"So Reginald Henson bullies women," Rawlins said, after a long pause. There was a queer smile on his face; he appeared perfectly at his ease. He did not look in the least like a desperate criminal whom Chris could have driven out of the country by one word to the police. In his perfectly-fitting grey suit he seemed more like a lord of ancient acres than anything else. "It is not a nice thing to bully women."

"Reginald Henson finds it quite a congenial occupation," Chris said, bitterly.

Rawlins pulled thoughtfully at his cigarette.

"I am to a certain extent in your power," he said. "You have discovered my identity at a time when I could sacrifice thousands for it not to be known that I am in England. How you have discovered me matters as little as how a card-player gets the ace of trumps. And I understand that the price of your silence is the betrayal of Henson?"

"That is about what it comes to," said Chris.

"In the parlance of the lower type of rascal, I am to 'round on my pal'?"

"If you like to put it in that way, Mr. Smith."

"I never did such a thing in my life before. And, at the same time, I don't mind admitting that I was never so sorely tried. At the present moment I am on the verge of a large fortune, and I am making my grand coup honestly. Would you deem it exaggeration on my part if I said that I was exceedingly glad of the fact?"

"Mr. Smith," Chris said, earnestly, "I have seen how fond you are of your daughter."

"That is an exceedingly clever remark of yours, young lady," Rawlins smiled. "You know that you have found the soft spot in my nature, and you are going to hammer on it till you reduce me to submission. I am not a religious man, but my one prayer is that Grace shall never find me out. When my coup comes off I am going to settle in England and become intensely respectable."

"With Reginald Henson for your secretary, I suppose?"

"No, I am going to drop the past. But to return to our subject. Are you asking me to betray Henson to the police?"

"Nothing of the kind," Chris cried, hastily. "I—I would do anything to avoid a family scandal. All I want is a controlling power over the man."

"The man who bullies women?"

"The same. For seven years he has wrecked the lives of five of us—three women. He has parted husband and wife, he has driven the man I love into exile. And the poor wife is gradually going hopelessly mad under his cruelties. And he blackmails us, he extorts large sums of money from us. If you only knew what we have suffered at the hands of the rascal!"

Rawlins nodded in sympathy.

"I did not imagine that," he said. "Of course, I have known for years that Henson was pretty bad. You may smile, but I have never had any sympathy with his methods and hypocritical ways, perhaps because I never did anything of the kind myself. Nobody can say that I ever robbed anybody who was poor or defenceless or foolish. By heavens, I am a more honest man than hundreds of London and New York capitalists. It is the hard rogues amongst us who have always been my mark. But to injure and wound women and children!"

"Which means that you are going to help me?" Chris asked, quietly.

"As far as I can, certainly. Especially as you are going to let Henson down easily. Now please ask me any questions that you like."

"This is very good of you," said Chris. "In the first place, did you ever hear Mr. Henson speak of his relations or friends?"

"Nobody beyond Lord Littimer. You see, Henson and I were extremely useful to one another once or twice, but he never trusted me, and I never trusted him. I never cared for his methods."

"Did you go to Brighton lately on purpose to help him?"

"Certainly not. I had business in Brighton for some considerable time, and my daughter was with me. When she went away to stay with friends for a short time I moved to the Metropole."

"Then why did you go to Walen's in Brighton and ask them to show you some gun-metal cigar-cases like the one in Lockhart's window?"

"Simply because Henson asked me to. He came to me just before I went to the Metropole and told me he had a big thing on. He didn't give me the least idea what it was, nor did I ask him. He suggested the idea of the cigar-case, and said that I need not go near Walen's again, and I didn't. I assure you I had no curiosity on the matter. In any case a little thing like that couldn't hurt me. Some days later Henson came to me again, and asked me to go to Lockhart's and purchase the cigar-case I had previously seen. He wanted me to get the case so that I could not be traced. Again I agreed. I was leaving the Metropole the next day, so the matter was easy. I called and purchased the cigar-case on approval, I forwarded dollar-notes in payment from the Metropole, and the next day I left."

"And you did all that without a single question?"

"I did. It was only a little consideration for an old confederate."

"And suppose that confederate had played you false?"

Two tiny points of flame danced in Rawlins's eyes.

"Henson would never have dared," he said. "My mind was quite easy on that score."

"I understand," Chris murmured. "And you kept the cigar-case?"

"Yes, I rather liked it. And I could afford a luxury of that kind just then."

"Then why did you dispose of it to Rutter's in Moreton Wells? And why
Moreton Wells?"

Rawlins laughed as he lighted a fresh cigarette.

