It was twenty minutes to eight as the two young men rang at the door-bell of Rosemount. Pomfret was always a slow dresser. It was only by extraordinary efforts that Hugh had got him off in time.

Brother and sister were awaiting them in the pretty drawing-room, lit with softly shaded lamps. Miss Burton rose to meet them, she extended a hand to each, in her pretty graceful way, as if she looked upon them both as her dearest friends, and would make no difference between them in her greeting.

But Hugh was very wide-awake, after his meeting with the detective, and he did notice that the left hand which she extended to Pomfret lingered a little longer in his responsive clasp than did the right which she had given to him.

Yes, it was obvious that their acquaintance had gone far. There was even, he fancied, an intelligent sympathy in their mutual glances. Pomfret was the lover, Hugh Murchison was simply the friend.

Mr. Burton welcomed them heartily. "Just like old times," he cried in his rough, breezy fashion. "I've been like a fish out of water during Norah's absence. It was just like her to organise a little party, simply us four, to celebrate her return."

It struck Hugh that his conviviality was just a trifle forced, that he seemed "jumpy" and nervous. Had he by chance spotted those two strangers in the High Street, and wondered what manner of men they were?

Pomfret settled himself on the chesterfield beside Norah, in spite of her rather obvious signals to preserve a more discreet attitude. Ignorant of what was going to happen a few minutes hence, her great object was to conceal the fact that Jack should take the position of an acknowledged lover.

In her secret heart, she was very apprehensive of Murchison. She knew he was suspicious of her, and he had a sort of elder brother affection for Pomfret. She was not by any means sure as to the lengths to which this fraternal feeling might lead him. It might even inspire him to evoke the assistance of the Pomfret family, and then the security of her present position might be menaced.

The secret marriage was, after all, in the nature of a gamble. If things turned out as she expected, if the old aunt died in reasonable time, the odds were in her favour. She could twist Jack round her little finger. But nobody knew better than this astute young woman of the world that there is many a slip betwixt the cup and the lip. Something that she had not calculated, not foreseen, might happen at any moment, and her house of cards might tumble to the ground. Her adventurous life had taught her never to be too sure of momentary prosperity.

She was a little bit nervous and "jumpy," like her brother, to-night. Her smile was a little forced, her high spirits rather assumed. The wedding-ring, the marriage certificate hidden from sight, were great assets. And yet, was it all just a little too good to be quite true?

Murchison talked with the brother, desultory sort of talk, hardly conscious of what he was saying. His ears were straining for the sound of that eletric-bell which would herald the arrival of Davidson and his colleague.

And it came very quickly. There was a loud, imperative peal. Burton started from his seat, and forgot his assumed good manners.

"Who the devil is that?" he cried fiercely. "Do they want to knock the house down?" It was the vulgar exclamation of a very vulgar man.

Miss Burton was more mistress of herself, but Hugh observed that her cheek went a shade paler. Well, it was only natural. These two had been living in fear of the law for more years than they cared to remember. And they had thought they were safely in harbour. Poor fools!

She turned to Pomfret, and forced a wan smile. "It is really quite alarming, Mr. Pomfret, visitors at this time of the evening. And you know so well that nobody in Blankfield, except yourselves, ever crosses our threshold."

The happy Jack, the husband of a few short hours, was quite unperturbed. He smiled back at her confidently.

"Somebody come to the wrong house, I should say. Why, you have gone quite pale! What a nervous little thing it is!" He whispered the last sentence in a lover-like tone.

Murchison felt every nerve in his body tingling. Jack was in a state of ignorance. The brother and sister, he was sure, were filled with vague and undefined alarms. He, alone out of the four sitting in that charming little drawing-room awaiting the announcement of dinner, was sure of what was going to happen.

He stole a look across at Pomfret with the happy, fatuous smile of the successful lover on his face. Poor devil! In another couple of minutes he would be terribly disillusioned.

There was a heavy trampling of feet across the hall. The visitors, whoever they were, had pushed past the trim and ladylike parlourmaid.

The drawing-room door was flung open, and the two big men, Davidson and his colleague, advanced towards Burton who was standing in the middle of the room.

The detective spoke in a clear, ringing voice. "It's all up, Mr. Burton, I won't trouble to recount your various aliases. I've a warrant here to arrest you on a charge of forgery. You've gone free for some time, but one of your old pals has peached upon you. Hard luck for you, otherwise you might have been playing still, perhaps for ever, this nice little 'stunt' at Blankfield. I suppose you will come quietly?"

