all. " 
 
 Lorrimer had listened to this recital with his 
 head turned away and a frown upon his face. 
 This man was a cleverer villain than he was. 
 It was just because he had not taken thought 
 over that small matter of the light that he had 
 brought upon himself the notice that Walker 
 had escaped. 
 
178 BIG- PETER 
 
 "You were quite wrong about its not being 
 missed," he said sbortly. 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Walker. 
 
 "It's been missed already, and there's a re- 
 ward of five hundred pounds for the man who 
 will find the thief." 
 
 "Well I never !" exclaimed Walker, in the ut- 
 most surprise. "And it's only a week ago that 
 I got hold of it. Well, anyhow, I don't think 
 there's much chance of the thief, as they call 
 him, being found. There's not a soul who saw 
 me within five miles of the place, and I don't 
 suppose you want to give me up, Mr. Lorrimer, 
 — eh? Well, now, we're wasting time here. 
 What's the offer?" 
 
 ' ' The offer, ' ' said Lorrimer, fixing him with 
 a look that changed Mr. Walker's expression 
 from one of self-satisfaction to one of surprise, 
 not unmixed with alarm, ' ' the offer is that you 
 give up that sheet you stole to me now; then 
 you can go back where you came from and noth- 
 ing further will be said about it." 
 
 After a moment's pause Walker professed to 
 treat this speech as a joke. He laughed, but 
 without mirth, and said, "Is that the handsome 
 advance that Lord Cambray is prepared to make 
 on his original offer?" 
 
 "Lord Cambray has nothing to do with it," 
 said Lorrimer. "This is a little enterprise of 
 
IN THE WOOD 179 
 
 my own. Lord Cambray is prepared to give 
 five hundred pounds for that sheet of paper 
 you stole, and if I bring it to him, he'll give me 
 the five hundred pounds. I don't want to be 
 hard on you, Mr. Walker; I am quite ready to 
 divide that sum with you. We'll divide it into 
 fifths — ^I to take four-fifths and you to take 
 one." 
 
 Walker had sohiewhat recovered himself. He 
 laughed again, rather more naturally. ' ' I see, ' ' 
 he said. "And if I'm not prepared to give up 
 what I've risked so much for, for a hundred 
 pounds — which isn't anything like what I'm al- 
 ready out of pocket over this deal — ^where shall 
 you be then, Mr. Lorrimer?" 
 
 "Oh, then," said Lorrimer coolly, "I shall 
 be better off by a hundred pounds, for I shall 
 claim the reward offered on my own account, 
 and of course you won't expect me to share any 
 of that with you." 
 
 "I see," said Walker again. "And where 
 does Lord Cambray come in?" 
 
 "Lord Cambray wouldn't come in at all," 
 said Lorrimer. "As I said, it would be a little 
 speculation entirely on my own account. I 
 shouldn't mind leaving Lord Cambray 's service 
 if I could get five hundred pounds added to what 
 I've been able to save." 
 
 "Well, it's a very pretty idea," said Walker* 
 
180 BIG PETER 
 
 "But there are a good many things you have 
 forgotten. However, we needn't discuss them. 
 If you have really got some suggestion to make 
 to me, of sticking the old man for a bit more, 
 as I've said I'm quite willing to share. If not 
 we'll end this interesting conversation, for it's 
 quite time I went and kept my appointment with 
 your master." 
 
 Lorrimer's aspect changed suddenly, "Yes, 
 it's quite time we ended this," he said roughly. 
 "Where's the paper? Let me see it," 
 
 Walker took a step backwards, Lorrimer had 
 approached him threateningly with the big stick 
 he was carrying gripped firmly in his hand, 
 
 "Here, don't you go trying that sort of game 
 on with me," he said boldly, "You'll get your- 
 self into trouble, you know." But his face was 
 pasty white as he shrank back against the para- 
 pet of the bridge, 
 
 Lorrimer controlled himself and let his hand 
 fall. "Look here," he said, in a voice that was 
 almost pleading. "Don't play the fool. Take 
 your hundred pounds — I'll make it two hundred 
 — ^no, two hundred and fifty; we'll go halves — 
 and go away in safety," 
 
 "Not me!" said Walker with uneasy trucu- 
 lence, "I'll have my four thousand." 
 
 "You'd better, you know," said Lorrimer, 
 
IN THE WOOD 181 
 
 still in a tone of appealing reasonableness. "I 
 don't want to do you any harm, but I'm going 
 to have that paper. I'm stronger than you, and 
 I've got this stick. I'm going to have that paper, 
 and if you don't give it up I'll take it from you. ' ' 
 
 Walker, now obviously terrified, gave a hoarse 
 cackle of laughter. "You don't suppose I should 
 be such a fool as to have the paper on me when 
 I was going to trust myself in this den of 
 thieves, do you!" he said. "Mr. Lorrimer! — 
 Mr. Lorrimer! — ^what are you thinking of?" 
 
 He crouched down under the railing and held 
 up his arm in defence, for Lorrimer had come 
 towards him with his stick raised in his hand, 
 and a murderous light in his eyes. 
 
 "What!" he cried in a fury. "You haven't 
 got it with you!" 
 
 Then in uncontrollable passion, he raised the 
 heavy stick high above his head and brought it 
 down with all the force of which he was capable 
 on the head of the defenceless man crouching 
 before him. 
 
 Walker put up his arm to save his head, but 
 the blow battered down his defence and struck 
 his head. "Don't! Don't!" he cried. "I can 
 get it for you. I swear I'll get it for you!" 
 
 Lorrimer was raining blows on him like a 
 madman, frenzied with rage. His eyes were 
 
182 BIG PETER 
 
 starting out of Ms head, his hatchet-like face, 
 pale as death, was as that of a savage beast fired 
 with murderous lust for blood. 
 
 Walker, crouching lower and lower on the 
 ground, tried to run in at him; but he sprang 
 back, and changing the direction of his furious 
 blows, struck at him sideways and found his 
 face undefended. With a wailing cry that welled 
 up through the silent wood, the wretched man 
 turned and tried to run from him, and with his 
 teeth bared like fangs, and his breath coming in 
 horrid gasps, Lorrimer ran after him and dealt 
 him one fierce blow after the other until he had 
 felled him, and he lay writhing on his face on 
 the ground. Then he struck at him again and 
 again murderously, and his struggles to pro- 
 tect himself grew weaker and weaker. 
 
 At last they ceased. Lorrimer had always 
 been a wicked man. Now he was a murderer. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 A CHANGE IN THE SUCCESSION 
 
 LORRIMER crept up to the castle. Al- 
 though the sun was shining brightly, the 
 sky seemed to him quite grey, and he shiv- 
 ered as if with cold. 
 
 He went straight to the room where his mas- 
 ter lay on his sofa by the window. 
 
 Lord Cambray received him with a curse. 
 "What have you been doing all this time?" he 
 asked. "Well, have you got it?" 
 
 Then his face changed as Lorrimer came for- 
 ward into the light. He lay staring up at him ; 
 a look of horror came into his eyes, and his 
 tongue refused to speak. 
 
 Then he seemed to bethink himself, and said 
 in an unnatural voice, "I suppose you've had a 
 fight to get it. I didn't tell you to do that. 
 Where is it?" 
 
 Lorrimer 's anger awoke at this speech. "You 
 didn't tell me to do it?" he cried. "It was all 
 your lault ! You lie there and keep your hands 
 clean and set me on; and then you curse and 
 swear at me and treat me like a dog! I won't 
 stand it ! I tell you, I won 't stand it ! " 
 
 His voice broke in a sort of querulous wail 
 
 183 
 
184 BIG PETER 
 
 and Lord Cambray said sharply, "Lorrimer! 
 Lorrimer ! Look out what you 're saying — some- 
 body will hear you ! Sit down and calm your- 
 self. You had a fight with the fellow. All right. 
 There's nothing so dreadful in that. You've 
 got the paper and now you'll get your reward. 
 Where is the paper? Let me see it." 
 
 Lorrimer sat down, his hysterical excitement 
 quelled by his master's authoritative manner. 
 He took no notice of the second part of his 
 speech, but began in a high voice : 
 
 "He made me angry. God knows I didn't 
 want to do him any harm. I'll swear to that. 
 But he made me angry, and I lifted my stick to 
 threaten him, and he looked such a coward that 
 I hit him once with it and then he tried to run 
 away — " 
 
 "Yes, yes," said Lord Cambray. "You had 
 a fight. I don't want to hear all about that. 
 You got the better of him. That's enough. 
 Where's the paper?" 
 
 "Then he turned to run," Lorrimer went on 
 as if he had not been interrupted at all, "and 
 he looked just like a rat trying to get away, and 
 I was so angry that I hit him again — " 
 
 Lord Cambray half raised himself on his cush- 
 ions. His fierce old eyes flashed fire. "Be quiet, 
 I tell you!" he shouted at him. "I won't hear 
 anymore!" 
 
A CHANGE IN THE SUCCESSION 185 
 
 Lorrimer stopped and frowned darkly at Mm. 
 "You've got to hear about it," he said. "I've 
 got to tell somebody, or I shall go mad!" 
 
 It was the first time that he had ever shown 
 himself entirely unaffected by his master's grim 
 personality, although he had screwed up his 
 courage to appear unmoved when he had made 
 his demands on him. His indifference roused 
 the old man to fury. 
 
 "I have got to listen to you!" he repeated. 
 "I have got to do this and that! I won't hear 
 a word more. Keep your tale to yourself." 
 
 But Lorrimer was quite beyond caring for 
 him. The angry impatience, which was his 
 habitual way of expressing himself, only aroused 
 an answering fury in his own brain, and he 
 sprang up from his chair and stood over him 
 threateningly. "Don't you talk to me like 
 that!" he said. "I have had enough of it, and 
 I am never going to stand it again from you as 
 
 long as I live. By G ! you had better look 
 
 out for yourself. Do you want another murder 
 done?" 
 
 No one had ever doubted the physical courage 
 of Lord Cambray; but he cowered at these 
 words. "Whatever he may have guessed and 
 tried to prevent the telling of, that terrible word 
 "murder" broke down all pretences; and he 
 was completely at the mercy of the man who was 
 
186 BIG PETER 
 
 standing over him with an almost insane light 
 in his eyes ; for he could hardly move without 
 help, and could have offered no more resistance 
 to an attack than if he had been bound hand and 
 foot. 
 
 But his shrinking was only momentary. There 
 was hardly a change in his voice as he said, 
 ' ' Sit down ! And don 't play the fool. Anybody 
 may come in and hear you. Tell me about it, 
 then." 
 
 Lorrimer told his story and found some relief 
 in sharing his guilty knowledge. Lord Cam- 
 bray's eyes were fixed upon him all the time, 
 and showed disgust, but no particular horror. 
 He even asked questions as to how he had dis- 
 posed of the body, and where, and if he had cov- 
 ered up all his traces. 
 
 Then at last, when Lorrimer had unburdened 
 himself, he said, "He was a mean little cur and 
 nobody is likely to miss him. You're safe 
 enough if you saw nobody going or coming, as 
 you say. What you've got to do is to pull your- 
 self together and behave as usual. You were a 
 fool to do it, because you could probably have 
 got hold of the paper without. Still, now it's 
 done, there 's no use crying about it. Put it out 
 of your mind and never so much as mention it 
 again. ' ' 
 
 "Oh! it's all very well for you to talk," said 
 
A CHANGE IN THE SUCCESSION 187 
 
 Lorrimer, rudely. "You incite a man to com- 
 mit murder and then tell him not to worry about 
 it. I wish you had had the doing of it yourself ! 
 I wish I had never seen you ! I was a good man 
 before I came to you and got mixed up in all 
 your vile schemes." 
 
 ' ' Well, you 're a good man now, ' ' said the old 
 lord, encouragingly, "if you'll only show a little 
 pluck. Quite natural you should be upset, but 
 don't let it take hold of you, or you're done. 
 You've talked enough about it — put it out of 
 your mind. It's nothing so dreadful after all. 
 You didn't kill the man in cold blood, and as 
 far as I'm concerned, I respect you more for 
 showing some devilry and being carried away 
 by it, than if you'd been the cold-blooded fish I 
 always thought you. Now leave it alone and 
 show me the paper. You needn't give it up un- 
 til I have done what I've promised to do. I'll 
 keep to my bargain. You've already paid the 
 price. ' ' 
 
 "I've told you," said Lorrimer impatiently, 
 "that he hadn't got the paper and that's what 
 made me so angry. And I don't want anything 
 more said about that other business. I've got 
 enough on my conscience now. I'll never do 
 another wicked deed as long as I live. I'll go 
 away somewhere and bury myself where they 
 can't find me — somewhere a long way off; and 
 
188 Bia PETER 
 
 I'll change my name so that nobody will know 
 who I am; and I'll live a good life and — " 
 
 He had spoken as if the purpose for which he 
 had gone down into the wood to meet his victim 
 was now of no importance at all and could be 
 put on one side, and was startled by the voice 
 in which his master cried, ' ' What ! You haven't 
 got the paper after all! You mean to tell me 
 that you've killed a man for nothing?" 
 
 Lorrimer looked up, annoyed at being aroused 
 out of his dream of escape and future content- 
 ment. "Oh! am I to go on saying the same 
 thing again and again ! " he said irritably. ' ' He 
 told me how he cut the leaf out of the book, and 
 I tried to bargain with him, and when he 
 wouldn't I said I was going to take it from him. 
 And then he told me that he hadn't got it. That 
 was what made me go for him." 
 
 "Of course he had got it," said Lord Cam- 
 bray. ' ' That was only bluff, you drivelling fool ! 
 It's on him now, and you've left it there for any- 
 body to find if they come across his body. What 
 you've got to do is to go down as soon as it gets 
 light enough to-morrow morning and get it. 
 Do you hear?" 
 
 Lorrimer shuddered violently. "I wouldn't 
 go there again," he said, "for anything in the 
 world ! ' ' 
 
 Then the old man lost his temper and raged 
 
A CHANGE IN THE SUCCESSION 189 
 
 at him with fierce imprecations, and called, him 
 a coward, with all the scorching opprobrium of 
 which he was capable ; and when Lorrimer, tak- 
 ing no offence at his words, only shook his head 
 obstinately and repeated his refusal in the same 
 words, he made a monstrous effort to rise from 
 his couch, shaking his fist at him and threaten- 
 ing to kill him if he did not do as he was told. 
 
 Lorrimer 's face grew dark again, and he was 
 just about to retort with abuse in his turn, when 
 the old man fell back on his pillows gasping; 
 his face grew purple, and he was taken with 
 one of those seizures which only the skilful and 
 attentive Lorrimer could deal with. 
 
 But Lorrimer sat looking at him with a sneer 
 on his lips, and as his master helplessly rolled 
 his eyes at him in unspoken appeal, laughed sav- 
 agely in his face and sat still in his chair. 
 
 The old man tried to say something, but he 
 was on the point of unconsciousness and the 
 sounds he made were quite unintelligible. But 
 suddenly Lorrimer sprang up, and with a scared 
 face busied himself over the remedies he knew 
 so well how to use. Whether his master had 
 meant to warn him against being responsible 
 for another murder or no, that was what had 
 come into his mind. How would it be with him 
 if Lord Cambray should die, with his attendant 
 in the room with Mm? 
 
190 BIG PETER 
 
 For the rest of tlie night he was in close at- 
 tendance upon his master; and the next day, 
 and for many days afterwards he hardly left 
 him. 
 
 The doctor, who came constantly to the cas- 
 tle, praised him for his unremitting care, and 
 told him that he would do himself an injury if 
 he did not take rest. 
 
 As for the evil old man who lay silent and 
 motionless hour after hour, day after day, night 
 after night, on his great canopied bed of state — 
 what thoughts must have passed through his 
 mind, to which he would no more be able to give 
 expression! Whatever they were, they were 
 hidden even from his attendant. All except one ; 
 Lorrimer knew from his look whenever he went 
 near him, that his pride and his courage had 
 broken down. There was a look of fear and ap- 
 peal in his eyes that had never been there be- 
 fore. He was afraid of the man who was nurs- 
 ing him in a way that no woman, not even one 
 trained to wait on suffering mankind, could have 
 excelled. 
 
