KERRY.

Having, as he considered, prepared the ground by acquainting Claude with the notabilities of the neighborhood, Tait next proceeded to secure an interview with Kerry. This was by no means an easy matter, as, either by accident or design, Kerry eluded all the young men's attempts to interview him. Hitherto he had been accustomed to fish daily in the Lax, but now, doubtless by direction of his master, he forsook his customary sport for some considerable time. His absence speedily roused Tait's suspicions.

"Hilliston has succeeded well," said he, after one of these futile attempts to see the old servant. "He has put Jeringham on his guard."

"Paynton, you mean," observed Claude, looking up from his plate. They were at breakfast when this conversation took place.

"I thought you had determined in your own mind that he was Jeringham."

"No," said Claude, coloring a little; "I have come round to your opinion in the matter. If Paynton were Jeringham, I don't think Denis Bantry would be in his service."

"Ah!" remarked Tait sarcastically, "is that the result of reflection or of love?"

"Of love? I don't understand you."

"Yes, you do, Claude. You are in love with Jenny. The last week has only deepened your first impressions. I believe she likes you also, and so I foresee a marriage which will rob me of my friend."

"I am not so certain of that as you are," said Larcher, after a pause. "Miss Paynton has given me no hint of her feelings, and our acquaintance is yet young. Even if I did design to make her my wife, I would have to gain her consent, and that of her father. Judging from Paynton's present attitude that consent would most probably be refused."

Tait did not immediately reply, but stared out of the window with an absent look in his eyes. The remark changed the current of his ideas.

"I wonder who Paynton can be?" he said at length, with some hesitation. "That he is connected with the case I am certain from the way in which he has profited by the warning of Hilliston. Like yourself, I have my doubts regarding his identity with Jeringham, because of Denis Bantry. Who is he? I must go to Horriston to-morrow and find out."

"And what am I to do in the meantime?"

"Hunt out Kerry and learn the truth," said Tait coolly. "I think, after all, it will be best for you to see him alone. I am a stranger, and he won't speak before me; but to you, the son of his old master, he may open his heart. Once he does that you may learn the truth."

"I doubt it."

"Well, there is a chance. Whatever tie binds Denis to Paynton, you must not forget that he is Irish. The Irish are an impulsive and excitable race, so it is just possible that his feelings may carry him away in your presence, and he may tell you all we wish to know."

"Do you think he can solve the mystery?"

"Yes. He was in the house when Jeringham came home with your mother; he picked up the garnet pin, and, it may be, can tell us to whom it belongs. It may be the property of Hilliston, as is stated in the novel; on the other hand it may belong to your father or to Jeringham. Of one point I am sure, the person who owned the pin killed your father. Kerry, or rather Denis Bantry, knows the owner, and consequently the murderer."

"If so, why did he not denounce him?"

"There you puzzle me," said Tait, rising to his feet; "that is one of the many mysteries of this case. Only Denis can explain, and he may do so to you. I shall stay at home this morning, and prepare for my journey to Horriston; but you had better take your fishing rod and go to your post."

The post alluded to was on the banks of the Lax, where for the past week the young men had patiently waited for the appearance of Denis. On this morning Claude found himself alone for the first time; and sat down with a disconsolate air, for he had little hope that Denis would make his appearance. In this surmise he was wrong, for scarcely had he been seated half an hour when the Irishman came slowly along on the opposite bank of the river.

He was a little old man, gray as a badger, with stooped shoulders, and a cross-looking face. Without vouchsafing a look in Claude's direction, he prepared his fishing tackle and began industriously to whip the stream. Hardly knowing how to break the ice, Larcher silently continued his sport, and the two, divided by the water, stood like statues on opposite banks.

After a time Denis, who had been cunningly taking stock of Claude, and wondering why his letter had not produced the effect intended, moved down to where the stream narrowed itself between large stones. Determined to invent some excuse for speaking, Larcher followed after a time, and stepped out on to a bowlder, apparently to throw his line into a likely looking pool. Being within reach, he flung his line, and the next moment it was entangled in that of Kerry's.