For a few seconds George Burton indulged in some horrible imprecations. In the same breath he protested his absolute innocence, and denounced the "pal" who had betrayed him. Mr. Davidson cut him short, as he fastened the handcuffs on his wrist.

"Stow it, old man! Be a sport. It's a fair cop, isn't it? You knew the risk you ran when you went into this business."

Mr. Burton subsided. "Yes, it's a fair cop," he growled. "I don't blame you, you are only doing your duty. I've no grudge against you. But by Heaven, when I come out, I'll do for that swine who has given me away, if I have to swing for it."

Pomfret had risen from his seat on the chesterfield at the dramatic entrance of the two strangers. Norah had risen also. In the few seconds that elapsed between their entrance and the clapping of the handcuffs on Burton, she stretched out appealing arms to him, and cried out in a voice of despair:

"Stand by me, Jack, stand by me. I knew nothing of this. It is as great a surprise to me as to you. Oh, my poor brother! He has done this for love of me."

Murchison heard the impassioned tones, the despairing appeal. They would have melted a heart of stone. What effect would they have upon the unsuspicious Jack?

Pomfret withdrew himself, almost coldly, from the proffered embrace. In a few seconds, as it seemed to Hugh, he had grown from a boy to a man.

He turned to the detective, and Hugh was delighted at the sudden dignity that seemed to have come to him.

"You seem to know a great deal about this man whom you have handcuffed, and who admits you are only doing your duty. Do you know anything about his sister, Miss Burton?"

Mr. Davidson glanced significantly at Murchison. They had arranged a little conversation between themselves, but Jack's frankness had rendered this unnecessary.

"What I know of the young lady, sir, I am sorry to tell you, is not to her credit. She has been associated with this man for some years. She started with him in Paris some time ago, when he was a card-sharper, and running a gambling-saloon. But to be fair, she is not in this business with him, and I have nothing against her."

"Are they what they represent themselves to be, brother and sister?" Pomfret's voice was very quiet, but there was in it a suppressed note of agony. How he had loved this girl, and a few hours ago he had clasped her in his arms as his wife!

The keen eyes of the detective softened as he looked at Jack, who was hiding the most intense agitation under an apparently stoical demeanour.

"I have no accurate information on that point, sir, but I should very much doubt the fact of their relationship."

While this brief conversation was taking place between Pomfret and Davidson, Norah was still standing with arms outstretched.

Again there came forth the appealing, impassioned cry: "Jack, stand by me! Jack, stand by me!" She sank down on the sofa, and put her hands before her face. "Stay with me, wait till they have all gone, and I will explain everything. I have nothing to do with this."

But Pomfret stood like a man turned to stone. Then suddenly, Norah gave a little gurgling cry, and fainted. Pomfret made a step towards her, and halted. His great love for her had been killed. Perhaps at this moment he hated her more than he had ever loved her.

The parlour-maid, with a white face, was peeping in the room. Davidson beckoned to her.

"My colleague will help you to take her up to her room. Look after her. She's as game as they make them, but to-night's t been too much for her. She has been playing for big stakes, and she has lost."

The maid and Davidson's burly assistant lifted up the recumbent form. And when they had carried her out, Pomfret's self-control seemed to give way. He suddenly clutched at his throat and turned to Hugh.

"Old man, I have had as much as I can stand. For Heaven's sake, take me from this accursed house."

Hugh put his arm under his to steady him.

The boy's nerve had gone, he was trembling like a man stricken with the ague. There was no cab or taxi to be got in this outlying district. They had to walk back to the barracks.

Hugh planted him in an easy-chair in his own quarters, and mixed him a stiff peg. Even Dutch courage was better than nothing. Pom-fret drank it in two big gulps. Then he pulled himself together.

"I have been an infernal fool, old man," he gasped, "an infernal fool."

Hugh spoke soothingly. "Of course you have. But the folly is over. You now know Norah Burton and her rascally brother for what they are, a pair of criminals and adventurers."

"But you don't know all," groaned the unfortunate Jack. "Norah Burton is my wife. I married her secretly the other day, by special licence, while I was up in London."