"I came to Moreton Wells knowing that Henson was at Littimer Castle," he explained. "I went there to borrow £200 from Henson. Unfortunately I found him in great need of money. Somebody who had promised him a large sum of money had disappointed him."

Chris smiled. She had heard all about Lady Littimer's adventure with the ring, and her stubborn refusal to give Henson any further supplies.

"Presently I can tell you who disappointed Henson," she said. "But fancy you being short of—"

"Of ready money; I frequently am. One of your great millionaires told me lately that he was frequently hard up for a thousand pounds cash. I have frequently been hard up for five pounds. Hence the fact that I sold the cigar-case at Moreton Wells."

"Well, the ground is clear so far," said Chris. "Do you know Van Sneck?"

"I know Van Sneck very well," Rawlins said, without hesitation. "A wonderfully clever man."

"And a great scoundrel, I presume?"

"Well, on the whole, I should say not. Weak, rather than wicked. Van
Sneck has been a tool and creature of Henson's for years. If he could
only keep away from the drink he might make a fortune. But what has Van
Sneck got to do with it?"

"A great deal," Chris said, drily. "And now, please, follow carefully what I am going to say. A little time ago we poor, persecuted women put our heads together to get free from Reginald Henson. We agreed to ask Mr. David Steel, the well-known novelist, to show us a way of escape. Unhappily for us, Henson got to know of it."

Rawlins was really interested at last.

"Pardon me," he said, eagerly, "if I ask a question or two before you proceed. Is Mr. David Steel the gentleman who found a man half murdered in his house in Brighton?"

"The same. But don't you know who the injured man was?"

"You don't mean to say it was Van Sneck?" Rawlins cried.

Chris nodded gravely. Rawlins looked like a man who was groping about in a sudden dazzle of blinding light.

"I begin to understand," he muttered. "The scoundrel!"

"After that I will resume," Chris said. "You must understand that Mr. Steel was a stranger to us. We hit upon the idea of interviewing him anonymously, so to speak, and we were going to give him a gun-metal cigar-case mounted in diamonds. A friend of mine purchased that cigar-case at Lockhart's. Mind you, Reginald Henson knew all about this. The same day Henson's tool, Van Sneck, purchased a similar case from Walen's—a case really procured for your approval—and later on in the day the case passed from Van Sneck to Henson, who dexterously changed the cases."

"Complex," Rawlins muttered. "But I begin to see what is coming."

"The cases were changed, and the one from Walen's in due course became Mr. Steel's. Now note where Henson's diabolical cunning comes in. The same night Van Sneck is found half murdered in Mr. Steel's house, and in his pocket is the receipt for the very cigar-case that Mr. Steel claimed as his own property."

"Very awkward for Steel," Rawlins said, thoughtfully.

"Of course it was. And why was it done? So that we should be forced to come forward and exonerate Mr. Steel from blame. We should have had to tell the whole story, and then Henson would have learnt what steps we were taking to get rid of him."

Rawlins was quiet for some time. Admiration for the scheme was uppermost in his mind, but there was another thought that caused him to glance curiously at Chris.

"And that is all you know?" he asked.

"Not quite," Chris replied. "I know that on the day of the attempted murder Van Sneck quarrelled with Reginald Henson, who he said had treated him badly. Van Sneck had in some way found out that Reginald Henson meant mischief to Mr. Steel. Also he couldn't get the money he wanted. Probably he had purchased that cigar-case at Walen's, and Henson could not repay him for the purchase of it. Then he went off and wrote to Mr. Steel, asking the latter to see him, as he had threatened Henson he would do."

"Ah!" Rawlins exclaimed, suddenly. "Are you sure of this?"

"Certain. I heard it from a man who was with Van Sneck at the time, a man called Merritt."

"James Merritt. Really, you have been in choice company, Miss Lee. Your knowledge of the criminal classes is getting extensive and peculiar."

"Merritt told me this. And an answer came back."

"An answer from Mr. Steel?"

"Purporting to be an answer from Mr. Steel. A very clever forgery, as a matter of fact. Of course that forgery was Henson's work, because we know that Henson coolly ordered notepaper in Mr. Steel's name. He forgot to pay the bill, and that is how the thing came out. Besides, the little wad of papers on which the forgery was written is in Mr. Steel's hands. Now, what do you make of that?"

Rawlins turned the matter over thoughtfully in his mind.

"Did Henson know that Mr. Steel would be from home that night?" he asked.

"Of course. He probably also knew where our meeting with Mr. Steel was to take place."

