Bell's professional enthusiasm got the better of his curiosity for the moment. It was a nice psychological problem. Already Steel was impulsively busy in the conservatory pulling the pots down. It was a regretful thing to have to do, but everything had to be sacrificed, David shut his teeth grimly and proceeded with his task.

"What on earth are you doing?" Bell asked, with a smile.

"Pulling the place to pieces," David responded. "I daresay I shall feel pretty sick about it later on, but the thing has to be done. Cut those wires for me, and let those creepers down as tenderly as possible. We can't get to the little pots until we have moved the big ones."

Bell coolly declined to do anything of the kind. He surveyed the two graceful banks of flowers there, the carefully trained creepers trailing so naturally and yet so artistically from the roof to the ground, and the sight pleased him.

"My dear chap," he said, "I am not going to sit here and allow you to destroy the work of so many hours. There is not the slightest reason to disturb anything. Unless I am greatly mistaken, Van Sneck will lay his had upon the ring for us without so much as the sacrifice of a blossom."

"I don't fancy so," Van Sneck replied. "I can't remember."

"Well, you are going to," Bell said, cheerfully. "Did you ever hear of artificial memory?"

"The sort of thing you get in law courts and political speeches?" David suggested. "All the same, if you have some patent way of getting at the facts I shall be only too glad to spare my poor flowers. Their training has been a labour of love with me."

Bell smoked on quietly for some time. He toyed with the red blossoms which had so stimulated Van Sneck's recollection, then tossed a spray over to Van Sneck and suggested that the latter should put it in his button-hole.

"So as to have the fragrance with you all the time," he said.

Van Sneck obeyed quietly, remarking that the scent was very pungent. The Dutchman was restless and ill at ease; he seemed to be dissatisfied with himself—he had the air of a man who has set out with two or three extremely important matters of business and who has completely forgotten what one of them is.

"You needn't distress yourself," David said, kindly.

"I beg your pardon," Bell said, tartly. "He is to do that very same thing. Mental exercise never hurts anybody. Van Sneck is going to worry till he puzzles it out. Will you describe the ring to us?"

The Dutchman complied at considerable length. He dwelt on the beauty of the workmanship and the exceeding fineness of the black pearls; he talked with the freedom and expression of the expert. Bell permitted him to ramble on about historic rings in general. But all the same he could see that Van Sneck was far from easy in his mind. Now and then a sudden gleam came into his eyes: memory played for the fragment of a second on a certain elusive chord and was gone.

"Were you smoking the night you came here?" Bell asked, suddenly.

"Yes," Van Sneck replied, "a cigarette. Henson handed it over to me. I don't deny that I was terribly frightened, I smoked the cigarette out of bravado."

"You went into the conservatory yonder and admired the flowers,"
Bell observed.

Van Sneck looked up with astonishment and admiration.

"I did," he confessed. "But I don't see how you know that."

"I guessed it. It takes the brain some little time to get level to the imagination. And as soon as you came face to face with Henson you knew what was going to happen. You were a little dazed and frightened, and a little overcome by liquor into the bargain. But even then, though you were probably unconscious of it yourself, you were seeking some place to hide the ring."

"I rather believe I was," Van Sneck said, thoughtfully.

"You smoked a cigarette there. Where did you put the end?"

Van Sneck rose and went into the conservatory. He walked directly to a large pot of stephanotis in a distant corner and picked the stump of a gold-tipped cigarette from thence.

"I dropped it in there," he said. "Strange; if you had asked me that question two minutes ago I should not have been able to answer it. And now I distinctly remember pitching it in there and watching it scorch some of that beautiful lace-like moss. There is a long trail of it hanging down behind. I recollect how funnily it occurred to me, even in the midst of my danger, that the trail would look better brought over the front of the pot. Thus."

He lifted the long, graceful spiral and brought it forward. Steel nodded, approvingly.

"I came very near to dropping the ring in there," Van Sneck explained. "I had it in my fingers—I took it for the purpose from my waistcoat-pocket. Then I saw Henson's eye on me and I changed my mind. I wish I had been more sober."