 If Lorrimer had wanted revenge on a man 
 who had set him on to commit the crime for 
 which he now felt such bitter remorse, he could 
 have devised none greater than this, that the 
 wicked Earl of Cambray, who had been so bold 
 in evil, so overbearing in his haughty insolence 
 
A CHANGE IN THE SUCCESSION 191 
 
 to all those dependent on him, should be living 
 his last days in mortal and abject terror of a 
 servant. 
 
 When it was seen that he would not recover 
 from his last attack, there were those in the 
 house who said that his daughter must be sent 
 for. But no one knew where she was. Since 
 the day when, accompanied by her maid, she had 
 left the castle, no word had been heard from 
 her. Lady Marlow was written to, and was 
 greatly distressed at the news that her niece's 
 whereabouts was still unknown, if she bore with 
 equanimity the news that her brother-in-law 
 could not be expected to live much longer. 
 
 She had a carefully worded advertisement put 
 into the newspapers, but it brought no reply, 
 and the household at Cambray Castle had an- 
 other topic to discuss, besides their dreaded 
 master's mortal illness. He had driven his 
 daughter away from him, they said, and now he 
 was going to die and she would not be with him. 
 
 The end came late one night, just at that time 
 when nature seems to be most wearied and most 
 sad. 
 
 Lorrimer was asleep on the sofa at the foot 
 of the bed. Tired out with his continuous vigil, 
 he was sleeping more peacefully than he had 
 done ever since that dreadful day. 
 
 Suddenly he was startled, and sprang up, 
 
192 Bia PETER 
 
 sweating with, fright, to see the white figure on 
 the bed sitting up maJdng horrible grimaces at 
 him and striving to say something. The sounds 
 that came from the blackened lips were horrible 
 and meaningless, and had pierced even through 
 his soothing dreams. 
 
 As he sprang up and then stopped, unable to 
 move through terror at that awful sight of the 
 figure that had lain so long helpless and speech- 
 less, now sitting up and uttering those horrid 
 sounds and undergoing those grotesque contor- 
 tions. Lord Cambray lifted a shrunken arm and 
 pointed at him, and made a violent effort to say 
 something, but only gibbered unmeaningly. 
 Then, as if he had given up the attempt, he 
 broke out into a screech of laughter, which rang 
 fearfully through the sleeping house and woke 
 some of those in rooms far distant. Those who 
 heard the sound said afterwards that it was 
 more terrifying than any sound they had ever 
 heard. 
 
 With that unearthly mocking laugh on his 
 lips, and his hand still stretched out with its 
 pointing finger, Lord Cambray fell back upon 
 his pillows, and there fell a silence never more 
 to be broken by words or sounds from him. 
 
 The death of the Earl of Cambray did not call 
 forth much comment in the public press. In all 
 
A CHANGE IN THE SUCCESSION 193 
 
 his long life he had done no public service, un- 
 less a few years in the Household Brigade can 
 be counted as such. He had been a mean and 
 grasping landlord ; he had come into possession 
 of wealth and rank in his early youth, and he 
 had spent everything he had on the gratification 
 of his own pleasures and vices. There was noth- 
 ing good to say of such a man, and the bad that 
 was known of him was allowed to rest. 
 
 One point of interest iu his death was the suc- 
 cession to his ancient title of his daughter. Lady 
 Margaret Chandos. The paragraphists all pro- 
 duced their little lists of peeresses in their own 
 right, to whom the Countess of Cambray's name 
 was now added, and then the subject dropped. 
 Very little was known, even to the society jour- 
 nalists, of Lady Margaret. She had not been 
 seen much iu fashionable society, and it was not 
 possible even to produce photographs of her in 
 the illustrated papers. Applications to her 
 ladyship for permission to do so were left un- 
 answered, as were sundry other communications 
 addressed to Cambray Castle to the new peeress. 
 
 For two days after Lord Cambray 's death 
 there was stiU no word from his daughter. The 
 family solicitor came down to the castle and 
 took in hand the arrangements for the funeral 
 and the succession to the estates. 
 
 Then at last there came word from Lady Mar- 
 
194 BIG PETEE 
 
 garet. She was with her aunt, Lady Marlow, 
 in her house in the country. She wished to come 
 down to the castle, but before she did so desired 
 that certain instructions should be carried out. 
 Amongst them were some relating to the house- 
 hold staff. All the servants who wished to do 
 so, were to stay on for the present, with the ex- 
 ception of the late Earl's attendant, Lorrimer. 
 ,He was to be dismissed at once. This order was 
 peremptory. 
 
 Lorrimer did not seem to be surprised at this 
 decision nor did he seem so averse to leaving 
 the house where he had lived for so many years 
 as might have been expected. On the day on 
 which notice was given him he went away, and 
 the same evening the Countess of Cambray ar- 
 rived with her maid, and took up her residence 
 in the castle which was now hers. 
 
 She paid one visit to the room in which her 
 father's body lay, but it was a very short one, 
 and she did not repeat it. Nor did she follow 
 him to the grave in which he was laid with all 
 the pomp that befitted his rank, and in the pres- 
 ence of a large concourse of people, among 
 whom there was not one to shed a tear for him, 
 or to feel anything but a sense of relief that his 
 long bad reign was over, and hope that the new 
 reign just begun would be a very different one. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE HOME OF HIS FATHEBS 
 
 THE day after Lord Cambray's remains 
 had been deposited with all pomp and 
 ceremony in the family vault, Peter went 
 down to the village of Tunsted, which was about 
 two miles from Cambray castle. He did not 
 go to Chartsedge, in which parish the castle 
 was situated, because, always with the idea in 
 his mind that some day he might come to reign 
 over this property, he was unwilling to make 
 his first appearance there as a stranger in the 
 village inn. He wished as far as possible to 
 keep quiet, and not to be recognized while he 
 was making his investigations, and for that rea- 
 son he called himself not Mr. Peter Chandos, 
 but Mr. Peter, and felt absurdly pleased at be- 
 ing addressed by the name, because he had first 
 been called by it sitting in that little paradise 
 of an orchard by the Norfolk Broad. 
 
 The inn in which he took up his quarters was 
 a pleasant, old-fashioned, rambling house that 
 had seen better days. If it had not been for 
 his experience at Hollow Weir, he would have 
 
 195 
 
196 BIG PETER 
 
 thouglit it as good a specimen of an Englisli 
 country inn as he could very well have come 
 across. It was kept by a buxom widow, who 
 was quite ready to gossip with him, and he 
 learnt a good deal from her before he had been 
 there an hour. She brought him in his tea her- 
 self and stayed to talk to him just as the old 
 landlord at Hollow Weir had done. 
 
 She was, of course, full of the grand funeral 
 that they had had at Chartsedge the day be- 
 fore. It had been a godsend to a neighbour- 
 hood where, as she told Peter, nothing ever hap- 
 pened. And as there had been no call to grieve 
 for the person chiefly concerned in it, it had 
 been taken frankly as a welcome entertainment, 
 and enjoyed as such. 
 
 "There wasn't a soul among the gentry all 
 round who would have anything to do with 
 his lordship when he was alive," she said, "at 
 least not latterly — ^for his goings on were some- 
 thing awful. But they all sent their carriages 
 — I dare say more out of respect to her ladyship 
 than anything — and as for the flowers, why, I 
 never see anything like 'em, not even when the 
 countess was buried, and lucky for her, poor 
 lady, that she was took when she was; for he 
 never brought her anything but sorrow, and he 
 would have brought her more still if she'd lived. 
 He was a thorough bad one, was the earl — 
 
THE HOME OF HIS FATHERS 197 
 
 thought of nothing but spending money on his 
 own pleasures, — and pretty awful pleasures 
 they were, too, — and let his property get into 
 a frightful state. When you go about this 
 .country, sir, just you look at the farm buildings 
 and cottages. Why, some of them are a posi- 
 tive disgrace! Nobody could get anything 
 done. It's my belief he'd just as soon see 'em 
 tumble down as not, as long as he got some 
 sort of a rent out of them, and didn't have to 
 put his hand in his pocket for repairs. Well, 
 it's to be hoped it will be different now, though 
 where the money's to come from to do anything 
 I don't know." 
 
 Then Peter asked her what the new countess 
 was like. 
 
 "Well, it's a funny thing," said the land- 
 lady, "but although I have lived here for over 
 ten years, I have never once set eyes on her. 
 When I first came she was mostly abroad with 
 her ladyship, who was in a decline — at least 
 that's what they called it, but it's my belief she 
 was just suffering from a broken heart. Then 
 after the countess died, tiU she was grown up, 
 she was living mostly with her aunt. They say 
 she never wanted to come here at all, but his 
 lordship made her; and I suppose she was so 
 ashamed at the sort of things that used to go on 
 at the castle that she wouldn't willingly let it 
 
198 BIG PETER 
 
 be known that she lived there. Besides, the 
 people at Chartsedge are a rough lot ; they can 
 hardly get decent tenants to come to such a 
 place. She wouldn't be likely to go about 
 among them much. There are just one or two 
 farms which have been in the same hands for 
 many years that she's been used to go to oc- 
 casionally, but not even that lately. I don't 
 believe for a year or two she's been outside 
 the castle gates when she's been down here, ex- 
 cept just to go to church; and of course the 
 grounds and the woods all about the castle are 
 so big that she needn't ever have left them if 
 she didn't want to be seen. Still, everybody as 
 knows her speaks well of her, but they say 
 she'll never be able to live here unless she mar- 
 ries somebody with a great deal of money ; and 
 if she does that he's likely to have a fine place 
 of his own. They say there'll be next to noth- 
 ing for her when everything is settled up, and 
 she'll be almost as poor as if she were a simple 
 farmer's daughter, instead of a lady with a 
 title of her own and some of the proudest blood 
 in the land." 
 
 "Ah! well," said Peter, "I hope it won't be 
 as bad as all that. And if she is a nice lady, 
 I dare say she will marry well and forget all 
 her troubles. Do you know anything about the 
 servants at the castle? I suppose the old man 
 
THE HOME OF HIS FATHERS 199 
 
 had somebody to look after him all the time he 
 was so broken up?" 
 
 "He was broken up with his bad ways," said 
 the landlady severely, "and as for being looked 
 after, he was looked after by a man who was 
 just about as bad as he was. His name was 
 Lorrimer, and any wicked prank that my lord 
 wanted to play up with Mr. Lorrimer helped 
 him. I could tell you some stories about that, 
 only they're hardly fit for a woman to tell to 
 a gentleman. Oh, yes, Mr. Lorrimer looked 
 after his lordship all right, and after himself, 
 too ! They say that whatever money has been 
 left he will very likely get his share of it. But 
 it's a funny thing that though aU the rest of 
 the household was there at the church yester- 
 day, he wasn't. I did hear that he's took him- 
 self off already, and I dare say it's qjiite true, 
 because it isn't likely her ladyship would want 
 him there." 
 
 Peter asked a good many questions about Mr. 
 Lorrimer, and the landlady was able to give 
 him a description which made him prick up his 
 ears and consider whether it might not be as 
 well to send a telegram to Mr. Fearon without 
 delay. 
 
 For it seemed certain that this man, who had 
 the reputation of being at his master's beck and 
 call for any evil service that was required of 
 
200 BIG PETER 
 
 him, was the man he had surprised in Thaxted 
 church, and had allowed to escape him. 
 
 It was rather disturbing to learn that he had 
 already left the neighbourhood. It looked 
 rather as if another opportunity might have 
 been lost. It might be as well to get on to his 
 track at once. 
 
 He thought, however, that he would jBnd out 
 a little more first. The landlady did not seem 
 to be quite certain whether Lorrimer had ac- 
 tually left the castle. It was only that some- 
 body had told her that he had, when she had 
 remarked about his not being present at the 
 funeral. He might be still there, and in that 
 case he would get an unpleasant surprise, after 
 Peter had paid a visit to the nearest police sta- 
 tion. He wanted to make quite certain of his 
 man first, and not let himself in for another 
 fiasco. 
 
 When he had had his tea, Peter strolled out 
 and took the road towards the hill upon which 
 Cambray Castle stood. When the road got to 
 the top of the hill it took a turn away from 
 the castle and skirted a high wall, behind which 
 must have been a good many acres of level 
 ground, half park, half woodland. By and by 
 he came to a gate flanked by a pair of stone- 
 built lodges ; but the gate was apparently never 
 
THE HOME OF HIS FATHEES 201 
 
 used, for grass was growing up against it, even 
 on the roadway itself, and the lodges looked as 
 if they were unoccupied. 
 
 He walked on a little farther, until suddenly, 
 as is sometimes the case where a great park has 
 begun to be elaborately enclosed, the high stone 
 wall gave place to wooden fencing. This was 
 everywhere in a ruinous condition, and looked 
 as if it had not been touched for years ; and the 
 park, so completely shut in where the wall had 
 been built, was open to any one who liked to 
 enter it. 
 
 It was not a park here, though, except in 
 name ; it was a thick, close wood. With a 
 glance around him, Peter crept in through a 
 gap in the fence and began to wander through it. 
 
 By and by, the wilder growth of the wood 
 gave place to more artificial planting, and pres- 
 ently he found himself in a well-defined shrub- 
 bery walk. He followed this for some distance. 
 
 Suddenly he stopped. His keen ears had 
 caught the sound of voices, some distance away, 
 but audible in the still evening air. They were 
 the voices of a man and a woman, and as he 
 stood trying to locate them, his face grew puz- 
 zled, because somehow they did not sound like 
 the voices of people in ordinary conversation. 
 He stood still for some time, straining Ms ears 
 
202 BIG PETEE 
 
 to listen. And by and by there coirld be no 
 doubt that lie had come upon something in the 
 nature of a scene. 
 
 The man's voice grew louder and, as it 
 seemed to him, threatening. He was much too 
 far off to be able to distinguish any words. 
 The woman's voice told him nothing; it was no 
 more than a murmur at that distance, and prob- 
 ably ears less keen than his would not have 
 heard it at all. 
 
 But with a suddenness that was positively 
 startling, both voices were raised, the man's into 
 anger, the woman's into terror, and before 
 Peter could form any decision in his mind as 
 to what to do, there was a loud shriek, and he 
 sprang forward and ran down the shrubbery 
 path as fast as he had ever run in his life. 
 
 As he ran the commotion still continued and 
 increased. Ehododendron bushes grew thick 
 and tall between him and the place from which 
 the voices came. He ran along beside them, 
 expecting to find another path or an opening of 
 some sort, and presently did so ; and as he ran 
 out on to a wide lawn at the head of a sheet of 
 water, which he had not expected to find there, 
 he heard the man's voice say threateningly, 
 "You shall say yes before I let you go, or I'll 
 let out everything." 
 
 Half facing him, backed by the dark green 
 
THE HOME OF HIS FATHERS 203 
 
 of shrubs and trees, was the marble facade of 
 a Grecian summer-house, and on the grass be- 
 tween him and it, was the white-robed figure of 
 a girl, struggling in the arms of a man who had 
 seized and was holding her, while she battled 
 with him with all her strength and sent shriek 
 after shriek into the air. 
 
 In a moment Peter had seized the man by the 
 collar, had torn him away with such force that 
 the girl, suddenly released, fell on the grass 
 on her knees, and had flung him violently down 
 on to the ground. 
 
 And then he stood staring, with all power to 
 speak or move for the moment taken away from 
 him. For the girl whom he had rescued was 
 his own adored girl of the picture, and the man 
 from whom he had saved her was the man whom 
 he had already once treated with violence in 
 Thaxted church. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 BY THE LAKE 
 
 PETER had no time to take in all that this 
 surprising discovery might mean. He 
 was aware only of the girl on her knees 
 on the ground, and of the man some little way 
 off where he had violently thrown him. Sud- 
 denly the wild rage that sometimes seizes upon 
 the mildest mannered of men, got hold of him, 
 and with a sort of fierce snarl he sprang upon 
 the man, seized him by the throat, lifted him 
 up as easily as if he had been a small child, 
 and shook him as a terrier shakes a rat. 
 
 The man was powerless in that grip of iron. 
 His eyes started out of his head ; his teeth chat- 
 tered as he was shaken furiously to and fro; 
 the attempts he made with his hands to loosen 
 the grip on him were of no more avail than 
 those of a baby would have been. Peter would 
 have killed him then and there, would have 
 choked the life out of him before he had come 
 to himself, and without knowing what he was 
 doing in his blind fury. 
 