"I'm sorry! Quite an accident," said Claude, noting the wrath on Kerry's face. "Let me disentangle it."

He jumped into the brown water and, before Kerry could make any objection, was across on the other side, gripping the lines. Without a word the Irishman let him separate the two lines, and then busied himself with fixing a fly. Nettled at this determined silence Claude spoke.

"I wish to speak with you," he said, tapping the other on the shoulder.

"Is it to me ye speak?" replied Kerry, with an admirable look of surprise; "and what has the like of you, sir, to say to me?"

"A great deal. Do you know who I am?"

"Sure, an' I do, sir. The friend of Mr. Tait, you are no less."

"But my name. Do you know it?"

"Bad luck to this stream, there's never a fish in it," grumbled Kerry, with a convenient attack of deafness.

Claude was in nowise angered.

"That is very clever, Kerry," he said; "but——"

"An' how do you know my name is Kerry?"

"Are you surprised that I should know it?"

"I am that," replied Kerry sharply. "I never set eyes on you before."

"Oh, yes, you did—twenty-five years ago."

"Begorra, that's a lie, anyhow!" muttered Kerry, under his breath, with an uneasy wriggle.

"It is not a lie, and you know it, my man," said Larcher firmly; "it is no use your pretending ignorance. I know who you are."

"Devil a doubt of it! Kerry, you called me."

"Yes! Because you are known by that name here. But at Horriston——"

Claude stopped. He saw the hands of the old man grip the rod so tight that the knuckles whitened. The name had produced the effect he intended. So, almost without a pause, he continued, and aimed another blow at Kerry's imperturbability. "At Horriston," he resumed, "you were known as Denis Bantry."

"Was I, now?" said Kerry, prepared for the attack. "Augh, to think of it! And where might Horriston be, sir?"

"You ought to know that, Denis."

"Your honor will be after giving me the name of a friend of yours."

"Quite right," rejoined Claude, seizing the opportunity. "You were—nay, you are—a friend of mine. I am the little lad you carried in your arms—to whom you told stories, and sang songs. Children forget a great deal, but I have not forgotten you, Denis."

In dogged silence the old man turned his head away, intently bent on his sport, but suddenly he raised the cuff of his coat and wiped away a betraying tear. Seeing that he had touched the man's sympathy, Claude followed up his advantage.

"You are not going to deny me, Denis, are you?" he said entreatingly. "I am down here on an errand which you must guess. If Hilliston——"

"The curse of Cromwell on him!" said Kerry, under his breath.

"If Hilliston told you to keep silent," said Claude, affecting to take no notice of the interjection, which confirmed his suspicions, "I, the son of your dead master, want you to speak. I wish to find out who killed my father. I wish to punish him, for you know his name."

Kerry turned furiously on the young man, but it seemed to Claude that his anger was feigned to hide a deeper emotion.

"It is a dirty informer you'd have me be," he cried, with a stamp of his foot, "to betray him whose bread I eat. I'll tell you nothing, for it's that much I know."

"Denis——"

"I'm not Denis! It's Kerry I am. I know nothing of Horriston, or of you, sir. Go away with ye, young gentleman, and don't be after disgracing an old servant to play the spy and cheat."

Then, still breathing fury, he rushed away, but paused some distance off to raise his hands to the sky with an appealing gesture. The impulsive Irish nature had broken through diplomatic reserve, and, fearful of saying too much, Kerry saved himself by flight. Claude guessed this and forebore to follow him.

"I have broken the ice at all events," he said to himself, when returning to the Manor to tell Tait. "The next time I may be fortunate enough to force the truth out of him. He knows it, I am certain. He hates Hilliston and loves me. I can easily guess with whom he sympathizes, in spite of his master. He is Denis, sure enough, but who is Paynton?"

It was impossible to say.