THE GARNET SCARFPIN.

That same evening Claude called to see his father. He decided to go alone, but asked Tait to repair to Rose Cottage within the hour, so that, the meeting with his newly found parent having taken place, a consultation could be held by the three regarding the proceeding with, or withdrawing, of the case. Tait especially stipulated that this arrangement should be come to, as he was desirous of seeing Mr. Larcher, senior, in order to disabuse his mind of the straight-forwardness of Hilliston. Privately, Tait believed that the lawyer would yet be found guilty of the crime. On no other grounds could he explain the attitude taken up by Hilliston since the papers had been placed in Claude's hands. The evidence of Miss Pike and Dick Pental failed to alter his idea on this point.

Tait himself was beginning to feel weary of the investigation. At every turn it took he was baffled by some fresh obstacle, and he was not ill-pleased to find that the matter was at an end so far as Claude was concerned. That young man had sworn to avenge the death of his father; but now that his father proved to be still in existence, the oath was null and void. So that, Claude married to Jenny, he would be quite willing to leave the solution of the mystery surrounding the death of Jeringham to Tait; but Tait himself determined to have nothing further to do with so wearisome a problem.

He waited considerably beyond the hour before leaving for the cottage, as he rightly considered the father and son would have much to say to one another. Moreover it was necessary to give Larcher time to overcome his emotion on learning that his wife was still in existence. Tait was by no means sure that the old gentleman would be pleased with this revelation. According to his own showing his relations with his wife had been none of the best; and to renew those relations after twenty-five years could hardly fail to be most unpleasant.

During this time Tait gave no thought to Jenny or Denis. As to the former, he was so satisfied that she was the daughter of Jeringham by Mona Bantry that he did not think it worth while to give the matter the benefit of the doubt. What he was curious to know was how Paynton, or rather Captain Larcher, came to stand in the position of an adopted father. Information on this point was conveyed to him before he reached the cottage by Denis himself.

The old servant walked briskly along the road, looking quite rejuvenated. He had heard the good news, and it had transformed his life. In place of a crabbed expression, his face appeared wonderfully cheerful, and he saluted Tait with a grin of pleasure. The other could not forbear commenting on his changed appearance, so clearly apparent even in the waning light of evening.

"Why, Kerry, you look ten years younger," he said, stopping short in his amazement, with an afterthought of Dick Pental's accusation.

"Ah, and I do that same, sir," said Denis, saluting in military fashion, "and you know why, sir."

"Are they reconciled?" asked Tait, guessing what was in the mind of the old servant.

"Begad, they are! Chattering together like two love birds, and my old master looking on with pride."

"Why, Kerry, I spoke of Captain Larcher."

"Augh, did you now, sir? I spoke of Master Claude, God bless him, and Miss Jenny, God bless her! God bless them both!" cried Kerry, taking off his hat, with a burst of affection, "and his honor along with them. Oh, glory be to the saints for this blessed day. But sure, I am forgetting my service, sir. The master is waiting to see you this very minute."

"I was just on my way," said Tait, signing to Kerry to go on. "We will walk there together. By the way, does Miss Jenny know she is not the daughter of your master?"

"She knew it all along, sir. Ah, and why should you look surprised at that, Mr. Tait? Is it because she is the niece of an old soldier like me?"

"No, no, Kerry! But, as you are aware, Miss Jenny knows the case from those newspapers she found; and in that report Jeringham——"

"I see what you mean, sir," said Kerry, touching his hat in a deprecating manner; "but sure she doesn't know all. She believes herself to be the child of my sister, Mona—who is dead, rest her soul, and of a Mr. Kennedy. We've invented a father for her, sir. 'Twould never do for her to know she was the daughter of the poor man who was killed."

"It is just as well, Kerry. Do you know who killed him?" Tait asked this question with a keen glance at the man.

"No, sir. How should I know. I ran out with the light when the captain called, but I don't know who struck him the cruel blow. He was a bad man, sir, deceiving my sister, and disgracing the Bantry family, but he is dead, and she is dead, so we'll let them rest, and the heavens be their bed!"

By this time they were at the garden door, and striking his hand over these sad memories Kerry led the visitor into the house, and showed him into the bookroom. Here were assembled Claude, his father, and Jenny, all looking supremely happy, though the old gentleman appeared to be rather shaken. He rose when Tait entered and held out his hand.

"I am glad to see you, Mr. Tait," said he, in an unsteady voice, "and I thank you for the way in which you have aided my son. I feel that an apology is due to you for my behavior on your last visit."