 204 
 
BY THE LAKE 205 
 
 There was only one voice in the world that 
 could have pierced through to his brain at that 
 moment, and it was the voice of the girl who 
 now clung to him and implored him to desist. 
 
 "You wiU kill him ! You will kill him ! " she 
 cried. 
 
 At last he threw him from him again, more 
 violently than before, and he lay on the ground 
 gasping and staring, utterly unable for the mo- 
 ment to move hand or foot. 
 
 "And I will kill him," cried Peter, turning 
 to her with a terrible look in his eyes, from 
 which she did not quail. She still clung to him 
 and pleaded, with her eyes fixed upon his, and 
 gradually his madness left him, and the real- 
 ization of her touch stole into his brain. 
 
 "Let him go," she said. "You have saved 
 me, and he will never trouble me any more. ' ' 
 
 But as for letting him go, not even she could 
 persuade him- to do that. She did not know 
 everything. 
 
 "I have let him go once," said Peter, "and 
 I shan't let him go again. I have been looking 
 for him ; and now I have found him, the swine ! 
 He shan't escape me again!" 
 
 But still she clung to him, while the man on 
 the grass at their feet lay stupidly staring up 
 at them. "Have you been looking for him?" 
 she said. "Did you know that it was because 
 
206 BIG PETEE 
 
 of him we had to leave that quiet place where 
 you knew us?" 
 
 No, Peter did not know that. A flood of 
 light came to him and brought with it a flood of 
 joy. He looked at her with eyes more like those 
 kind eyes which she already knew. But he 
 said, "Did you know what he was up there for? 
 Did you know I found him breaking into Thax- 
 ted Church in the middle of the night? And 
 he told me a pack of lies and I let him go. I 
 shan't let him go a second time, and if I don't 
 handle him myself for what he has done to you, 
 it is only because he'll be worse off when I get 
 him punished!" 
 
 But she pleaded hard. "For my sake," she 
 said. "Think what it would be to me to have 
 all this come out I He is a servant. How can 
 I bear to have it known that he dared to come 
 and make love to me !" 
 
 She shuddered and turned away her head 
 with a gesture of loathing. 
 
 Peter was shaken. "Made love to you!" he 
 cried. " If I did let him go I would break every 
 bone in his body first!" 
 
 The man on the grass had recovered himself 
 a little. He raised himself on his elbow. He 
 was a horrid spectacle. His face, pale and wild, 
 wore a look almost like madness, and when he 
 spoke, his voice was hoarse and cracked, and 
 
BY THE LAKE 207 
 
 full of fear. * * If you will make him let me go, " 
 lie said to the girl, "I'll never trouble you any 
 more. If you let him take me I'll let out every- 
 thing — for then I shan't care what happens." 
 
 Again she shuddered, and then turned on him 
 passionately. "Oh! if you will go right away 
 and I never see your horrible face any more," 
 she cried, "I think I might know some happi- 
 ness." 
 
 She turned to Peter and said, "If you keep 
 him here and everything becomes known, I think 
 I shall die of shame." 
 
 Then Peter, with a sigh, made a great re- 
 nunciation. "For your sake," he said, "I will 
 let him go." 
 
 He turned upon the man, who had risen un- 
 steadily to his feet, and, with his teeth clenched, 
 said, "You had better go before I can change 
 my mind ; and for your own sake you had bet- 
 ter go right away, for if ever I come across you 
 again anywhere in the world — !" 
 
 He did not finish his speech, for with furtive 
 tread, like that of some cowardly wild beast, 
 the man had disappeared among the thick trees, 
 and they could hear his footsteps crunching on 
 the dry leaves as he ran stumbling through the 
 wood. 
 
 Then the girl went with unsteady steps 
 towards the temple, and sinking down on the 
 
208 BIG PETSR 
 
 marble seat, buried her face in her hands and 
 wept bitterly. 
 
 Peter sat down by her side in the deepest dis- 
 tress and made rough efforts to console her. 
 "Don't cry," he said, in a tone as if he were 
 comforting a child. "You're safe now. I'll 
 never let any harm come to you." 
 
 By and by he managed to get one of her little 
 hands into his as she still sobbed uncontrollably, 
 and she let it lie there until the storm of shame 
 and bitterness that filled her soul had abated. 
 Then she withdrew it gently and dried her eyes. 
 
 "I'm all right now," she said, "and oh! I'm 
 so thankful .that you came just when you did. 
 It's so hateful to be weak and in the mercy of 
 a horrible creature like that! If I had been 
 strong enough I think I should have killed him, 
 as you threatened to do. But it is so much bet- 
 ter that he should have gone away, and that I 
 shall never be troubled with him again," 
 
 "I don't think you need fear that," said 
 Peter, grimly. "Whatever lies he may have 
 told, he spoke the truth when he said he wouldn't 
 run the risk of crossing my path agsiin." 
 
 As she became more composed, Peter's curi- 
 osity began to awaken, and the realization came 
 to him that again he had been marvellously 
 blessed by fortune in finding her here. 
 
BY THE LAKE 209 
 
 The same thought seemed to have struck her 
 at the same time; for she smiled shyly at him 
 and said, "This is the second time that you 
 have rescued me. Do you go about the world, 
 Mr. Peter, looking out for girls in distress, and 
 always coming to their help just at the right 
 time?" 
 
 "I think if you were in trouble," said Peter, 
 looking boldly and yet tenderly into her eyes, 
 "and were to call out to me, — wherever you 
 were in the whole world, — I should come." 
 
 Her delicate skin flushed a pale rose colour 
 and she looked away from him, but immedi- 
 ately faced him again and asked, "How did 
 you come to be here, of all places in the world?" 
 
 "I am afraid I was trespassing," said Peter. 
 "I have come to stay near here for a bit, and 
 I got into the wood and thought I would like 
 to catch a glimpse of the gardens. You won't 
 tell the Countess, will you?" 
 
 Again the rosy flush, and the head turned 
 quickly away. "I might have to tell her," she 
 said, ' ' how you had to come to my rescue. But 
 no, I don't think I will. I want never to tell 
 any one how that man has persecuted me." 
 
 "Who is he?" asked Peter. "You said he 
 was a servant. Is he Lorrimer, Lord Cam- 
 bray's servant?" 
 
210 BIG PETER 
 
 She looked at him, as it seemed, with alarm 
 in her eyes. "Yes," she said. "He is Lor- 
 rimer. How did you know that ? ' ' 
 
 "I was hearing this evening," he said, "that 
 there was such a man, and that he had gone 
 away directly after his master's death." 
 
 "We thought he had gone away," she said 
 quickly. "Lady Cambray sent him away. She 
 hates him. Oh ! how she hates him ! ' ' 
 
 She clenched her hand and spoke with deep 
 passion. "Is Lady Cambray a friend of 
 yours?" asked Peter. "Are you staying here 
 with her. Miss Parker?" 
 
 She paused for a moment before replying, 
 and then smiled at him. "You remember my 
 aunt?" she said. "She was Lady Cambray 's 
 nurse. She would never leave her for long, al- 
 though she need not remain in any sort of serv- 
 ice if she did not wish to. I have known Lady 
 Cambray all my life ; we are great friends. We 
 have the same name, and I have very often been 
 with her." 
 
 The explanation seemed quite natural to 
 Peter, and explained to his satisfaction things 
 that had puzzled him about Miss Parker and 
 her niece. 
 
 "Sometimes," she went on rather hurriedly, 
 "I was here at Cambray Castle with her. But 
 my aunt did not like it to be known; and I don't 
 
BY THE LAKE 211 
 
 want it known that I am here now. You will 
 not tell any one, will you?" 
 
 Peter gave the promise easily enough. A de- 
 lightful feeling of intimacy was beginning to 
 steal over him. Everything else was forgot- 
 ten, except that he was here alone with her, and 
 she was content to be with him and to confide 
 some secrets to him. 
 
 "I will tell you about this horrible man," she 
 said, "because I owe you that; and then let us 
 never mention his name again. The last time 
 I was here he spoke to me, and I was so much 
 ashamed that I made my aunt take me away 
 for a time where he could not come near us. 
 Some friends of hers had once stayed for a 
 week or two in that cottage where you knew us, 
 and we went there, meaning to stay there 
 quietly for the whole of the summer. And then 
 one evening, I was walking alone in the wood, 
 and to my horror I saw this dreadful man, and 
 I thought he had found us out. So we ran 
 away, and I am afraid you must have thought 
 us very ungrateful for leaving no word for you 
 after all your kindness. But indeed, I was so 
 upset that I could think of nothing." 
 
 "It is very extraordinary," said Peter, "that 
 you should have gone just to that place. It 
 was just a chance that you should have caught 
 sight of him. He had not come there to find 
 
212 Bia PETER 
 
 you. It was a ehance that I should have come 
 across him, too." 
 
 "Oh! don't let's talk about him any more," 
 she said, with the shudder without which she 
 had not yet mentioned his name. "I want to 
 forget him." 
 
 Peter had been going to tell her of his en- 
 counter with Lorrimer in Thaxted Church. But 
 he now bethought himself. He would have to 
 do a good deal of thinking before he told even 
 her anything that had to do with his search for 
 the register. Most surprisingly, ^he was a 
 friend of the Countess of Cambray, whose title 
 and property he was about to claim. That 
 might help him, or it might not. He had had 
 no time as yet to consider it. Besides, he had 
 let Lorrimer go. It was possible that with that 
 act he had finally done away with all his 
 chances. That also would have to be consid- 
 ered. But no consideration that affected only 
 the business of his claim could for a moment 
 damp the always increasing joy with which he 
 found himself once more seated at her side, 
 talking to her, and sometimes raising his eyes 
 to her sweet face. 
 
 He thought she looked pale and sad, and 
 thinner than when he had last seen her. When 
 she smiled at him, as she had done once or twice, 
 his heart leapt. But it had never been the gay 
 
BY THE LAKE 215 
 
 smile that ought to have been on the face of a 
 girl of her years. That was, of course, not to 
 have been expected just now, after the shock 
 she had received. But there was something 
 about her smile which seemed to show that it 
 was never gay. Even when they had been to- 
 gether up in Norfolk, and she had been for the 
 moment free of the vile persecution which it 
 even now enraged him to think of, there had 
 been that note of sadness in her face and man- 
 ner. 
 
 She was dressed in white, but all the ribbons 
 about her simple dress were black, as they had 
 not been when he had seen her before. No 
 doubt it was merely complimentary mourning, 
 which every one in Cambray Castle was now 
 wearing, however little cause they might have 
 had to show grief for the death of its lord. 
 
 But whatever she wore and however she 
 looked, she was beautiful, more beautiful than 
 any one Peter had ever seen. He had so hun- 
 gered for her that, now he had found her, he 
 could hardly take in his own happiness. He 
 did not know what to say, and just at the mo- 
 ment he did not want to say anything, but just 
 to sit there with her and drink in with his eyes 
 the beauty of her face, and with his ears the 
 music of her voice. 
 
 But the sun had long since set, and now the 
 
214 BIG PETER 
 
 dusk was coming on. She sprang np from the 
 marble seat and said, "I must go in now. They 
 will be wondering where I am." 
 
 Peter, recalled to himself, said, "Oh, but I 
 can't let you go like this. I have been looking 
 everywhere for you, and I haven't even begun 
 to say all I want to say." 
 
 She looked at him with her little faint, rather 
 melancholy smile. "It is getting dark," she 
 said, "and I can't stay out here any longer; 
 somebody will be coming to look for me, — ^per- 
 haps my aunt, perhaps Lady Cambray herself, 
 — and that would be terrible, for you know you 
 are trespassing." 
 
 Certainly, thought Peter, he did not want 
 Lady Cambray to appear and find him there. 
 "But I must see you again," he said. "You 
 can't mean that you want to say good-bye to 
 me now!" 
 
 Still with the same faint smile, and with that 
 flowerlike blush added to it, she said, "Perhaps 
 if you were to trespass again to-morrow eve- 
 ning, you might find me here." 
 
 And then her flitting white figure disap- 
 peared behind the shrubs on the other side of 
 the temple. 
 
 The next evening Peter made his way to the 
 temple by the lake in a frame of mind that may 
 be well imagined. He did not want to run any 
 
BY THE LAKE 215 
 
 risk of being last at the rendezvous, and conse- 
 quently had a considerable time to wait in the 
 company of the swans that sailed placidly on 
 the lake, and the birds that were twittering 
 good night to one another in the trees by which 
 it was surrounded. 
 
 But presently she came from among the trees, 
 and stood on the grass by his side. She had 
 been so long coming that he had begun to feel 
 she would not come at all, and now she was 
 here he had nothing to say that seemed to fit 
 the occasion. He could only look at her in a 
 way that must have shown her at any rate that 
 her presence was welcome. 
 
 "I can't stay very long," she said, giving him 
 her hand, and smiling at him with a face far 
 less troubled than she had worn the night be- 
 fore. ' ' But I wanted to thank you again for all 
 you have done for me." 
 
 He was just a little chilled, in spite of her 
 smile. He did not reflect that she must want 
 some little excuse to herself for coming out to 
 meet him there in secret. 
 
 They sat down together on the marble seat, 
 and Peter had the chance he had looked for- 
 ward to up on the Broad, if he had been able to 
 get her to come sailing alone with him. 
 
 But he did not realize that in these matters 
 it is not exactly the things that a man may have 
 
216 BIG PETER 
 
 intended to say that get themselves said, — at 
 least not unless the woman is ready to hear 
 them. And apparently she was not ready this 
 evening, for they talked about quite ordinary 
 things, or things as ordinary as the somewhat 
 unusual circumstances of their common experi- 
 ences permitted. 
 
 She told him that she loved this retired spot 
 in the gardens, and often came there when she 
 wanted to be alone. Nobody else ever came 
 there at all, except once in a way a gardener; 
 but the gardeners had so much to do, and were 
 short-handed besides, that it was very seldom 
 any of them came to this part of the grounds 
 at all. 
 
 Peter was pleased enough to hear this, and 
 asked if Lady Cambray didn't come there some- 
 times. 
 
 "Why?" she smiled at him. "Are you 
 afraid of her finding us here and ordering you 
 off the premises? You needn't be alarmed." 
 
 "Tell me what she is like," said Peter. "I 
 was hearing about her to-day. They say she 
 is very proud, and that hardly anybody about 
 here has ever seen her." 
 
 She looked down on the marble floor. "I 
 don't think she is very proud," she said. "I 
 am afraid she would say she had not much to 
 be proud of. She is often very sad, and per- 
 
BY THE LAKE 217 
 
 haps that is why she has been so little seen when 
 she has been here. She has very few friends." 
 
 "She has you," said Peter simply. "Since 
 I have known you I have thought that you often 
 looked sad, too. Is it because she is your 
 friend and you are sorry for her? You ought 
 not to be sad on your own account." 
 
 Once more she smiled at him and seemed to 
 shake off her mood of melancholy. "I am not 
 going to be sad now," she said. "I want you 
 to tell me things, as you did up in Norfolk. 
 Tell me all about the free, happy life you led 
 out in Australia. I have often thought about 
 it since. It has made me wish sometimes that 
 I could be a man and get away from all the 
 troubles of this old country, and live a life like 
 that. Why did you ever leave it? Don't you 
 like it better than being here?" 
 
 "No," said Peter stoutly, with his eyes fixed 
 upon her. 
 
 She gave a little nervous laugh, but blushed, 
 too, as she said hurriedly, "Well, I suppose you 
 will go back some day. Now tell me some 
 stories about the Bush, and give me something 
 to think about." 
 
 He could have given her a good deal to think 
 about if he had told her who he was, and an- 
 swered her question as to what he was doing in 
 England. But he had made up his mind tha;b 
 
218 BIG PETER 
 
 he could not do so as yet, so he allowed him- 
 self to be drawn away from the sort of talk 
 he would have preferred, and amused her with 
 his yarns of adventure. And she sat with her 
 chin in her hand, looking out over the water, 
 or leant back against the marble with her hands 
 clasped in her lap, listening to him, or perhaps 
 thinking about something quite different, but 
 at any rate content to be there with him, and, 
 if her face showed anything, for this hour, at 
 any rate, in peace. Then, just as on the night • 
 before, she sprang up suddenly and said she 
 must be going, and again Peter remonstrated 
 and said he had not begun to say to her what 
 he wanted to say. 
 