Hugh leapt to his feet in astonishment. He had his own ideas of that visit to London, coupled with Norah's absence. But that Pom-fret, weak and impressionable as he was, should have made such a fool of himself, was beyond the limits of his comprehension.

In a moment he pulled himself together. The poor lad was in a big mess enough, it was no time to rub it in. "Tell me all about it, old chap," he said quietly.

And Pomfret told him. He made it clear, perfect gentleman as he was, that Norah had been the least to blame in the matter, that the suggestion had come from himself, that Norah had insisted upon consulting her brother before yielding to his wishes.

Yes, of course, Hugh could understand all that. They had known just the kind of man they were dealing with. They had hooked and landed their fish well. To a woman in her uncertain state, a husband with some prospects was better than her insecure position with a scoundrel like George Burton.

Hugh filled a big pipe full up with a very strong and potent tobacco. He thought better when he was smoking, and this was a situation that demanded a good deal of thought.

After a while he spoke. "Well, Jack, let us look facts in the face. What is done can't be undone. You have married this woman, and as long as she lives she is entitled to call herself Mrs. Pomfret, and you will have to keep her. There is no getting over that."

The unhappy Jack groaned. There was no getting over that. This attractive, charming young woman, sister or confederate, or whatever relationship she stood in to this wretched criminal, was his legal wife, and, if she chose, she could make things very uncomfortable for him.

"Well, old man, you have made a hash of your life at the very beginning of it. As I say, that can't be undone. You've got to make the best of it. I suppose you have entered into some financial arrangements with her."

"Seven hundred a year till I come into my aunt's money. After that, of course, our marriage was to be acknowledged, and we would live together."

"I see," said Hugh, assuming a cheerfulness he did not quite feel. "Well, I should not say she would try for more than her seven hundred a year at present. When your aunt dies she will of course fight for a bit more. I take it, after to-night's work, you will never want to live with her, cajoling and attractive as she is."

Pomfret shuddered. "After what that fellow said, my love for her died. But, by Heaven, Hugh, I did love her while I believed in her."

"Of course, of course. Have you signed any document about that seven hundred, by the way?"

"Not yet. My solicitor is sending me the document to-day, it will reach me to-morrow morning."

"It will make it a little easier to deal with her, then. Are you going to leave yourself in my hands? I don't think she will be very full of fight for the next few days."

"Certainly I will, Hugh. Do your best for me. I never want to see her again, of that you may be sure."

Murchison reflected deeply before he spoke again. "I doubt if she will trouble you very much. It won't be very difficult to compromise with her, she has too much to hide. And now for yourself."

"Yes," groaned the unhappy Pomfret, in a hollow voice. "And now for myself. What do you suggest?"

"There's only one thing to do, and that is to put the past behind you. As long as this woman lives, you can never marry. But many men go through life and remain bachelors, and are not altogether unhappy. You must make up your mind to be one of the bachelors, Jack."

But Jack looked very despairing. The shock had been a terrible one. In spite of the stiff peg he had taken, his face was still livid, and his hands were shaking.

Hugh looked at him anxiously. He was very weak; had the occurrences of this terrible night driven him over the border line that separates sanity from insanity?

Presently he muttered, almost as if to himself, certain disjointed phrases. Hugh caught a few of them, repeated again and again.

"Tied to her for life, she will outlive me, tied to her for life. She will never let me go. My poor family! I have always been a fool, but up to now have never brought disgrace to them. And God forgive me, I was reckoning on the death of my poor old generous aunt, it is idle to say I did not speculate on it. And for what, for what?—the pretended affection, the bought kisses of this adventuress, a card-sharper's decoy, who told me lying tales about the way in which her criminal associate had inherited his money."

He rambled on like this for some quarter of an hour, and Murchison judged it was better to let him ease his mind in such a fashion.

In a way, the poor foolish boy's brain had cleared up to a point; he was able to look the facts squarely in the face. His infatuation might have been so deep that he might, under these damning circumstances, have fallen a victim to her wiles a second time. She would no doubt have been prepared, if he had given her the opportunity, to have sworn her innocence, to have protested that she was the victim of circumstantial evidence, that she had believed what her brother had told her, that she had never been a partner in, or a confidant of, his criminal schemes.

No, so far the rude shock had cleared his brain, made him see and think more clearly. But Murchison very much feared that the agonising remorse for his folly was obscuring it in another direction.