"Don't mention it," replied Tait cordially, shaking the extended hand. "Under the circumstances you could not act otherwise. Well, Miss Paynton, am I to——"

"Don't call me Miss Paynton now, Mr. Tait," she said, smiling; "there can be no need for further concealment. I can take my own name, that of——"

"Miss Kennedy," said Tait quickly. "Do not look so surprised. Kerry told me all about it as I came along. I am at once astonished and delighted."

"I don't wonder at it," said Captain Larcher, patting Claude's hand. "You see I have found a son."

"And soon, sir, you will lose a daughter," observed Tait significantly.

"Oh, no," observed Claude, with a laugh; "when I marry Jenny we will all live together as a happy family."

"Marriage! Has it come to that?"

"You are astonished, I see, Mr. Tait," said the old gentleman, shaking his head. "I am myself. It is too soon—too sudden. They have only known each other a few weeks, and it is impossible that a union on so short an acquaintance can prove happy."

"We will have a long engagement," said Claude, "in order to prove if we truly love one another. But I am not afraid of the result."

"Neither am I," remarked Jenny, slipping her arm within that of her lover. "I am sure nothing will come between us. But come, Claude, and we will see my uncle, for I notice that Mr. Tait is anxious to speak to your father about that horrid case."

Captain Larcher nodded his approval of this, so Claude and Jenny left the room to seek Kerry, and be wept over by the old servant. Left alone with his host, Tait took a chair by the table, and they looked at one another in silence. The captain was the first to break it.

"There is no need for me to recapitulate the events of the day," he said, with a weary sigh, "as Claude told me you read my letter, and are in possession of all the facts. You may believe, Mr. Tait, that I feel considerably shaken. My interview with Claude has been rather trying. He has behaved in the most affectionate manner."

"Well, now your troubles are all at an end, Captain Larcher, and——"

"At an end, sir!" he interrupted sharply. "No, they will continue. My innocence is not yet proved, and I must still remain here under a feigned name, unless you agree to help me."

"Certainly I agree. Is it your intention and Claude's to go on with the case?"

"We have come to that decision, but I wanted to consult you before finally making up my mind. Do you think we ought to proceed?"

"I certainly do," said Tait promptly. "It is true that the police think that you are the victim. But if you want to assume your own name, inquiries would certainly be made. One is never safe in these criminal matters, even after the lapse of years. If you did declare yourself to be Captain Larcher, then it would come out that Jeringham is dead, and you would have to clear yourself. Besides, the evidence of Dicky Pental would implicate you, seeing that he mistook you in that fancy dress for Jeringham."

"True enough," replied Larcher, nodding. "And there is another reason. I have just learned that my wife is still alive, and is protected by Hilliston at Hampstead. I sent Claude out of the room so that I could ask you a plain question. Give me a plain answer, and tell me what are the relations between them."

"I don't care to answer that plainly," said Tait, with some hesitation; "but I think you can guess."

"Does Hilliston love my wife?"

"On the authority of Miss Belinda Pike, whom I saw at Horriston, I believe he does."

"And for her sake he had deceived me all these years?"

"It seems so. In fact, Captain Larcher, Hilliston has been playing a double game. He kept you and your wife apart by assuring each that the other was dead. That conduct alone stamps him as a villain. Then, again, he threw all kinds of obstacles in the way while we were investigating this case."

"What for?"

"My own opinion is that Hilliston committed the murder."

Captain Larcher clenched his hand, and thought for a few moments.

"It might be so," he muttered, more to himself than to Tait. "Hilliston was in the garden. If he loved my wife—a fact which I never suspected—he might have killed Jeringham out of jealousy."

"But the dagger! How did he obtain that?"

"No doubt at the ball. I assure you, Mr. Tait, that my wife had not the dagger when in the sitting room."

"She declares that she threatened you with it."

"Then she either forgets or speaks falsely. She wore it at the ball when I spoke to her there, but when she returned it was missing. Hilliston came with me, knowing Jeringham was with my wife. He might have picked up the dagger with the fullest intention of committing the crime. Now that I know he loved my wife I am not prepared to say how he acted in the garden while I was in the house."

"And the garnet scarfpin mentioned in the novel?"

"That belonged to Hilliston," said Larcher quickly. "I gave it to him myself. Denis picked it up in the garden, but I thought nothing of that, as I was aware Hilliston was in the grounds on that night. But now I believe——Oh, I am afraid to say what I believe. I may be wrong."

"There is one way of finding out the truth, Captain Larcher. Come up to town this week and see your wife. Then we may learn all."

The old gentleman leaned his head on his hand in deep thought for a few minutes.

"I will come," he said at length. "At whatever cost, I will force the guilty woman to own the truth."