 "Why, we have been talking for nearly an 
 hour," she said, "and you have been doing most 
 of the talking." And then, fearing perhaps 
 that he would say something she was not ready 
 to listen to, she put up her hand and said with 
 that sweet smile he loved so much, "Perhaps 
 we might have another talk to-morrow evening 
 if you care to risk it," and again she was gone, 
 leaving him to stand there, with his heart flut- 
 tering like a bird in his great, strong body. 
 
 She came to him next night with a serious 
 face, and when they had talked together for a 
 little he asked her what was troubling her ; for 
 she did not seem to be attending to him much, 
 
BY THE LAKE 219 
 
 and he was fearful lest this time she had only 
 come because she had promised to do so, and 
 would soon want to leave him. 
 
 "When he asked his question she looked at him 
 searchingly, and then said some words that 
 were as sweet to him as any he had ever heard 
 from her lips: "You have been a very good 
 friend to me. I think I will tell you, and ask 
 your advice." 
 
 Then before he could speak, she added hur- 
 riedly, "It is not my own difficulty, it is Lady 
 Cambray's. But I know you will tell nobody, 
 and she has so few people to advise her." 
 
 Peter was a little disappointed that he was 
 not to help her out of a trouble of her own, but 
 only a little, because whosever difficulty it was, 
 it was Tier confidence that she was giving to 
 him. He hardly reflected that Lady Cambray 
 was something more to him than he had admit- 
 ted to the girl who was her friend, until she 
 said, "The most extraordinary thing has hap- 
 pened. Lady Cambray 's solicitor came down 
 from London to see her this morning and told 
 her that there was a claimant to her title and 
 her property. He had not been given all the 
 details, but he had been told on the authority 
 of a man whose word he could trust that the 
 claim was a good one, although there might be 
 some difficulty in establishing it. He had been 
 
220 BIG PETEE 
 
 told to ask her whether she would undertake 
 not to resist it, if she could be satisfied about 
 it, and if she were given very handsome com- 
 pensation." 
 
 So Mr. Fearon had already begun to move. 
 Peter hardly knew whether he was glad or 
 sorry. But he did for the moment feel very 
 uncomfortable at having this confidence thrust 
 upon him. However, he reflected that what- 
 ever he might hear, no harm would be done to 
 Lady Cambray, and that if he knew how she 
 felt about it, it might even help him to take the 
 steps that would be most advantageous to her. 
 
 "If she were to get a very handsome com- 
 pensation," he said, when he seemed to be ex- 
 pected to speak, "and the claim is really a good 
 one, she might be better off than if she fought 
 it." 
 
 This matter-of-fact way of looking at it did 
 not seem to please her. "But don't you think 
 it's a most extraordinary thing," she said, "that 
 this should -happen? How can the claim be a 
 good one? I don't know how it would be about 
 the property, but surely nothing that any one 
 could do could deprive her of the title which 
 is hers by right." 
 
 "Is she very keen on the title?" asked Peter. 
 
 This did not seem to please her, either. ' ' The 
 title will be nothing by itself," she said, "but it 
 
BY THE LAKE 221 
 
 is hers by right. It means that she belongs to 
 a very ancient family, and anybody has a right 
 to be proud of that." 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Peter. "But she would still 
 belong to it, wouldn't she, even if she wasn't 
 head of it? Did they say anything about who 
 it was that was claiming it?" 
 
 "They said it was a man whom she needn't 
 be ashamed of recognizing as the head of her 
 family; and a rich man who would act very 
 generously towards her. ' ' 
 
 "Oh, I expect he's a decent fellow enough," 
 said Peter, greatly pleased at this testimonial. 
 "Of course he wouldn't want to be hard on 
 her; no man would in his position." 
 
 "You seem to take it lightly enough," she 
 said. "Don't they think anything of such 
 things in Australia ? She has looked upon this 
 beautiful place as hers all her life — at least, 
 as going to be hers when the time came for her 
 to succeed to it all. Is she to give it up to a 
 stranger without a word, and to go and live 
 somewhere else where she will never see it 
 again?" 
 
 "I did hear," said Peter, "that she wouldn't 
 be able to live here, anyhow. I heard that her 
 father had played such havoc with the prop- 
 erty that there would be very little left for 
 her." 
 
222 BIG PETER 
 
 "Ah!" she said with a deep sigh, "I am 
 afraid that is only too true. She is only just 
 beginning to find out how difficult everything 
 will be for her." She threw out her hands. 
 " Oh ! " she cried, ' ' I think if I were she I should 
 be content to give it up for the sake of a little 
 peace and contentment in life. It isn't much 
 to ask. I have thought of her while you have 
 been telling me of the freedom of that country 
 where you come from. I have thought perhaps 
 that out there, away from all the trouble that 
 seems to come to those whose families have 
 grown so old and perhaps worn out, living for 
 so many generations in one place here, she 
 might begin a new life altogether, and never 
 for a moment regret the old one. She might 
 have to work with her hands perhaps, but no 
 woman minds that if — " 
 
 She broke off in confusion. If Peter had 
 only known what was being said to him! But 
 all he could find for an answer was, ''From 
 what you say I am afraid she has been very un- 
 happy. I have heard a good deal about her 
 father, and I don't wonder at her being sick of 
 it all. He must have been a terrible kind of 
 man to live with." 
 
 She sprang up from the seat and said to him 
 with cold displeasure, "Her father is dead. 
 You must not speak of him in that way. NoW 
 
BY THE LAKE 223 
 
 I must be going; I have stayed here too long." 
 He saw that he had displeased her, but had 
 no idea why. It could not be because she had 
 any affection for her friend's father. That can 
 only have been an excuse. But he could not 
 let her go like this. 
 
 "No, no," he said, putting up his hand to 
 keep her back. "If you go away now you won't 
 come back to me. I can't do without you. It 
 is not only your friend who is sad. I am sure 
 you have your sorrows, too, although you are 
 brave about them. You are disturbed about 
 something to-night, and I haven't said anything 
 to comfort you, because I didn't know what to 
 say. But I'd give everything I have to save 
 you from the least little bit of trouble. I know 
 I'm a rough fellow, not worthy to tread the 
 same ground as you do. But I believe I love 
 you more than any man ever loved a woman 
 yet. Come to me and let me take care of you. 
 I'U spend my life in trying to make you happy. 
 Oh! I can't say it as I ought to say it, but you 
 must know how much I love you. Oh! how I 
 love you! I couldn't tell you how much if I 
 talked till midnight." 
 
 His words had poured out in a passionate 
 stream. Once or twice she had tried to stop 
 him, but she had not tried to go away, and at 
 the end she stood looking at him, her face 
 
224 BIG PETER 
 
 flushed and lier eyes shining, because even in 
 his deep emotion he looked magnificently strong 
 and sincere, and he was offering her the best 
 that a man has to offer to a woman — himself 
 and his whole devotion. 
 
 Now she said softly, "I am glad you have said 
 that to me. Thank you very much. I shall 
 never forget it. But I can't say what you want. 
 You don't know everything about me; and be- 
 sides — " 
 
 She did not finish her sentence, and Peter 
 began to plead with her again. But she cut him 
 short and spoke with more determination. 
 "No," she said, "I cannot listen to you. You 
 mustn 't ask me to. And I must go now. ' ' 
 
 "Then you must come back," he said. "You 
 went away from me once before, and I thought 
 I had lost you. I have found you twice by 
 chance. I can't let you go again unless you 
 promise to come back. Will you come here 
 again to-morrow? Oh! but why can't you say 
 what I want you to say now? "Why must you 
 go at all? If you go, let me come with you, and 
 tell them that you belong to me and that I am 
 going to take care of you. I can, you know. 
 I am strong enough, and I can give you more 
 than you think, perhaps." 
 
 She stopped him again, or he might have 
 blurted out everything. "If I can," she said, 
 
BY THE LAKE 225 
 
 "I will come here again to-morrow. I can't 
 be quite certain, but I will promise you this, I 
 will come to you again. I won't promise that 
 I win say what you want me to say, but I won't 
 try to stop you from saying it if you will let 
 me go now. I want to go — you won't try and 
 keep me here against my will." 
 
 This was just the plea that would prevail 
 upon Peter, — the plea of weakness to strength. 
 He looked at her closely and longingly. "If 
 you make me a promise," he said, "I know 
 that you will keep it." 
 
 And then she left him to wonder whether he 
 had prevailed with her at all. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 AN" AEEEST 
 
 PETER stayed some time longer by the 
 lake. And then instead of going back by 
 the way he had come, he followed the path 
 which the girl had taken. It was already get- 
 ting dark. There was small fear of his being 
 seen if he should explore a little farther into 
 the privacies of these spacious gardens. He 
 had no idea at all of following her up. He was 
 sure that she had gone back to the house. But 
 he wanted to know more of the ground that was 
 so familiar to her ; and so far he had not pene- 
 trated closer to the castle than the spot on 
 which they had been together. 
 
 The path led on a long way through the 
 shrubberies, and then suddenly came out on to 
 a wide, open space and skirted something like 
 an acre of laAvn, at the other end of which 
 loomed the great bulk of the castle itself. 
 
 Peter drew back into the shade of the trees, 
 because some of the windows in front of him 
 were lighted up, and although it was getting 
 
 226 
 
AN AEREST 227 
 
 dusk, it was not too dark for Mm to be seen 
 if he had followed this path. 
 
 He went back a little way and found another, 
 which ran behind the tree's, and followed it 
 until it began to descend the hill on the oppo- 
 site side of the castle to that by which he had 
 entered the grounds. Presently he came to a 
 little bridge -over a leaping stream and leant 
 over it for a moment contemplatively, drawn 
 by the fascination of the running water, which 
 sang musically under his feet. 
 
 But a vague uneasiness seized him. The air 
 was close and unpleasant here, and seemed to 
 be full of flies, which buzzed about him horribly, 
 and reminded him of unpleasant experiences in 
 the Australian Bush. 
 
 Just as he was about to move on again he 
 thought he heard voices, and stopping to listen 
 realized that somebody was coming up the path 
 towards him. So he stepped off it and went 
 down among the. trees by the river. He went 
 on a few yards and got behind a thick bush, 
 until the men whose voices he had heard had 
 passed on. They came up the path and passed 
 over the bridge quite close to him. 
 
 "There must be a dead rabbit or something 
 about here," said one of them. "It gets worse 
 and worse." 
 
 They seemed to pause for a moment, and 
 
228 BIG PETER 
 
 Peter drew back farther into the bush against 
 which he was standing. Something heavy fell 
 out of it at his feet, and when the men, who 
 seemed to be grooms or indoor servants from 
 the house, had passed on again, he picked it up 
 and found it was a thick walking stick almost 
 as heavy as a cudgel. 
 
 "Now I wonder how that got here," he said 
 "to himself. "As nobody seems to want it I 
 may as well take it with me." 
 
 The next day the rain came down heavily and 
 Peter's spirits sank accordingly. He could 
 hardly hope for a meeting in the temple by 
 the lake, but he went there nevertheless and 
 stayed until it was dark. But she did not come. 
 
 And this evening, to add to his discomfort, 
 he was caught by a keeper getting out of the 
 wood on to the road, and questioned as to his 
 intentions. He did not want to have any 
 trouble of that sort, and gave the man a sover- 
 eign, which may or may not have quieted any 
 suspicions he may have had, but sent him away 
 touching his hat. 
 
 The next day it wa-s fine again, and Peter 
 went for a long walk into the country, wishing 
 all the time that the hours would fly away and 
 bring him to that quiet evening hour of which 
 he now hoped so much. But in spite of the sun 
 and the blue sky and the exhilaration that ought 
 
AN ARREST 229 
 
 to have come from brisk movement, depression 
 hung about him heavily, and he could not tell 
 why. 
 
 He had his superstitions, and it seemed to 
 him that, just as before, he had had astounding 
 luck which was turning into disappointment. 
 He buoyed himself with the memory of her 
 promise. She would certainly come to him 
 again, in the tree-shaded temple by the still 
 water. But do what he would he could not re- 
 cover the lightness of his spirits, although he 
 had many moving memories on which to feed 
 his thoughts. 
 
 When he got back to his inn in the afternoon, 
 he was met with the news of a gruesome excite- 
 ment that had taken place during his absence. 
 A dead body had been discovered in the woods 
 below Cambray Castle. It was unrecogniz- 
 able, but all the signs pointed to a terrible mur- 
 der. The whole neighbourhood was buzzing 
 with it. 
 
 The news chiefly concerned Peter because of 
 the effect it would be likely to have on the in- 
 habitants of Cambray Castle itself. He went 
 again to the temple by the lake and again was 
 disappointed. 
 
 The next morning he heard that Lady Cam- 
 bray had left the castle. It was the centre now 
 of disagreeable talk, and there could be no pri- 
 
230 BIG P|]TER 
 
 vacy anywhere about it, with everybody for 
 miles round coming to see the place where the 
 murder had been committed, and all the police 
 in the countryside, and some from London be- 
 sides, searching for clues. 
 
 The next morning it was rumoured that a 
 clue had been discovered and the murdered 
 man identified. 
 
 Peter went out for another long country 
 walk. When he got back to the inn in the after- 
 noon he saw two or three policemen standing 
 outside it talking to the landlady, and as he 
 came striding up they drew together with all 
 their faces turned towards him. He heard one 
 of the policemen say, "Yes, that's the man," 
 and the next moment one of them stepped for- 
 ward and said, "John Peter, I arrest you for 
 the murder of Robert Walker, and I warn you 
 that anything you say now will be used in evi- 
 dence against you." 
 
 Peter drew back, startled out of his five wits. 
 "Robert Walker!" he exclaimed. "Is he the 
 murdered manf What have I got to do with 
 it?" 
 
 Then his eyes fell upon the policeman who 
 had pointed him out. It was the young man 
 new to the force whom he had run against in 
 London that night on which he had met Walker. 
 
 "Oh! it's you, is it?" he said angrily. "The 
 
AN AEEEST 231 
 
 man who saw me with Walker. Didn't I tell 
 you I wanted him kept under observation?" 
 
 "You was assaulting Walker when I come 
 up," said the policeman quickly. 
 
 The whole set of incriminating circumstances 
 presented themselves in a flash to Peter's mind 
 and roused him to a frenzy of anger. He had 
 been fighting his depression all day. Nothing 
 had gone right with him, and now in this place 
 of all others in which he most wished to stand 
 well in the eyes of everybody, he was to be 
 absurdly accused of foul murder. His face 
 grew dark, and he half-raised the thick stick 
 in his hand. 
 
 But the police were all on the alert, and the 
 moment he exhibited these signs they were on 
 to him with one accord. There were three of 
 them, and the concerted attack just put the 
 spark to his fury. He dropped his stick and 
 fought them with both hands. One of them 
 went flat down with a blow straight from the 
 shoulder. With the other two clinging on to 
 him he struggled fiercely, while the woman 
 standing in the doorway shrieked, and people 
 came running up to watch the unequal contest. 
 
 But unequal as it was, if it had only been a 
 question of that fight, of one man against three, 
 Peter would have won. It lasted no more than 
 a few seconds, but at the end of them he had 
 
232 Bia PETER 
 
 broken free and could have got away from his 
 captors. 
 
 But flight was not in his mind. It was only- 
 blind rage that had seized him, and that was 
 dissipated as suddenly as it had sprung up by 
 the realization that his victory was of no use 
 to him. He stood where he was, and began to 
 expostulate. But the men whom he had treated 
 so roughly were in no mood to listen to him. 
 In a trice he was handcuffed and at their mercy; 
 and then he doggedly shut his mouth and would 
 say nothing. 
 
 Fortunately for him the inn was on the out- 
 skirts of the village, and the police station was 
 the next building to it. He had not to suffer 
 the indignity of being led through a crowd of 
 people to his incarceration. 
 
 As they led him off one of the policemen 
 picked up the stick he had dropped, and pointed 
 to the end of it. 
 