Bell was examining a pot a little lower down. A piece had been chipped off, leaving a sharp, clean, red edge with a tiny tip of hair upon it.

"You fell here," he exclaimed. "Your head struck the pot. Here is a fragment of your hair on it. It is human hair beyond a doubt, and the shade matches to a nicety. After that—"

A sudden cry broke from the Dutchman.

"I've got it!" he exclaimed. "You have cleverly led my mind into the right direction. The only marvel is that I did not think of it before. You will find the ring in the pot where the tuberose grows. I am quite certain you will find it amongst the moss at the base."

David carefully scooped up all the loose moss from the pot and laid it on the study table. Then he shook the stuff out, and something glittering lay on the table—a heavy ring of the most exquisite and cunning workmanship, with a large gem in the centre, flanked by black pearls on either side. Van Sneck took it in his fingers lovingly.

"Here you are," he said. "Ach, the beauty! Well, you've got it now, and do you take care of it lest it falls into my hands again. If I got a chance I would steal it once more, and yet again, and again. Ah, what mischief those things cause, to be sure!"

The speaker hardly knew how much mischief the ring in question had caused, nor did his companions seek to enlighten him. David wrapped it up carefully and placed it in his pocket.

"I'm glad that is settled," he said. "And I'm glad that I didn't have to injure my flowers. Bell, you really are a most wonderful fellow."

Bell smiled with the air of a man who is well satisfied with himself. At this moment a servant came in with a message to the effect that Inspector Marley desired to see Mr. Steel on important business.

"Couldn't have come at a better time," David murmured. "Ask Mr.
Marley in here."

Marley came smilingly, yet mysterious. He evinced no surprise at the sight of Van Sneck. He was, doubtless, aware of the success of the operation on the latter. He particularly desired to know where Mr. Reginald Henson was to be found.

"This is a queer place to look for him," said Steel.

"But he was here yesterday," Marley protested. "He had an accident."

"Bogus," said Steel. "We turned him out of the house. Is he wanted?"

Marley explained that he was wanted on three different charges; in fact, the inspector had the warrants in his pocket at the present moment.

"Well, it's only by good chance that you haven't got one for me," David laughed. "If you have ten minutes to spare, between Van Sneck and myself we can clear up the mystery of the diamond-mounted cigar-case for you."

Marley had the time to spare, and, indeed, he was keen enough to hear the solution of the mystery. A short explanation from David, followed by a few pithy, pertinent questions to Van Sneck, and he was perfectly satisfied.

"And yet I seemed to have an ideal case against you, Mr. Steel," he said. "Seems almost a pity to cut a career like Mr. Henson's short, does it not? Which reminds me that I am wasting time here. Any time you and Van Sneck happen to be passing the police-station the cigar-case is entirely at your disposal."

And Marley bustled off upon the errand that meant so much for Reginald Henson. He was hardly out of the house before Ruth Gates arrived. She looked a little distressed; she would not stay for a moment, she declared. Her machine was outside, and she was riding over to Longdean without delay. A note had just been sent to her from Chris.

"My uncle is in Paris," she said. "So I am going over to Longdean for a few days. Lord Littimer is there, and Frank also. The reconciliation is complete and absolute. Chris says the house is not the same now, and that she didn't imagine that it could be so cheerful. Reginald Henson—"

"My dear child, Henson is not there now."

"Well, he is. He went there last night, knowing that he was at his last gasp, with the idea of getting more money from Lady Littimer. To his great surprise he found Littimer there also. It was anything but a pleasant interview for Mr. Henson, who was finally turned out of the house. It is supposed that he came back again, for they found him this morning in the grounds with one of the dogs upon him. He is most horribly hurt, and lies at the lodge in a critical condition. I promised Chris that I would bring a message to you from Lord Littimer. He wants you and Dr. Bell to come over this afternoon and stay to dinner."

"We'll come, with pleasure," David said. "I'll go anywhere to have the chance of a quiet hour with you, Ruth. So far ours has been rather a prosaic wooing. And, besides, I shall want you to coach me up on my interview with your uncle. You have no idea how nervous I am. And at the last he might refuse to accept me for your husband."