"Then the matter is pretty obvious," said Rawlins. "Van Sneck, by some means or other, gets an inkling of what is going on. He wanted money from Henson, which he couldn't get, Henson being very short lately, and then they quarrelled. Van Sneck was fool enough to threaten Henson with what he was going to do. Van Sneck's note was dispatched by hand and intercepted by Henson with a reply. By the way, will you be good enough to give me the gist of the reply?"

"It was a short letter from Mr. Steel and signed with his initials, and saying in effect that he was at home every night and would see Van Sneck about twelve or some time like that. He was merely to knock quietly, as the household would be in bed, and Mr. Steel would let him in."

"And Mr. Steel never wrote that letter at all?"

"No; for the simple reason that he never had Van Sneck's note."

"Which Henson intercepted, of course. Now, the mere fact of the reply coming on Mr. Steel's paper is evidence that Henson had plotted some other or alternative scheme against Mr. Steel. How long before the cigar-case episode had you decided to consult the novelist?"

"We began to talk about it nine or ten days before."

"And Henson got to hear of it. Then a better idea occurred to Henson, and the first idea which necessitated getting hold of Mr. Steel's notepaper was abandoned. Subsequently, as you have just told me, the note-paper came in useful after all. Henson knew that Steel would be out that night. And, therefore, Van Sneck is deliberately lured to Steel's house to be murdered there."

"I see," Chris said, faintly. "This had never occurred to me before.
Murdered, by whom?"

"By whom? Why, by Reginald Henson, of course."

Just for a moment Chris felt as if all the world was slipping away under her feet.

"But how could he do it?" she asked.

"Quite easily. And throw all the blame on Mr. Steel. Look at the evidence he had ready to his hand against the latter. The changed cigar-case would come near to hang a man. And Van Sneck was in the way. Steel goes out to meet you or some of your friends. All his household are in bed. As a novelist he comes and goes as he likes and nobody takes any heed. He goes and leaves his door on the latch. Any money it is the common latch they put on thousands of doors. Henson lets himself into the house and coolly waits Van Sneck's coming. The rest you can imagine."

Chris had no reply for a moment or two. Rawlins's suggestion had burst upon her like a bomb. And it was all so dreadfully, horribly probable. Henson could have done this thing with absolute impunity. It was impossible to imagine for a moment that David Steel was the criminal. Who else could it be, then, but Reginald Henson?

"I'm afraid this has come as a shock to you," Rawlins said, quietly.

"It has, indeed," said Chris. "And your reasoning is so dreadfully logical."

"Well, I may be wrong, after all," Rawlins suggested.

Chris shook her head doubtfully. She felt absolutely assured that Rawlins was right. But, then, Henson would hardly have run so terrible a risk for a little thing like that. He could easily have silenced Van Sneck by a specious promise or two. There must be another reason for—

It came to Chris in a moment. She saw the light quite plainly.

"Mr. Smith," she said, eagerly, "where did you first meet Henson and
Van Sneck?"

"We first came together some eight years ago in Amsterdam."

"Would you mind telling me what your business was?"

"So far as I can recollect it was connected with some old silver—William and Mary and Queen Anne cups and jardiniÈres. We had made a bit of a find that we could authenticate, but we wanted a lot of the stuff, well—faked. You see, Van Sneck was an authority on that kind of thing, and we employed him to cut marks off small genuine things and attach them to spurious large ones. On the whole, we made a very successful business of it for a long time."

"You found Van Sneck an excellent copyist. Did he ever copy anything for you?"

"No. But Henson employed him now and again. Van Sneck could construct a thing from a mere description. There was a ring he did for Henson—"

"Was that called Prince Rupert's ring, by any chance?"

"That was the name of the ring. Why?"

"We will come to that presently. Did you ever see Prince Rupert's ring?"

"Well, I did. It was in Amsterdam again, about a year later than the time I mentioned just now. Henson brought the real ring for Van Sneck to copy. Van Sneck went into raptures over it. He said he had never seen anything of the kind so beautiful. He made a copy of the ring, which he handed back with the original to Henson."

Chris nodded. This pretty faithful copy of the ring was the one that Henson had used as a magnet to draw Lady Littimer's money and the same one that had found its way into Steel's possession. But Chris had another idea to follow up.

"You hinted to me just now that Henson was short of money," she said. "Do you mean to say he is in dire need of some large sum?"

"That's it," Rawlins replied. "I rather fancy there has been some stir with the police over some business up at Huddersfield some years ago."

"A so-called home both there and at Brighton?"