 "Look here," he said in a shocked voice, 
 "this is what he did it with." 
 
CHAPTER XVin 
 
 PEISON 
 
 PETER was sitting in his prison cell in 
 Carchester gaol, committed to take his 
 trial at the next Assizes for wilful murder. 
 
 The police court proceedings had been short 
 enough. The murdered man had been identi- 
 fied from his pocket-book, which had been found 
 on the body; and the man who had been in his 
 company on the night Peter had met him in 
 London had testified to Peter's attack on him 
 then. The policeman had been found through 
 the number written in this same pocket-book, 
 and had also given evidence of the murderous 
 threats Peter had used. The very stick with 
 [which he had attacked the police had been 
 shown to have had sticking to it traces of blood 
 and hair, which was no doubt that of the mur- 
 jdered man. 
 
 Peter had listened to the evidence as to a 
 sort of horrible dream. But he had said noth- 
 ing. He would give no account of himself at 
 all, nor would he summon legal help. One de- 
 
 233 
 
234 BIG PETER 
 
 termination he kept all through. By no •vrord 
 of his would he make it possible for his name 
 to come out to be seared with this shame. 
 
 It was a determination not very closely rea- 
 soned. For if it was possible for him to with- 
 hold his real name now, it would not be possible 
 to keep it secret when he should come to stand 
 his trial. 
 
 But he seemed incapable of logical thought. 
 The shock had been too great. He could only 
 stand there and suffer, as the dreadful evidence 
 was piled up against him; and unless he was 
 prepared to tell everything nothing that he 
 could say would avail him. He would not say 
 what he was there for at all, and the evidence 
 of the keeper who had found him lurking about 
 in the woods behind Cambray Castle was only 
 one of the lesser circumstances that went 
 strongly against him. As he said nothing, 
 but simply pleaded "Not Guilty" and re- 
 served his defence, the police court prx)ceed- 
 ings were very short, and he was lodged in 
 Carchester gaol almost before he had awoke to 
 the full realization of what had happened to 
 him. 
 
 He was sitting on the edge of his plank bed 
 when his door was unlocked and a warder came 
 into his cell followed by a tall man in the dress 
 of a country gentleman, who held out his hand 
 
PRISON 235 
 
 and said quietly, "Well, Peter, you seem to 
 have got yourself into an awkward mess." 
 
 The light was so dim that Peter could not 
 at first recognize his visitor, but the voice 
 seemed familiar, and in a moment he found 
 himself grasping the hand of his late part- 
 ner on the goldfields, the man whom he had 
 always known as the Swell. 
 
 "I can leave you here for a quarter of an 
 hour, Sir Lawrence," said the warder. "My 
 orders is not for longer, so you must say what 
 you've got to say without wasting time." Then 
 he went out and locked the door behind him. 
 
 "How did you come here?" exclaimed Peter. 
 "By Jove, though, I'm glad to see you. There 
 isn't a man in the world I would rather see 
 than you!" 
 
 ;The Swell, who now looked indeed like a 
 swell, and no longer in the least like a gold- 
 mifier, took his seat by Peter's side on the 
 plank. "They don't offer you much accommo- 
 dation here," he said coolly. "Well, we won't 
 waste time by talking about me. I happened 
 to be here when you were brought to this not 
 very satisfactory place of residence, and I rec- 
 ognized you. The Governor of the prison 
 served in my regiment, and I found out all 
 about you from him, and got him to stretch a 
 point and let me see you for a bit. What's it 
 
236 BIG PETER 
 
 all about, Peter? Did you come across that 
 scoundrel and lose your temper with him?" 
 
 Peter stared at him. "What, Walker!" he 
 exclaimed. "You don't think I murdered 
 Walker, do you?" 
 
 The Swell looked a trifle uncomfortable, 
 which was unusual with him, and murmured 
 something about manslaughter. 
 
 Then Peter told him the whole story and at 
 the end of it he drew a deep breath of relief. 
 
 "Well," he said, "you have taken a weight 
 off my mind. I was going to stand by you, 
 anyhow, but there's no use denying that I 
 didn 't think it was an entire mistake your being 
 where you are. I have seen you lose your wool 
 once or twice 'out there,' and I know you don't 
 think much of consequences when that happens. 
 I thought he might have gone for you, perhaps 
 with a gun or something, and that you had 
 gone for him in return. However, I never 
 thought it was really like you to attack a man 
 with a stick, and in fact, old fellow, I apologize 
 for thinking anything about it at all. And now 
 let's leave that and think what's to be done." 
 
 "It's what I have been thinking of all the 
 time," said Peter. "I know who murdered 
 Walker. I have had him in my power twice 
 and I have let him go. Now I have given my 
 
PRISON 237 
 
 iword; if I had Mm here now I couldn't do any- 
 thing." 
 
 "Well, if it's only the understanding you gave 
 to that charming young lady," said the Swell, 
 "I should think the last thing in the world that 
 she would wish would be to keep you to it." 
 
 "My word is my word," said Peter, "and un- 
 less she releases me from it I will say nothing." 
 And then he broke out fiercely, "Think of her 
 knowing that I am here in prison! — charged 
 with a brutal murder ! What must she think of 
 me ! Perhaps she thinks as you did, that I killed 
 him, though I didn't mean to, and that all the 
 time I was talking to her I had his blood on my 
 hands, and his dead body was lying within a 
 mile of us. Oh! I believe it's the end of every- 
 , thing. I don't care what happens to me. I have 
 almost made up my mind to put up no defence 
 at all, and let the law end it in its own way." 
 
 "Well," said the Swell coolly, "I suppose 
 absurd ideas of that sort do come into a man's 
 head when he's shut up in a beastly place like 
 this, without anybody to talk to. Haven't you 
 sent for your solicitor or anything? You ought 
 to have legal advice. Some circumstances are 
 against you in a most extraordinary way. But 
 the case is much weaker than it looks at first 
 sight. I found out all about it that I could. The 
 
238 BIG PETEE 
 
 man had been dead at least a fortnight, accord- 
 ing to the medical evidence, and I suppose you 
 can show where you were all that timef " 
 
 ' ' Yes, I can show where I was if I let out who 
 I am," said Peter. 
 
 "Well, my dear fellow, you've got to do that. 
 It's no good putting your head in a bush and 
 trying to keep it there. If you don't tell them 
 who you are, they will find it out for themselves. 
 Very likely they are trying to do so now; and it 
 won't be so difficult. You have given a false 
 name down here, like a fool, and of course that 
 will go against you until you tell your reasons 
 for it ; but you have hidden your true one up in 
 London or wherever else you have been, and of 
 course you will be identified." 
 
 "I am not so sure," said Peter. "I know 
 very few people in England, and lately I have 
 changed my rooms in London ; or rather I have 
 left my rooms and put my things in store until 
 I went back again and took others. I don't be- 
 lieve there's a soul that will miss me, except my 
 lawyer, Mr. Fear on." 
 
 "Well, that's the very man you ought to have 
 had with you, ' ' said the Swell. ' ' He will advise 
 you better than I can. Why haven't you sent 
 for him?" 
 
 "I will," said Peter after a pause. "He'll 
 find me out for himself if I don't, for he knows 
 
PEISON 239 
 
 I came down to these parts and will be wonder- 
 ing why he hasn 't heard from me. The fact is 
 I have been ashamed to do it before. I could 
 hardly believe that this has really happened to 
 me, and I don't seem to be able to think straight 
 about anything." 
 
 "Give me his address," said the Swell, "and 
 I will go up to London and see him. And pull 
 yourself together, Peter, my boy. Fate has 
 played a dirty trick on you, but you'll pull 
 through in the end. You have found your girl 
 and you've got your pile; and you'll get your 
 title and your castle very soon. We shan't be 
 far off each other when you do. For I've come 
 to live in this part of the world. "Why, we shall 
 be shooting with each other next autumn." 
 
 Peter looked at him with interest. "Who are 
 you, Swell ? " he asked him. ' ' You 've never told 
 me, although we've been good friends. What 
 did the man call you when you came in — Sir 
 Lawrence ? ' ' 
 
 "Towers," added the Swell, — "Lawrence 
 Towers. I was that when we were digging to- 
 gether, but I played the fool when I was a young 
 fellow, Peter. Got rid of everything. Well, 
 there was a woman in the case. But I am cured 
 now. Australia cured me, and now it has given 
 me back what I lost, and more besides." 
 
 The sound of a key in the door showed that 
 
240 BIG PETER 
 
 the permitted time had come to an end. The 
 two men parted with a warm grip of the hand, 
 and when the door was once more locked upon 
 him, Peter felt that everything might not be lost 
 after all. 
 
 Mr. Pearon came to see him the next day. 
 The old man was scandalized, and rebuked Peter 
 severely for not having sent for him. But his 
 severity could not last long under the circum- 
 stances, and he soon applied himself to the con- 
 sideration of Peter's defence. 
 
 But first of all he had a piece of news to give 
 him. 
 
 "A most surprising piece of news!" he said. 
 "If only you had not come down here — ! How- 
 ever it is too late to think of that now, unfor- 
 tunately. I have the missing leaf of the reg- 
 ister." 
 
 " What ! " cried Peter. " Jom have it ! Then 
 what was Walker murdered for? He hadn't 
 got it after all?" 
 
 "Yes, he had," said the old man, "and that's 
 the most surprising thing about it. A fortnight 
 ago he left it in charge of his wife, not telling 
 her what it was. It was in a sealed envelope. 
 But she opened it, and when she saw what it 
 contained she brought it to me. The sheet con- 
 tains, of course, what we have always thought 
 it would contain, and with her affidavit as to 
 
PRISON 241 
 
 how it came into her hands I don't think we 
 shall have any difficulty now in proving our 
 case." 
 
 "I didn't know Walker had a wife," said 
 Peter. "Why did she give him away?" 
 
 "Because," said Mr. Fearon, with his eyes 
 fixed on him, "she hated her husband, and 
 wanted to do a good turn to you." 
 
 "Why should she want to do a good turn to 
 me?" asked Peter. "I don't know anything 
 about the poor woman." 
 
 "Yes, you do," said the old lawyer. "You 
 have known her under the name of Mrs. Saun- 
 ders, which was her name before she married 
 that rascal. ' ' 
 
 "What!" Peter again exclaimed, in utter as- 
 tonishment. 
 
 "You did a very good turn for yourself when 
 you befriended that lady," said Mr. Fearon. 
 "And she has shown her gratitude. Poor 
 woman ! We needn't waste much time over her 
 story. Her husband was a brute to her, and 
 when they lived in Australia hardly came near 
 her except to sponge on her. For the sake of 
 her boy, she scraped hard to get enough money 
 to leave him and come over to England, where 
 she thought he would never find her. You know 
 that part of her story. Unfortunately, he met 
 her by chance, and began to sponge on her again. 
 
242 BIG PETER 
 
 though, he never lived with her over here, and 
 she managed to keep all knowledge of him from 
 her boy, 
 
 ' ' She knew he was up to some rascality, but 
 he never told her what it was. Then one eve- 
 ning he came to her and put this envelope in 
 her hands, and threatened her with all sorts of 
 things if she should say a word of it to any- 
 body. He said he might come for it at any day. 
 Well, I suppose her woman's curiosity got the 
 better of her, and she found a way of opening 
 the envelope ; and when she found out what his 
 game was she came straight to me. She guessed 
 from the name and from something Walker had 
 once let drop about you, that you were con- 
 cerned in it." 
 
 "Well, that's a most surprising coincidence," 
 said Peter. "Poor woman! Fancy her being 
 the wife of that rascal! And she must have 
 run some risk, too, in bringing it to you. Was 
 it before she heard that he had been murdered?" 
 
 "She doesn't know that yet," said Mr. Fea- 
 ron. 
 
 ' ' Doesn 't know it V^ exclaimed Peter. ' ' Isn 't 
 it generally known?" 
 
 "When she gave me the paper," said Mr. 
 
 Fearon, "she made certain stipulations. She 
 
 was, as you say, running a great risk in giving 
 
 ^way her husband, and she had come to the con- 
 
PEISON 243 
 
 elusion that there was no possibility of her any 
 longer continuing to live in comfort in England. 
 She is on her way back to Australia now. I 
 promised not to tell you anything about it until 
 she was out of reach. I wish now very much 
 that I hadn't made the promise. But of course 
 I had no idea then how important it would be 
 to have her evidence. I made her take the re- 
 ward. I knew you would wish that. Unfortu- 
 nately she chose to go out round the Cape in a 
 sailing ship for the sake of the child's health, 
 and there will be no means of getting at her for 
 some months." 
 
 "Well, it is just like everything else," said 
 Peter with a sigh. ' ' One has a surprising piece 
 of luck, and then something happens to spoil it 
 all. But anyhow, now that I have had time to 
 think of everything, it seems to me that it will 
 be a very dangerous thing to mix up the claim 
 with whatever defence we can put up against 
 this charge. It's like this : Walker is proved to 
 have had the stolen register, and I am proved 
 to be the man most concerned in getting it from 
 him. Won't that go against me more than any- 
 thing else would?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Mr. Fearon. <*I should 
 think not, if all the story comes to be known. 
 But I have thought of it, of course, and I am 
 quite prepared, as long as it is possible, to hold 
 
244 Bia PETER 
 
 back what you don't want known. I tell you 
 frankly that I don't think it will be possible, be- 
 cause the extraordinary circumstances which 
 ■ have mixed you up with Walker want an expla- 
 nation, and I doubt if we can get an acquittal 
 without them. But we'll try. Except locally, 
 the murder has not aroused much attention. 
 Nobody knows anything about Walker, and no- 
 body knows anything about John Peter. So far, 
 there has not been anything to connect him with 
 Peter Chandos; and there has been nothing to 
 connect the murder with Peter Chandos 's claim 
 to the earldom. We will keep the two things 
 apart as long as we can, and in the meantime 
 we will try and find Lorrimer, who seems to 
 have disappeared entirely. Sir Lawrence Tow- 
 ers has told me everything, and of course you 
 are quite right in thinking that Lorrimer is the 
 murderer." 
 
 "But he ought to have told you," said Peter, 
 "that I won't have anything to do with bring- 
 ing it home to him; and if he has told you why, 
 perhaps he has told you something else, which 
 explains what I was doing down here, and why 
 I didn't write to you." 
 
 Mr. Fearon did not seem to want to discuss 
 that subject, and, indeed, during the whole of 
 his interview with Peter, he seemed to be keep- 
 ing something back, to know more than he talked 
 
PRISON 245 
 
 about, and to have formed decisions which he 
 had no intention of submitting to his client. 
 
 "You will put yourself entirely into my 
 hands," he said a little stiffly, and then melted 
 again into kindness as he added, "As for any 
 fear that you will be found guilty of this crime, 
 you must not let yourself think that, even in 
 moments of depression. You will most certainly 
 be acquitted. The only thing we have to think 
 about is as to whether it is possible to get an 
 acquittal without letting out what we want to 
 keep to ourselves." 
 
 Soon afterwards Mr. Fearon left him, with 
 a great deal to think over. 
 
 So Mrs. Saunders was really Mrs. Walker; 
 and another of those astounding coincidences 
 had come about of which his life latterly had 
 seemed so full. Once more a piece of good for- 
 tune which could never have been looked for, 
 had been followed immediately by a stroke of 
 fate that had robbed it of all its value. 
 
 But he found time to think with gratitude 
 about the woman who had paid him back so fully 
 and unselfishly for all that he had done for her. 
 He remembered how she had once, in thanking 
 him, said that he had cast his bread upon the 
 waters. She had spoken more truly than he had 
 known. 
 
 Mr. Fearon had told him that she had refused 
 
246 BIG PETER 
 
 to receive any more of the money lie was en- 
 trusted to expend on her behalf, and had gone 
 back with her child to take up the struggle once 
 more in the country where she had known such 
 unhappiness. Peter could not quite make out 
 why she had done this, and put it down to a mis- 
 taken sense of pride. But that at any rate 
 could be altered. When she reached Australia 
 she should, if she wished to do so, come straight 
 back to England again, now that all fear of 
 molestation was removed by her husband's 
 death. Peter was not going to be robbed of the 
 pleasure of watching over young Tommy's for- 
 tunes ; and surely now that his mother had done 
 him such a good turn, she could not refuse to 
 let him continue the help that she had already 
 accepted from him. 
 