Ruth looked up fondly into her lover's face.

"As if he could," she said, indignantly. "As if any man could find fault with you."

David drew the slender figure to his side and kissed the sweet, shy lips.

"When you are my wife," he said, "and come to take a closer and tenderer interest in my welfare—"

"Could I take a deeper interest than I do now, David?"

"Well, perhaps not. But you will find that a good many people find fault with me. You have no idea what the critics say sometimes. They declare that I am an impostor, a copyist; they say that I am—"

"Let them say what they like," Ruth laughed. "That is mere jealousy, and anybody can criticise. To me you are the greatest novelist alive."

There was only one answer to this, and Ruth broke away, declaring that she must go at once.

"But you will come this afternoon?" she said. "And you will make Lord Littimer like you. Some people say he is queer, but I call him an old darling."

"He will like me, he is bound to. I've got something, a present for him, that will render him my slave for life. Au revoir till the gloaming."

* * * * *

The dew was rising from the grass, the silence of the perfect morning was broken by the uneasy cries of the dogs. From their strange whimpering Williams felt pretty sure that something was wrong. At most times he would have called the dogs to him and laid into them with a whip, for Williams knew no fear, and the hounds respected his firm yet kindly rule.

But Williams was in an exceptionally good temper this morning. Everything had turned out as he had hoped for and anticipated, and the literal kicking-out of Henson the previous evening was still fresh and sweet in his memory. It would be something to boast of in his declining years.

"Drat the dogs," he exclaimed. "Now, what's the matter? I had better go and see. Got a fox in a hole, perhaps! We shall have to tie 'em up in future."

Williams darted into the thicket. Then he came full upon Henson, lying on his back, with his white, unconscious face and staring eyes turned to the sky, and two great dogs fussing uneasily about him. A big pup close by had a large swelling on his head. By Henson's side lay the ash stick he had picked up when pursued by Merritt.

Williams bent over the stark, still figure and shuddered as he saw how his clothing was all torn away from the body; saw the deep wounds in the chest and throat; he could see that Henson still breathed. His loud shouts for assistance brought Frank Littimer and the lodge-keeper to the spot. Together they carried the body to the lodge and sent for the doctor.

"The case is absolutely hopeless," Walker said, after he had made his examination. "The poor fellow may linger till the morning, but I doubt if he will recognise anybody again. Does anybody know how the thing came about?"

Nobody but Merritt could have thrown any light upon the mystery, and he was far away. Williams shook his head as he thought of his parting with Henson the previous night.

"I let him out and closed the gate behind him," he said. "He must have come back for something later on and gone for the dogs. He certainly hit one of the pups over the head with a stick, and that probably set the others on to him. Nobody will ever know the rights of the business."

And nobody ever did, for Henson lingered on through the day and far into the night. At the house Lord Littimer was entertaining a party at dinner. Everything had been explained; the ring had been produced and generally admired. All was peace and happiness. They were all on the terrace in the darkness when Williams came up from the lodge.

"Is there any further news?" Lord Littimer asked.

"Yes, my lord," Williams said, quietly. "Dr. Walker has just come, and would like to see you at once. Mr. Reginald Henson died ten minutes ago."

A hush came over the hitherto noisy group. It was some little time before Lord Littimer returned. He had only to confirm the news. Reginald Henson was dead; he had escaped justice, after all.

"Well, I'm not sorry," Lady Littimer said. "It is a rare disgrace saved to the family. And there have been trouble and sorrow enough and to spare."

"But your own good name, my dear?" Lord Littimer said. "And Frank's?"

"We can live all that down, my dear husband. Frank will be too happy with Chris to care what gossips say. And Dr. Bell and Enid will be as happy as the others."

"And Ruth and myself, too," David said, quietly. "Later on I shall tell in a book how three sirens got me into a perfect sea of mischief."

"What shall you call the book?" Littimer asked.

"What better title could I have," David said, "than The Crimson Blind?"

*****

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