"That's it. It was the idea that Henson conveyed to me when I saw him at Moreton Wells. It appears that a certain Inspector Marley, of the Brighton Police, is the same man who used to have the warrants for the Huddersfield affair in his hands. Henson felt pretty sure that Marley had recognised him. He told me that if the worst came to the worst he had something he could sell to Littimer for a large sum of money."

"I know," Chris exclaimed. "It is the Prince Rupert's ring."

"Well, I can't say anything about that. Is this ring a valuable property?"

"Not in itself. But the loss of it has caused a dreadful lot of misery and suffering. Mr. Smith, Reginald Henson had no business with that ring at all. He stole it and made it appear as if somebody else had done so by means of conveying the copy to the very last person who should have possessed it. That sad business broke up a happy home and has made five people miserable for many years. And whichever way you turn, whichever way you look, you find the cloven foot of Henson everywhere. Now, what you have told me just now gives me a new idea. The secret that Henson was going to sell to Lord Littimer for a large sum was the story of the missing ring and the restitution of the same."

"Kind of brazening it out, you mean?"

"Yes. Lord Littimer would give three times ten thousand pounds to have that ring again. But at this point Henson has met with a serious check in his plans. Driven into a corner, he has resolved to make a clean breast of it to Lord Littimer. He procures the ring from his strong box, and then he makes a discovery."

"Which is more than I have. Pray proceed."

"He discovers that he has not got the real Prince Rupert's ring."

Rawlins looked up with a slightly puzzled air.

"Will you kindly tell me what you mean?" he said.

"It was a forgery. Van Sneck made a copy from a mere description. That copy served its purpose with a vengeance, and is now at the bottom of the North Sea. I need not go into details, because it is a family secret, and does not concern our conversation at all. At that time the real ring came into Henson's possession, and he wanted a copy to hold over the head of an unfortunate lady whom he would have ruined before long. You told me just now that Van Sneck had fallen in love with Prince Rupert's ring and could hardly bear to part with it. He didn't."

"No? But how could he retain it?"

"Quite easily. The copy was quite faithful, but still it was a copy. But secretly Van Sneck makes a copy that would deceive everybody but an expert, and this he hands over to—"

"To Henson as the real ring," Rawlins cried, excitedly.

Chris smiled, a little pleased at her acumen.

"Precisely," she said. "I see that you are inclined to be of my opinion."

"Well, upon my word, I am," Rawlins confessed. "But I don't quite see why—"

"Please let me finish," Chris went on, excitedly. "Reginald Henson is driven back on his last trenches. He has to get the ring for Lord Littimer. He takes out the ring after all these years, never dreaming that Van Sneck would dare to play such a trick upon him, and finds out the forgery. Did you ever see that man when he is really angry?"

"He is not pretty then," Rawlins said.

"Pretty! He is murder personified. Kindly try to imagine his feelings when he discovers he has been deceived. Mind you, this is only a theory of mine, but I feel certain that it will prove correct. Henson's last hope is snatched away from him. But he does not go straight to Van Sneck and accuse him of his duplicity. He knows that Van Sneck stole the ring for sheer love of the gem, and that he would not dare to part with it. He assumes that the ring is in Van Sneck's possession. And when Van Sneck threatened to expose part of the business to Mr. Steel, Henson makes no attempt to soothe him. Why? Because he sees a cunning way of getting back the ring. He himself lures Van Sneck to Mr. Steel's house, and there he almost murders him for the sake of the ring. Of course, he meant to kill Van Sneck in such a way that the blame could not possibly fall upon him."

"Can you prove that he knew anything about it?"

"I can prove that he knew who Van Sneck was at a time when the hospital people were doing their best to identify the man. And I know how fearfully uneasy he was when he got to know that some of us were aware who Van Sneck was. It has been a pretty tangle for a long time, but the skein is all coming out smoothly at last. And if we could get the ring which Henson forced by violence from Van Sneck—"

"Excuse me. He did nothing of the kind."

Chris looked up eagerly.

"Oh," she cried, "have you more to tell me, then?"

"Nothing authentic," Rawlins said; "merely surmise. Van Sneck is going to recover. If he does it will be hard for Henson, who ought to get away with his plunder at once. Why doesn't he go and blackmail Lord Littimer and sell him the ring and clear out of the country? He doesn't do so because the ring is not yet in his possession."

"Then you imagine that Van Sneck—"

"Still has the ring probably in his possession at the present moment. If you only knew where Van Sneck happened to be."

Chris rose to her feet with an excited cry.

"I do know," she exclaimed; "he is in the house where he was half murdered. And Mr. Steel shall know all this before he sleeps to-night."