 But, alas! these thoughts belonged to the 
 future. Poor Peter, languishing in his prison 
 cell, was hardly in a position to make plans for 
 the benefit of his friends, and he soon turned 
 his attention again to his own troubles. 
 
 When the night fell, he had not succeeded in 
 thinking of a way out of them ; nor was he able 
 to encourage himself overmuch with the mem- 
 ory of Mr. Fearon's assurance that they would 
 soon be over. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE TEIAIi 
 
 THROUGHOUT the long day Peter had 
 been standing in the dock listening to the 
 evidence which tried to show that he was 
 a cruel and cold-blooded murderer. 
 
 But he was not alone in the dock. Separated 
 from him by the stalwart form of a police con- 
 stable there stood — Lorrimer. 
 
 Surprising things had happened, and he had 
 known very little about them until this morning, 
 when he had stepped out of his prison cell into 
 the shameful publicity of the court. Mr. Fearon 
 had kept away from him. Another solicitor had 
 been entrusted with his case, who had briefed 
 Counsel on his behalf, and had had one or two 
 perfunctory conversations with him, but had 
 told him little more than that Lorrimer had been 
 caught and had been comnoitted for trial along 
 with him. 
 
 He had, however, told Peter to be of good 
 heart. "We shall bring you through," he had 
 said confidently. And because Peter had not 
 wished to discuss with him matters that he had 
 
 247 
 
248 BIG PETER 
 
 disclosed to Mr. Fearon, not knowing how mneh 
 lie knew of them already, he had not pressed 
 him to be more explicit. 
 
 When he had entered the dock, he had thrown 
 one look at his fellow prisoner, a look of scorn 
 and utter detestation; and Lorrimer had tried 
 to meet his look with an answering one, but had 
 failed, and cast his eyes down on the ground. 
 
 Lorrimer looked frightful. His face was 
 deadly pale, aged and lined ; his eyes were blood- 
 shot and staring, and seemed as he gazed wildly 
 round him to have the light of madness in them. 
 Peter never looked at him again as long as they 
 stood there together, with the watchful police- 
 man between them, to see that no sudden out- 
 burst of rage from one or the other should 
 break in upon the orderliness of the court. 
 
 But Lorrimer looked at him sometimes with 
 a furtive look full of malevolence. Accomplices 
 they might have been in the view of those re- 
 sponsible for placing them in the dock together, 
 but no one marking that look could have thought 
 that there was anything but deadly hatred on 
 the part, at least, of one of them ; and the whole 
 court buzzed with subdued excitement to hear 
 the story unfolded of how those two men, so dif- 
 ferent in appearance, came to be standing there 
 together, both charged with the same foul crime. 
 
 Certainly the proximity of this haggard, 
 
THE TRIAL 249 
 
 hunted-looking creature did nothing but good to 
 Peter, who stood upright and unmoved, a mag- 
 nificent figure of a man, though paler than one 
 of his open-air look should have been, from his 
 confinement. 
 
 Mr. Fearon had told Peter that public inter- 
 est had not been greatly aroused over this case. 
 Little was known of the murdered man and noth- 
 ing of him who was charged with having mur- 
 dered him. 
 
 But all that had been changed. A story such 
 as the public loves, — a story of mystery, in 
 which the names of those high in the land were 
 concerned, — had been added to this story of 
 common and apparently motiveless crime. And 
 now the whole country was talking about it, and 
 as many people as could possibly find a way of 
 getting into the court, and following its devel- 
 opment, had done so. 
 
 For with the discovery and arrest of Lorri- 
 mer it had come to be known that this was no 
 motiveless crime, but that the murdered man 
 had held possession of a secret on account of 
 which he had met his death. 
 
 A mysterious claimant had sprung up for the 
 Cambray earldom and estates. No one knew 
 anything about him, no one had ever seen him ; 
 but his claim had been founded on an old mar- 
 riage register which this man Walker had got 
 
250 BIG PETER 
 
 hold of, and which others had tried to get from 
 him. Who those others were it was not difificnlt 
 to imagine. The last holder of the title was 
 well known by reputation as a man who would 
 have stuck at nothing, and this Lorrimer had 
 been for years his attendant spirit of evil. The 
 question was whether the proof of what every- 
 body had made up their minds had happened 
 would be strong enough to condemn him. 
 
 As for the other prisoner, there was very 
 little interest in him. Most probably he had 
 been Lorrimer 's accomplice, possibly his dupe. 
 It was not unlikely that his had been the hand 
 which had actually dealt the blow. Speculation 
 with regard to him rested itself mainly upon 
 whether, on the chance of saving his own skin, 
 he would give away any of the secret which 
 would identify his accomplice with the crime. 
 
 To Peter, listening through the long hours, 
 there seemed to be a sense of unreality over the 
 whole proceedings, as far as they applied to him. 
 The evidence already produced at the police 
 court had been repeated, but it had not been 
 pressed unduly, and his own Counsel, for a man 
 of his eminence, had appeared to cross-examine 
 the witnesses almost perfunctorily. 
 
 A sense of weariness came over him. Was it 
 then so hopeless as that? Was there nothing 
 to be said in his favour? Were all these unreal 
 
THE TRIAL 251 
 
 coincidences to be left to carry their weight 
 with the minds of the jury, and send him to his 
 shameful doomf 
 
 The only point at which Peter's Counsel 
 seemed to wake up and cross-examine a witness 
 as if he meant to make something out of his 
 admissions, was when he pinned the doctor who 
 had made a post-mortem examination down to 
 the date at which the murder must have been 
 committed. But having got his clear statement 
 that it could not have been less than a fortnight 
 before the discovery of the body, which agreed 
 with the time at which the murdered man had 
 been proved to have left his lodgings in London, 
 he seemed again to lose interest in what the 
 witnesses were saying, and to relax once again 
 into an attitude almost of indifference. 
 
 But where Peter's Counsel was almost sleep- 
 ily dignified, it was very different with his 
 learned brother who was there in defence of 
 Lorrimer. He was a little man, with a sandy- 
 coloured beard, and limbs that seemed to be 
 strung on live wires. He was forever jumping 
 up and expostulating, and when it came his 
 turn to cross-examine the witnesses he seemed 
 to pounce on them like a fierce little terrier, 
 ready to worry them with voice and teeth. 
 
 From information received, Lorrimer had 
 been arrested at Liverpool, as he was just about 
 
252 BIG PETER 
 
 to set sail for America. When warned that any- 
 thing he might say would be used in evidence 
 against him, he had said at once, "That man 
 Peter murdered him, and he 's in custody. What 
 have I got to do with it?" 
 
 After that he had kept silence, and at the 
 police court had reserved his defence. 
 
 The whole court had remained in breathless 
 silence when the story had been outlined upon 
 which the prosecution rested to identify Lorri- 
 mer with the case. Lorrimer listened to it him- 
 self with a face like that of a trapped animal; 
 and Peter listened to it with the same air of 
 bewilderment that he had worn throughout the 
 case. How could it have come to be known that 
 Lorrimer had written to Walker proposing an 
 interview in the wood. How could it have been 
 known that Lorrimer had been ready to go be- 
 hind the back of whoever was inciting him, and 
 to agree upon a sum of money, out of which he 
 was to get his share, for the delivery of a cer- 
 tain secret? 
 
 What that secret was was also unfolded by 
 the prosecution, and aroused a thrill of excite- 
 ment that was presently echoed throughout the 
 country. 
 
 Walker had had in his possession and had evi- 
 dently stolen, a page of an old parish register 
 which seemed to show that the possession of 
 
THE TRIAL 253 
 
 the Cambray title and estates should not have 
 been in the hands of their then holder. And it 
 was plainly indicated that this was the secret 
 which Walker was trying to sell, and which the 
 prisoner Lorrimer was endeavouring to get hold 
 of, partly — as it must unfortunately be admit- 
 ted, — on behalf of one who was no longer alive 
 to answer for his deeds, and partly so that he 
 might disloyally profit by it himself. 
 
 Later on, old Mr. Fearon had gone into the 
 witness box. He was a solicitor acting for the 
 Claimant to the Cambray title and estates. He 
 had offered a large reward for the recovery of 
 the missing register, and it had been brought 
 to him by Walker's wife, to whom he had paid 
 the reward after he had taken down her affidavit 
 as to the circumstances under which the stolen 
 page had come into her hands. This had hap- 
 pened before it had become known that her hus- 
 band was murdered, and because she was afraid 
 of him she had immediately sailed for Australia, 
 where she had originally come from. 
 
 In the same envelope as contained the regis- 
 ter there had been copies of sundry letters, 
 which included those last two written by Lorri- 
 mer that Walker had sent back to be destroyed. 
 But he had been far too astute to destroy all 
 record of them. 
 
 And now, if Lorrimer 's Counsel had only 
 
254 BIG PETER 
 
 known a little more than lie did, or had hap- 
 pened to ask some question which would have 
 put him on the scent, it would no longer have 
 been possible to have kept from the knowledge 
 of the court Peter's connection with the reg- 
 ister. 
 
 Probably old Mr. Fearon was quite ready- 
 to tell everything about him if those questions 
 had been asked. He had claimed a free hand, 
 and had promised only to keep the secret as long 
 as it should be safe to do so. But his cross- 
 examination brought forth none of these facts. 
 He was known to be acting for the Cambray 
 Claimant ; it was he who had offered the reward 
 for the recovery of the register. He was 
 pressed by Lorrimer's Counsel to disclose some- 
 thing as to that mysterious personage, but 
 blandly refused to do so, and his refusal was 
 upheld by the judge. There was nothing to show 
 that he had ever had anything to do with the 
 other prisoner, who seemed to be almost for- 
 gotten while these revelations about Lorrimer 
 were being brought up. It certainly ought to 
 have been known to the Counsel for the prosecu- 
 tion that when Peter had been first committed 
 to prison Mr. Fearon had come down to see him 
 as his legal adviser. But if it was so known, 
 the knowledge was not made use of, and Mr. 
 Fearon left the witness box quite unruffled by 
 
THE TRIAL 255 
 
 the attacks of Lorrimer's Counsel, and with the 
 effect of his evidence very little damaged. Pe- 
 ter's Counsel did not cross-examine him at all. 
 He sat by as if he had nothing whatever to do 
 with all this evidence. 
 
 A footman from Cambray Castle was called 
 to prove that the stick which had been found in 
 Peter's possession when he was arrested had 
 belonged to Lorrimer. But he was so severely 
 dealt with in cross-examination, that the net 
 effect of his evidence was that it was something 
 like one he had seen. Lorrimer use, but not very 
 like it. 
 
 This was the case against Lorrimer. 
 
 Peter's Counsel got up with extreme delibera- 
 tion, swung his eye-glasses by their cord and 
 looked at his papers. Every eye in the court 
 was upon him. He had not so far acquitted him- 
 self in a way to enhance his reputation. Appar- 
 ently he had not taken much trouble about the 
 case, and had left his client very much to him- 
 self, to stand or fall by the rather damning 
 weight of evidence brought against him. But 
 now the listeners expected to hear him say 
 something that would indicate whether he had 
 any defence to put up at all. 
 
 What he did say made the profoundest im- 
 pression that had so far affected the court. 
 Without a word of preliminary address he 
 
256 BIG PETER 
 
 looked up at the usher of the court and said, 
 "Call the Countess of Cambray." 
 
 There was a slight pause; even the judge 
 looked up over his spectacles in surprise. And 
 then Lorrimer's Counsel jumped up in indig- 
 nant expostulation. His learned friend ought 
 to have given him notice of the line his defence 
 would take. If this lady who had been called 
 had been a witness of the prosecution they 
 would have given him warning, and been able 
 to meet any evidence she might give that was 
 detrimental to his client. Surely, Counsel joined 
 with him in defence should have done no less. 
 It was most irregular. 
 
 His learned brother was quite unmoved by 
 this plea. He explained shortly to the judge 
 that they had been trying for weeks past to find 
 Lady Cambray, who had been travelling from 
 one place to another abroad. They had only 
 succeeded in finding her at the last moment. She 
 had known nothing of the charge brought 
 against the prisoner, Peter, but directly she had 
 heard of it she had hurried home to give her 
 evidence, and had arrived in England only that 
 morning. 
 
 While this passage of arms and subsequent 
 explanation was going on Peter had stood with 
 his air of bewilderment more marked than ever. 
 What could the Countess of Cambray have to do 
 
THE TEIAL 257 
 
 with the case, unless everything had been let 
 out that had so far been concealed? And why 
 should she be coming here to testify on his be- 
 half? 
 
 A slight figure, dressed in deep mourning, 
 stepped into the witness box and raised her veil 
 to take the oath. The warder at Peter's side 
 sprang to attention as he made a sudden sound 
 and movement of surprise. And again the un- 
 permitted buzz of voices filled the court, as his 
 attitude was observed. 
 
 Peter was standing like a man in a trance; 
 but there was a light in his eyes not wholly of 
 surprise, which transformed him from the de- 
 jected, almost callous-looking prisoner he had 
 been all the day long, into a handsome eager 
 man, whom it was difiScult to think of as hav- 
 ing committed the crime with which he was 
 charged. 
 
 For if this was the Countess of Cambray, 
 then anything might happen. And nothing that 
 had happened hitherto did Peter understand in 
 the least. For she was also the girl whom he 
 had enshrined in his heart, long before he had 
 ever set eyes on her ; the girl he had saved from 
 drowning on the Norfolk Broad ; the girl he had 
 saved from the insults of a scoundrel ; the girl 
 he had made love to in the temple by the lake. 
 
 And now it was her turn. She had come here 
 
258 BIG PETER 
 
 to brave all those curious eyes and gossiping 
 tongues to save him. 
 
 For one moment her eyes met his steadily, 
 and with a look that set his heart beating with 
 such happiness as not even the knowledge of 
 where he stood and what he might have to suf- 
 fer could lessen. What matter now if the whole 
 world thought him guilty of this crime! That 
 look had changed everything for him. For it 
 meant, as certainly as if she had spoken the 
 words, that she loved him, and was not ashamed 
 to send him that message of the eyes which 
 would tell him so, even in the place of shame in 
 which he stood. 
 
 Her voice, as she began to tell her story, was 
 music in Peter's ears, and, low as it was until 
 she gained some confidence, it was listened to 
 with hardly less eagerness than his by every one 
 else in the crowded court. 
 
 On the evening of a certain date she had been 
 walking alone in a retired part of the gardens 
 at Cambray Castle, when she had been fright- 
 ened by the prisoner Lorrimer springing out 
 from among the bushes and addressing her. 
 She had had reason to dismiss him immediately 
 after her father's death, and at first refused to 
 listen to anything he had to say. But she was 
 all alone in a lonely part of the grounds, and he 
 
THE TRIAL 259 
 
 was so wild in his demeanour that she was forced 
 to listen to him. 
 
 She had been too frightened at the time to 
 take in all that he had said. She now remem- 
 bered it perfectly well because she had after- 
 wards found corroboration of it. 
 
 He had told her that an enemy of her father 
 had got hold of a secret against him contained 
 in some paper that Lorrimer had undertaken to 
 get from him. He had hinted that this had been 
 done, and by violence. But he had become so 
 violent himself, and his manner towards her was 
 so terrifying that she had not understood what 
 he had plainly been hinting at. She had been 
 bending all her mind towards getting away from 
 him. She had cried out, and fortunately there 
 was some one near who had come to her rescue. 
 
 She hesitated for a moment and Counsel 
 asked her to tell the court who it was that had 
 come to her rescue. 
 
 "When she mentioned the name of the man 
 who stood in the dock, beside the man whom she 
 was accusing, there was an immense sensation ; 
 but any fresh interest that was aroused in the 
 prisoner Peter had to be left ungratified be- 
 cause, after she had told shortly how he had 
 dealt with her assailant, she was taken on to 
 another part of her story, which, disclosed a fact 
 
260 BIG PETER 
 
 so startling that every other feature of the case 
 was forgotten for the time heing. 
 
 A few nights later, she had been looking 
 through an old escritoire in the room mostly 
 used by her father ; in it she knew that he kept 
 his most private papers. It had borne evident 
 signs of having been completely ransacked, and 
 this had aroused her suspicion. 
 