He seemed to look upon himself as something unclean in having allowed himself to be contaminated by association with such a wretched adventuress. He was also acutely conscious that, at the best, he would have to take this horrible secret with him to the grave, unless it sprang suddenly to light, as such secrets have a knack of doing. Above all, he keenly felt the disgrace he had inflicted on his family.

There was a great deal more desultory talk, and Hugh gave him the best advice he could under the unhappy circumstances—a reiteration of the "put it behind you and live it down" philosophy. This would have come easy to a man of the rocky and stolid type to which Murchison belonged by temperament. But Jack was highly-strung and impulsive. There was no ballast in him.

Hugh almost had to push him out of the room. But, before doing so, he mixed the boy another stiff peg, with the hope that it would induce sleep and purchase him the oblivion of a few hours.

"Now then, old man, toddle off. Get a good night's rest, and when you wake tomorrow, you will find things look pretty black, but not quite so black as now. If this young woman contemplates a deep game, and wants to insist overmuch on her rights as your wife, I will deal with her on your behalf. I'll warrant I bring her to reason."

The poor distraught boy clasped his friend's hand convulsively. "Hugh, old chap, you are the best friend a man could ever have, true as steel."

"Don't say that," replied Hugh with a little break in his voice. "I am bound to do the best for you. It was owing to my infernal folly that you ever set foot in that cursed house. I am older and stronger than you, I ought to have known better. Well, good old Jack, good-night! I tell you, things won't look quite as black to-morrow."

But to Hugh's intense grief and remorse, there was no morrow for the unhappy boy, whose mind had been quite unhinged by the events of that terrible night. One could only surmise that he had found sleep impossible, and in a fit of frenzy had taken his life to escape from a future so black and discouraging.

When his servant went to call him in the morning, he found his master lying on the floor, with a bullet-hole in the middle of his forehead. Everybody in the barracks had been fast asleep when the poor boy had fired the shot that was to take him out of his troubles, and nobody had heard the report.

At the inquest, the whole miserable story came out. Of course it came through Hugh, the only person who was in possession of it. He narrated the details of his acquaintance with the Burtons, the introduction of Jack Pomfret to the house, the scene at Rosemount when the two detectives had taken the man, Jack's confession that he had made the girl his wife a few hours previously.

Hugh never forgot that interview with the Colonel, in which "Old Fireworks" poured out his wrath in no measured terms. He roundly called him an infernal fool for mixing himself up with people of whom he knew nothing, and whom Blankfield in its ignorance of their antecedents had declined to visit—and very wisely.

"If it had been poor Jack, a dear lad but a foolish, I could have found it in my heart to forgive him," he ended. "But you are a man of another sort, you have got your wits about you, if you choose to exercise them. I will never pardon you that day's work. You can play with fire and not be scorched, but he couldn't. That poor boy's death lies at your door, sir. I hope you realise it."

Yes, Hugh did realise it. He stood with bowed head, and could not utter a word in self-defence.

The news, of course, was all over the town the next morning, or rather the double news—that George Burton had been arrested by two detectives from Scotland Yard, and that in the early morning of the following day Jack Pomfret had blown out his brains. The evidence at the inquest explained the double event.

The news of her young husband's suicide reached Norah early in the morning. She had gambled and lost. The old adventurous life was in front of her again.

She took the buffets of fate with the stoicism of her kind and class. She had a comfortable little nest-egg put by which stood between her and present want. If only Jack had been less emotional, she would not have troubled him much, been content with quite a little. It is to be feared that, in her bitter disappointment, she felt a little sore against Jack for his moral cowardice in getting comfortably out of it himself, and leaving her in the lurch.

Anyway, she faced the situation with a courage that one could not refuse to admire. By two o'clock that same day the servants had been paid their wages, the keys of the furnished house handed over to the agent, and Mrs. Pomfret had departed for London.

Murchison could never forget that terrible time till something came that seemed to dwarf all other things. In August, nineteen hundred and fourteen, there burst the first storm of the war which shook the world to its centre. In the blood-soaked plains of France he forgot everything except his country.

Jack Pomfret and Norah Burton seemed dim memories in those strenuous times of the world's upheaval. And yet, when he had a moment's leisure to think of the past, he felt a savage longing to be even with that fair-faced, smiling adventuress who had driven his poor young friend to a suicide's grave.