 Many years ago, when she was a child, her 
 father had shown her an ingenious secret recep- 
 tacle in this escritoire, and had told her that 
 only he and she knew the secret, and she was 
 on no account ever to tell it to any one else. 
 But if he wanted to leave her a secret message 
 to be read after his death he should put it 
 there. 
 
 She Ka'd almoslO forgotten the whole episode, 
 because latterly there had been little confidence 
 between her and her father. But it had come to 
 her mind when she had seen all the papers in 
 disorder. She had opened the secret receptacle 
 and there found a paper addressed to her in her 
 father's hand. 
 
 Counsel passed her a paper, and she identi- 
 fied it as the one she had found. 
 
 Then she stood with her eyes downcast and 
 the colour coming and going on her cheeks, as 
 the contents of this extraordinary document 
 were read out. 
 
THE TRIAL 261 
 
 It was written in large sprawling characters, 
 and bore the date upon which Walker had been 
 murdered. It began without any preamble: — 
 
 "If Lorrimer annoys you after my death 
 you can hold this over him. He has gone 
 out at this moment to meet Robert Walker 
 at the little bridge in the wood and get from 
 him the paper he tried to steal, but Walker 
 stole first. Very likely he wiU murder 
 Walker." 
 
 That was all. But if instead of five lines, 
 traced with difficulty by a hand half -paralyzed, 
 there had been as many pages, it would have 
 been impossible for the effect of this brutally 
 cynical statement to be increased. 
 
 When Counsel had read it in a slow clear 
 voice, and had laid it down in front of him, a 
 gasp of horrified astonishment went up from 
 the whole court, which instantly swelled into 
 audible confusion as Lorrimer, who had listened 
 to it with eyes nearly starting out of his head, 
 reeled and fell on the floor of the dock in a dead 
 faint. 
 
 It was some time before the wretched man 
 was brought to, and the court had to be ad- 
 journed. 
 
 When he was brought into the dock again his 
 face was that of a man deprived of all hope. 
 
262 BIG PETEE 
 
 Already he must have felt the dreadful shadow 
 of the gallows ; and in nothing that followed did 
 he take any more interest than if he had been 
 already dead and beyond the reach of the con- 
 demnation of man. 
 
 So the wicked old lord had wreaked his venge- 
 ance on him even from beyond the grave. The 
 man whom he had betrayed had committed 
 crimes for him. If he had ever had in his com- 
 position qualities which might have led him to 
 choose the good rather than the evil, it was his 
 master who had destroyed them. Even as those 
 very words were being painfully traced, the 
 crime was being committed to which he himself 
 had undoubtedly incited him. But he had had 
 no mercy and no pity. His dupe had dared to 
 cross him once in his long life of service, and to 
 deal a wound to his pride. And this was his 
 revenge, surely a fearful one even for a man 
 of such a character as Lord Cambray. 
 
 And what must it have meant to Lord Cam- 
 bray's daughter to stand up in that crowded 
 court and to hear those words read out which 
 must cover with perpetual shame the old name 
 she bore ? Small wonder that, as she proceeded 
 to tell in a faltering voice when she had read 
 that dreadful message from the tomb, and when 
 the very next morning the news came of the dis- 
 covery of the dead body in just that spot so 
 
THE TRIAL 263 
 
 plainly indicated, she had fled to hide her head 
 where no news could reach her that would com- 
 pel her to come forward and publish to the 
 world the story of her father's shame. 
 
 She had told her story; but she must have 
 known that her ordeal would by no means end 
 there. 
 
 Counsel for the prosecution asked her a few 
 questions, tending only to strengthen her story, 
 and asked them in a sympathetic manner, as if 
 anxious to spare her as much as possible. But 
 when Counsel who was defending Lorrimer 
 arose to cross-examine her, every one knew that 
 her trial had only just begun. 
 
 Nevertheless she faced him steadily. Her 
 face was very pale, but her eyes were bright 
 and her mouth was firm. 
 
 If he felt, as he adjusted his gown over his 
 shoulders, and paused for a moment before put- 
 ting his first question, that he was fighting a 
 forlorn hope, and that in extracting from the 
 witness further details which it could only pain 
 her to disclose, he would be playing a part which 
 would remove from him the sympathy of those 
 before whom he stood, there was nothing to 
 show it in his manner. He had to do the best he 
 could for his client, even where his client by his 
 demeanour seemed to publish to all beholders 
 the fact that his guilt had at last found him out. 
 
264 BIG PETER 
 
 His first question came short and sharp. 
 "What was it that the prisoner, Lorrimer, con- 
 fessed to you?" 
 
 She answered the question as well as she was 
 able, giving as many of his wild words as she 
 could remember, and Counsel did not interrupt 
 her, but let her struggle on, and then said 
 sharply, "In fact you ask the jury to believe 
 that he came to you and confessed to having 
 committed a murder?" 
 
 "He seemed to hint," she said steadily, "at 
 some crime of violence, to which he had been 
 incited." 
 
 "Incited by whom?" 
 
 The answer came as steadily as before: "By 
 my father." 
 
 "And you now believe that crime of violence 
 to have been this brutal murder?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And did you not hesitate before you came 
 here to tell us that your father, who has been 
 dead so short a time, was morally guilty of the 
 very crime that the prisoners are charged 
 with?" 
 
 "Yes," she said simply. 
 
 Her answer and the tone in which she gave 
 it seemed to make the question stand out in all 
 its brutality. The judge leant forward and 
 said, "I think it must be plain to everybody that 
 
THE TRIAL 265 
 
 the witness has come here under a very strong 
 sense of duty to tell the truth at all costs to 
 herself; and I think she should be spared all 
 unnecessary pain m doing so." 
 
 "Oh, I know, my lord," said the Counsel, 
 irritably. "My duty is also a very hard one, 
 and no question I shall put to the witness will 
 be put with the idea of causing her pain." 
 
 The judge leant back again and Counsel con- 
 tinued. 
 
 "We have it from you that the prisoner Lor- 
 rimer made this confession which imphcated 
 your father, who at that time had been dead 
 only a week. What reason did he give you for 
 coming to you, of all people, with such a story 
 at such a time?" 
 
 She did not shrink from it for a moment. She 
 must have known that it would come; but her 
 face was paler than ever, and her voice broke 
 once or twice with a little gasp as she replied, 
 "My father's servant wanted me to marry him. 
 He threatened that if I would not listen to his 
 suit he would make public what my father had 
 done. ' ' 
 
 There was a gasp of astonishment at the 
 words, and at the splendid courage with which 
 they had been uttered. 
 
 When she had said them she seemed to break 
 down for a moment, but recovered herself 
 
266 BIG PETEE 
 
 quickly ; and there was no one who did not feel 
 that in acknowledging the odious blow to her 
 pride, not only of rank but of womanhood, she 
 had for ever robbed it of its sting. Perhaps 
 Counsel felt it too, for he accepted the state- 
 ment without comment. He must have felt, at 
 any rate, that with such a witness it was impos- 
 sible to make any effect by discrediting motives. 
 Nevertheless his next question seemed to be de- 
 signed to that end. 
 
 "When the prisoner Peter came to your res- 
 cue, was he in the castle grounds at your invi- 
 tation?" 
 
 There was a murmur of indignation at this 
 question, to which she simply answered, "No." 
 
 But Counsel tried again, and this time got an 
 answer that probably surprised him. 
 
 "Had you any acquaintance with him before 
 he suddenly appeared on the scene that eve- 
 ning?" 
 
 "Yes, I had known him before." 
 
 Then followed a long cross-examination as to 
 where she had known him. She gave her an- 
 swers quite simply and straightforwardly. He 
 had been staying at a place where she also had 
 been staying during the early summer, and had 
 rescued her when the boat she had been sailing 
 in had been capsized. Thus their acquaintance- 
 ship had sprung up. 
 
THE TRIAL 267 
 
 Her answers aroused extraordinary interest. 
 A romance was scented, and a very remarkable 
 one, between a lady of title and a mysterious 
 man apparently known to nobody, who was 
 standing there in the dock accused of murder. 
 
 But whatever interest this new conjecture 
 may have aroused, there was absolutely nothing 
 in her answers to connect Peter either with the 
 murder or with the affair of the register that 
 had led up to the murder. Perhaps Counsel 
 took pity on her; perhaps he felt that in every 
 answer she gave him she was only creating the 
 opposite effect to any he may have wished made. 
 For suddenly he desisted and sat down, and her 
 ordeal was over. 
 
 That it had been a terrible one nobody could 
 doubt, in spite of her brave demeanour. What- 
 ever might be said of her evidence, it had un- 
 doubtedly the effect of fixing the memory of her 
 own father with the conception, if not with the 
 carrying out, of the crime which had been com- 
 mitted. As she turned to leave the box, she put 
 her hand to her brow, stumbled and would have 
 fallen if she had not been saved by a middle- 
 aged woman, dressed in the sober clothes of a 
 confidential maid, who had stood just by the 
 witness box all the time she had been under ex- 
 amination. 
 
 Lady Cambray and her maid left the court at 
 
268 BIG PETER 
 
 once, and immediately the door closed behind 
 them there arose a wild commotion, which star- 
 tled and terrified every one. 
 
 The prisoner Lorrimer, who had kept his eyes 
 fixed upon her all the time she had been giving 
 evidence against him, with a frightful look 
 which had seemed to be mixed up of hunger and 
 despair and all terrible passions, suddenly 
 shrieked out unintelligible words, and then fell 
 heavily on to the floor of the dock, where he lay 
 writhing and shrieking, while the attendants of 
 the court knelt about him and a doctor hurried 
 up and joined them. 
 
 He seemed to have been seized with some aw- 
 ful kind of a fit. Those who saw his face shud- 
 dered at it. Fortunately they were only few, 
 but every one could hear the words that came 
 from those tortured lips; and before be had 
 been borne out of the court he had shrieked out 
 a wild confession of his own guilt. 
 
 Once more the court was adjourned, but not 
 for long. There was a breathless silence as the 
 judge once more took his seat with a very grave 
 face and said to the jury: "Gentlemen, I have 
 to tell you that the prisoner Lorrimer is beyond 
 the reach either of your acquittal or condemna- 
 tion. He has died from the illness which seized 
 him in your presence. We now have to go on 
 with the case against the prisoner Peter." 
 
[CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE VERDICT 
 
 THE Counsel for the prosecution now inti- 
 mated that his instructions were not to 
 press the case against the prisoner Peter. 
 He said shortly that circumstances at first sight 
 had been against Peter, and he had himself to 
 thank for the position in which he had heen 
 placed. He seemed to have come from nowhere, 
 and the investigations that the police had been 
 making had failed to elicit any information 
 about him. If he had given the information that 
 he ought to have given when he was first put on 
 trial for this murder he would probably have 
 made it plain that he was innocent, and would 
 have been spared the ordeal which he had al- 
 ready undergone. He had not chosen to do so 
 and no blame could be attached to any one but 
 himself for the belief that he had been concerned 
 in the crime. 
 
 Then Peter's Counsel stood up, and for the 
 first time seemed to have something of interest 
 to say. The signs of indifference which he had 
 
 269 
 
270 BIG PETER 
 
 worn throughout the trial had disappeared, and 
 he spoke quickly and directly. 
 
 There had been no intention, he said, of keep- 
 ing his dent's identity secret longer than was 
 necessary in his own interests. But it had so 
 happened that until they had been successful 
 in procuring the evidence of Lady Cambray, the 
 very fact of his identity, if it had been known, 
 must have gone against him. 
 
 "Gentlemen of the Jury," said Counsel, "my 
 client's name is not John Peter simply. It is 
 John Peter Chandos. It is he whom you have 
 read about, and no doubt talked about, as the 
 mysterious Cambray Claimant — ^mysterious no 
 longer. He has been the victim of a set of cir- 
 cumstances hardly credible, and he must not 
 leave this court without the truth being placed 
 before you and his name cleared from every 
 trace of suspicion. 
 
 "If my learned friend, who addressed you on 
 behalf of the prisoner Lorrimer, who has now 
 gone to his account, had pushed his enquiries 
 farther with certain witnesses, he might have 
 got near to the truth. But if he had done so I 
 fear it would have had a bad effect upon your 
 minds, unless you knew all that he could not 
 have known." 
 
 He then shortly told the story of Peter's dis- 
 covery of Lorrimer in Thaxted Church, and 
 
THE VERDICT 271 
 
 touclied upon his generosity in letting Lorrimer 
 go after he had rescued Lady Cambray from 
 him, because she had pleaded with him to do so, 
 although at that time he knew that Lorrimer 
 had lied to him in Thaxted Church and must 
 have thought that, even if he had not the reg- 
 ister himself, he knew where it was. 
 
 "So you see, gentlemen," he ended up, "that 
 if these facts had been placed before you, before 
 you had known their real significance, they 
 would undoubtedly have appealed to you as im- 
 plicating my client far more seriously than he 
 was implicated already. You would have 
 thought, and you would have been justified in 
 thinking, that he had a motive for getting hold 
 of the register, at least as strong as those of 
 others who were trying to get hold of it. You 
 would have known that Lorrimer and he had 
 met before, as you already knew that Walker 
 and he had met before; and the impression on 
 your minds would have been that, whereas 
 there was some evidence to show that he had 
 murdered Walker, but his motive for such a 
 deed could not be guessed at, now that you know 
 all about him the motive was plainly to be seen, 
 as well as the suspicious circumstances of which 
 you knew already. 
 
 "I have only to add that yet another remark- 
 able coincidence has come to light, which would 
 
272 Bia PETER 
 
 also, if it had been known to you before, have 
 prejudiced you against my client. "Walker's 
 wife, through whom the facts came to light 
 which implicated Lorrimer, had been befriended 
 by my client in the most generous fashion, he 
 not knowing that she was "Walker's wife, but 
 having travelled home with her from Australia 
 when she had gone by another name. That fact 
 also it was necessary to keep back so long as 
 it might appear that he was in some way in 
 league with those to whom this extraordinary 
 set of circumstances pointed as the guilty par- 
 ties. My client's advisers have now thought it 
 well that all the facts should bp laid before you, 
 so that you may know that you have before you 
 a man who has been in a remarkable way the 
 sport of fortune, but whose troubles we now; 
 hope are at an end." 
 
 This story had been listened to with breath- 
 less attention. Peter had made no sign while 
 it was going on, but had stood with his eyes 
 sometimes on the ground and sometimes fixed, 
 almost indifferently, upon Counsel's face. 
 
 His thoughts were far away. He saw in his 
 mind's eye, not the crowded court, with its row 
 upon row of eager interested faces ; but a cool 
 green lawn, shaded by tall trees and lapped by 
 the waters of a still lake, with a gleam of white 
 marble, and beside it the figure of one who had 
 
THE VEEDICT 273 
 
 braved all for his sake, and would be waiting 
 there for his words of gratitude and never- 
 ending love. 
 
 The proceedings lasted very little longer. The 
 Judge said a few words of direction to the jury 
 and the jury brought in their formal verdict of 
 acquittal. 
 
 And then, in spite of the attempts of ofiScials 
 to stop them, in spite of the possibly outraged 
 majesty of the law, cheer after cheer rang 
 through the court as Peter stepped out of the 
 dock, a free man, and found his hand grasped 
 by that of Sir Lawrence Towers, his old friend 
 and partner, whom he had always known as the 
 Swell. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE LAST 
 
 THE Swell hustled Peter out of the court 
 as quickly as possible. "Car waiting," 
 he said shortly, as they pushed their way 
 through the crowds of people, so many of whom 
 wished to shake hands with and congratulate the 
 man whom an hour before they had quite ex- 
 pected to see condemned to death. 
 
 In a side street was waiting a long rakish- 
 looking car, the engines of which were already 
 started. The Swell jumped into the driving seat 
 and Peter into the one next to him. The liveried 
 chauffeur, having received his instructions, 
 touched his hat, and stood back, while the car 
 started off noiselessly, and slid down the street. 
 But not before it had been seen. Men with note- 
 books came running round the corner, and one 
 of them actually sprang on to the footboard and 
 asked Peter to give him a short message for the 
 benefit of the readers of his paper. 
 
 "Tell them not to believe everything they see 
 there," said Peter, and gave him a little push 
 
 274 
 
THE LAST 275 
 
 which landed him comfortably in the street just 
 as the car began to gather way. 
 
 But another reporter had hopped into another 
 waiting car and was following them. 
 
 "Wait till I get clear of the streets," said 
 the Swell, looking back over his shoulder. 
 
 They drove through the town, with the other 
 car still close behind them, and came to a long 
 straight hill between rows of villas, 
 
 "Now we can get on," said the Swell; "and 
 damn the speed limit!" 
 
 The car shot forward and raced up the hill. 
 Peter looked back and saw the pursuing car 
 toiling along in their wake and being left farther 
 Isehind every moment. At the top of the hill 
 there was a mile stretch of straight road run- 
 ning out into the country. When they had 
 reached the end of it the smaller car had been 
 left far behind. 
 
 "We don't often get a chance of using sixty 
 horsepower in this country," said the Swell, 
 "but I don't think we need bother about those 
 gentlemen any more. They will probably turn 
 up at my house by and by; but they won't find 
 us there." 
 
 "Look here, old chap," said Peter, "I am 
 very much obliged to you for getting me clear, 
 but I want to go — " 
 
 "I know where you want to go all right," said 
 
276 Bia PETER 
 
 the Swell, "and we're going there, a good deal 
 faster than we're supposed to. She's expecting 
 you," he added, in further explanation. 
 
 "Isn't it a most astounding thing," exclaimed 
 Peter. "She of all people to turn out to be the 
 Countess of Cambray! I can hardly believe it 
 even now. When did you first know?" 
 
 "Well, I guessed pretty quick," said the 
 Swell, "when I began to make a few enquiries. 
 And then came the business of finding her. That 
 wasn't quite so easy. I have covered a few 
 miles during the last week or two, Peter." 
 
 "What! you tovnid her!" exclaimed Peter. 
 
 "Oh! yes. I thought I'd do what I could for 
 you, and I have given a very good account of 
 you to the lady. You're a lucky fellow, Peter. 
 You might not have had it all your own way 
 with her if you hadn't staked, out your claim 
 first. However, you're the only fellow who 
 seems to count with her, and by Jove! she's 
 shown it to some tune. Peter, you were right 
 about that girl from the very first. She's one 
 in a thousand." 
 
 The look in Peter's eyes showed that to him 
 she was one in all the millions that compose the 
 inhabitants of the world. His heart was too full 
 to speak for a time. 
 
 Presently he asked : "What did she say wHeB, 
 yon told her who I was?" 
 
THE LAST 277 
 
 "I haven't told her who you are. That's left 
 for you." 
 
 "What! then she doesn't know that I am the 
 Camhray claimant ! ' ' 
 
 "No. We thought it would only complicate 
 matters." 
 
 "But she'll know it now, because it was let 
 out in court." 
 
 "I think not before you have a chance of tell- 
 ing her yourself. She left the court directly she 
 had given her own evidence, and didn't hear 
 what your counsel said. I arranged with her to 
 telephone directly everything was over, but I 
 didn't give her that news. You'll find her wait- 
 ing for you, and you can tell her yourself." 
 
 They drove along the unfrequented road at 
 the back of the castle woods, and stopped before 
 the gap at which Peter had first made his way 
 into them. 
 
 "I shall be back here in an hour's time," said 
 the Swell. "I shan't mind waiting a bit if you 
 haven't quite finished, and I'll take you home to 
 my house, where you will put up for the pres- 
 ent. Good-bye, old fellow — ^best of luck!" 
 
 Peter gripped his hand and jumped out of the 
 car. 
 
 The Swell watched him until he was lost to 
 sight among the trees, and then with a quizzical 
 
278 BIO PETER 
 
 look on his face, touched his levers and slid 
 away. 
 
 Peter hurried through the wood and along 
 the shrubbery path, and came out on to the tem- 
 ple lawn. 
 
 She was waiting for him, standing by one of 
 the marble pillars, with her hands clasped to 
 her breast. She was dressed in white. All 
 traces of mourning and sorrow were put away 
 from her. 
 
 With a cry Peter ran forward, and she came 
 to meet him. He took her in his arms, and she 
 nestled there as if it were a refuge from all the 
 ills of life, which would never more fail her. 
 
 By and by they moved to the marble seat in 
 the shade of the temple, and sat there with 
 clasped hands and eyes which hardly ever left 
 each other's, talking in low tones of the new 
 story of their love, which was not new at all, 
 but as old as the earth itself, and still more 
 abiding. 
 
 The happy birds twittered their good-night 
 amongst the leaves of the trees, which seemed 
 to shut them in in this quiet spot, away from 
 all the rest of the world, to brood only upon the 
 sweetness of the hour, and their own deep hap- 
 piness. All their troubles were forgotten. 
 They were together, and nothing could ever part 
 them. 
 
THE LAST 279 
 
 Presently, when the hour which had been al- 
 lowed to Peter was nearly up, they descended 
 a little from the heights in which they had been 
 moving. 
 
 "Shall we go away and live in your country, 
 dear?'.' she asked him. "Don't you remember 
 that I once told you that if I were Lady Cam- 
 bray I might like to do that as a refuge from all 
 my sorrows? And I was rather cross with you 
 because you didn't take my bold hint, although 
 of course you couldn't have known." 
 
 "Margaret !" said Peter in a low voice. "Do 
 you mean that when you said that you wanted 
 me to ask you then?" 
 
 She smiled at him. "How dense men are!" 
 she said. "And how foolish, women are! I 
 didn't know what I wanted; but I think I loved 
 you all the time, Peter, If you had taken me 
 then, I shouldn't have been able to resist you." 
 
 * ' Darling !" said the enraptured Peter. "Did 
 you love me when we were together in the or- 
 chard by the Broad?" 
 
 Again she smiled at him. "I thought you 
 were magnificently strong, and very handsome, ' ' 
 she said. "And I thought you were so good, 
 and so kind. To be with you was like being in 
 a peaceful refu,a:e where no harm could come to 
 me. And oh, I want love and protection. I 
 have had so little of it in my life." 
 
280 BIG PETER 
 
 He held her in his arms again, and she made 
 no effort to leave their shelter. She must have 
 felt that at last she had a strong, loving, tender 
 heart to lean on, which would never let her fall 
 again into the depths of which she had had such 
 unhappy experience. 
 
 After a time Peter said to her: "Do you want 
 to go away from this beautiful place ? For ever, 
 I mean?" 
 
 "I am afraid I cannot help myself," she said, 
 a little sadly. "I should like to have offered 
 you Cambray Castle, dear, as a wedding gift, 
 for it has belonged to my family for hundreds 
 of years, and with all the shadows that have lain 
 over it lately, I still love it, and would like to 
 be happy here with you. But it must go ; — there 
 is no help for it." 
 
 "It needn't go from us," said Peter. "I told 
 you about the mine out in Australia, but I didn't 
 tell you how rich it had made me. If Cambray 
 Castle has to be sold because it is so encum- 
 bered, I can afford to buy it ten times over. My 
 darling, we will live here together, and there 
 will be more happiness in your old castle than 
 there has ever been there before." 
 
 "So you are rich," she said, "and you never 
 told me. Well, riches will be the least part of 
 our happiness. I want you and you only, rich 
 or poor. But I am afraid that we cannot have 
 
THE LAST 281 
 
 Cambray Castle, It will not be mine to sell. It 
 has been proved to me that I have no claim 
 either to my home or to my title. You won't 
 mind that, will you? They don't think much of 
 titles out in Australia. I shan't come to you as 
 the Countess of Cambray. I have no right to 
 call myself that now. ' ' 
 
 "Yes, you have, my dear," he said. 
 
 She smiled at his contradiction of her. "Per- 
 haps I have," she said, "until it is taken away 
 from me. But you know there is some one who 
 has a better right to it than I have — some mys- 
 terious personage whom I have never seen ; and 
 my lawyers tell me it will be better not to fight 
 him. I shall come to you as Margaret Chandos 
 • — I am that at any rate — and when I have come 
 to you I shall be content to call myself Mrs. 
 John Peter. I shall want no better name. Per- 
 haps it will have to be Lady Margaret Peter; 
 but if we go and live in Australia, I think I 
 should prefer to drop that. I want to forget 
 my past life and begin a new one. Mrs. Peter ! 
 I shall like that. What am I to call you, my 
 dearest ? I have never called you by your Chris- 
 tian name. Do they call you John or Jack?" 
 
 "They call me Peter — sometimes Big Peter." 
 
 "I will call you Big Peter too sometimes. 
 But I can't always call you by your surname. 
 You wouldn't like it, would you?" 
 
282 BIG PETER 
 
 "No, I shouldn't. But Peter isn't my sur- 
 name, although I have been known by that lately. 
 My Christian names are John Peter." 
 
 ' ' Peter isn 't your surname ! Then what is ? " 
 She looked surprised and puzzled. 
 
 "It is Chandos," he said with his eyes on 
 her face. 
 
 "Chandos!" Still she was far from under- 
 standing. 
 
 "Yes, Chandos. The same as yours." 
 
 "But how can that be? The Cambray Chan- 
 doses are the only Cbandoses there are." 
 
 "Yes. We are cousins. We come of the same 
 stock, though you are a fashionable EngUsh 
 lady, and I am a rough fellow out of the bush." 
 
 "Do you mean that?" she asked with a smile. 
 "Then why didn't you tell me? I thought I 
 yas the only one left of all the Chandoses." 
 
 "Did you? Didn't you know that there was 
 another — the man who is claiming your title and 
 these estates?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. I had forgotten him for the mo- 
 ment. But — " 
 
 Then at last she understood, and looked at 
 him with her eyes wide. "You don't mean that 
 you are the Cambray Claimant!" 
 
 "I am John Peter Chandos. It is I who am 
 claiming your title, and, my darling, I am going 
 to give it back to you. You will have everything 
 
THE LAST 283 
 
 that you have always had — ^your title and this 
 beautiful home of yours too." 
 
 She looked into his eyes, and then said softly, 
 "And I shall have you, without whom I should 
 want none of it at all." 
 
 It was not until half an hour later that they 
 stood together by the motor car, whose owner 
 regarded them with his usual expression of dry 
 criticism, to which on this occasion was added 
 a certain hint of tenderness. 
 
 "Well, if you've both had enough of one an- 
 other for the present," he said, "it's about time 
 we were moving on. I'll look after him, my 
 lady, and bring him back to you when you want 
 him." 
 
 She put her hand in his and looked at him 
 with a smile out of which all the sadness had 
 departed. "I shall always want him. Sir Law- 
 rence," she said, "and it is you who have given 
 him to me. I can never thank you enough, so 
 I won't try to begin. I had to come and say 
 good-bye to you, and now I am going back by 
 the way he came to me." 
 
 She stepped into the wood through the gap 
 in the fence and was lost among the trees, 
 
 "When you come into your own, Peter," said 
 the Swell, as he pressed down the lever, "and 
 begin to repair your property, I should shift 
 the old gateway to that spot." 
 
284 BIG PETSR 
 
 "That's a good idea," said Peter, as they 
 ran past the deserted lodges and the grass- 
 grown gate. "I shall always like that way into 
 Cambray Castle best." 
 
 The Earl and Countess of Cambray are not 
 always to be found at Cambray Castle, their 
 English home, which great wealth and loving 
 care have made one of the most beautiful places 
 in the country, as for many years it has been one 
 of the happiest. They have another home, also 
 called Cambray, a long, low deep-verandahed 
 house that Peter built on the great cattle sta- 
 tion which he bought in Australia a few years 
 after his succession to the title. 
 
 It is not in one of the more settled parts of 
 that great country. The nearest neighbours 
 are twenty miles away, which is considered al- 
 most on the doorstep, and the next nearest some- 
 thing like fifty. But there are something like 
 a hundred people employed on and about the 
 station, who live for the most part clustered 
 around the big house, in unusual comfort. 
 There are cottages and stores, a church and a 
 school ; and the whole settlement makes up what 
 would be quite a respectable village in England. 
 The house itself, although, alas! roofed with 
 galvanized iron to catch the rare rains, is beau- 
 tiful with the rich almost tropical growth of the 
 
THE LAST 285 
 
 creepers that grow about it; and "my lady's 
 garden" is considered a wonder by all who 
 see it. 
 
 Here they come for a month or two every few 
 years and live the free happy life which Peter 
 will never be quite contented without, in spite 
 of the duties as a great English landlord which 
 he so satisfactorily fulfills. Here he is apt to 
 forget that he is the Earl of Cambray, as he 
 throws himself into the manifold activities of a 
 great station-holder, revelling in the active ad- 
 venturous life of the Bush, and going back after 
 hours or perhaps days in the saddle to a home 
 whose spacious simplicity is a welcome change 
 from that other splendid home in which he lives 
 the greater part of his life. It has the same 
 gracious presence to sweeten it, and as the years 
 go on it is coming to be enlivened at each visit 
 with the voices and laughter of the children who 
 are growing up to enjoy this strange new life 
 as eagerly as they enjoy the happy life in their 
 older home. 
 
 In spite of its remoteness the Australian 
 Cambray is seldom without visitors. Of course 
 all the important "globe-trotters" are enter- 
 tained there royally, and any of the unimpor- 
 tant ones who are within hail as well, for Big 
 Peter, in spite of his wealth and his title, is an 
 ardent democrat, as are most good Australians. 
 
286 Bia PETER 
 
 In the great cool hall of the house hang two 
 fine portraits of the Earl and Countess of Cam- 
 bray, by the well-known aTtist Thomas Saun- 
 ders, already, young as he is, well on the road 
 to fame. His mother, after the dreadful events 
 which we have described, came back to England, 
 and settled down in the country, not far from 
 the English Cambray, where she is always an 
 honoured guest, when she can be prevailed upon 
 to accept the hospitality of her noble neigh- 
 bours. After all her troubles she is now com- 
 pletely happy, in the brilliant career of her son, 
 in the gratitude of Big Peter and his wife, who 
 but for her might never have known the happi- 
 ness that they enjoy, and in her own quiet but 
 contented life. 
 
 Sir Lawrence Towers has also visited his 
 English neighbours in their Australian house, 
 more than once. He has never married, though 
 he often talks about doing so some day, and is 
 of a somewhat roving disposition besides. He 
 thought he had done with Australia when he 
 made his pile at Kampurli ; but he finds that it 
 still has a summons for him. He is godfather 
 to Peter's eldest son, and is beginnihg now to 
 say that he is so interested in all his friend's 
 children that he can very well do without any of 
 his own, and may, after all, live and die a bach- 
 elor. 
 
THE LAST 287 
 
 Another old acquaintance of ours is also to be 
 found at the Australian Cambray. This is none 
 other than MacDonald, still known as "Scotty." 
 After attaining riches he went home to Scot- 
 land and married a comely Scottish wife. Then 
 he found that a life of leisure did not suit him 
 at all, and that Australia had got into his blood. 
 So just at the time Peter was building his house, 
 he turned up in Sydney and said that he wanted 
 the past of Manager; and of course he got it 
 at once. He lives in a very pleasant house not 
 far from Peter's. When Peter is in England 
 he is in charge of everything, and the station is 
 as good as his own. He must be enormously 
 wealthy, for he spends nothing of his large in- 
 come, and even saves out of his salary. But he 
 has a considerable family growing up, and prob- 
 ably in the near future he will save rather less. 
 
 Peter is "the Boss" to all that large company 
 that clusters around the Australian Cambray; 
 and to many of those who come from time to 
 time to enjoy its warm hospitality he is still 
 Big Peter. 
 
 Some of these hardy men of the Bush are apt 
 to be somewhat abashed at first in finding them- 
 selves in the presence of the beautiful lady whom 
 most of them call "the Countess," whatever 
 they may choose to call her husband. 
 
 But it is never long before she sets them at 
 
288 BIG PETER 
 
 their ease. She is never tired of hearing them 
 talk, and those who have come to Cambray more 
 than once have got to know that the surest way 
 of bringing to her face that tender smile, which 
 no longer has in it the least little tinge of sad- 
 ness, is to tell her some yarn about the early 
 days and the strong prowess of "Big Peter." 
 
 THE END