And then, with no premonitory warning, Carden became the victim of a curious physical illusion.

Staring down at the long piece of blue paper, he found that he was only able to master the signature, in both cases the same, with which each letter terminated. Sometimes only one word, one name--that of _Pansy_--stood out clearly, and then again he seemed only to see the other word, the other name--that of _Jarvice_. The two names appeared to play hide-and-seek with one another, to leap out alternately and smite his eyes, pressing and printing themselves upon his brain.

At last, while he was still staring silently, obstinately, at the black lines dancing before him, he heard the words, and they seemed to be coming from a long way off, "Theodore! Oh, my boy, what is the matter?"

and then Major Lane's voice, full of rather angry concern, "Rouse yourself, Carden, you are frightening your father."

"Am I?" he said dully; "I mustn't do that;" then, handing back the sheet of foolscap to the Head Constable, he said hoa.r.s.ely, "I can't make them out. Will you read them to me?"

And Major Lane, in pa.s.sionless accents, read aloud the two letters which he already almost knew by heart.

6, LIGHTWOOD PLACE,

_January 28th_.

You told me to write to you if ever I was in real trouble and thought you could help me. Oh! Theo, darling, I am in great trouble, and life, especially since that happy time--you know when I mean--is more wretched than ever. You used to say I was extraordinarily pretty, I wonder if you would say so now, for I am simply ill--worn out with worry. He--you know who--has found out something; such a little insignificant thing; and since then he makes my life unbearable with his stupid jealousy. It isn't as if he knew about you and me, that would be something real to grumble at, wouldn't it, darling? Sometimes I feel tempted to tell him all about it. How he would stare! He is incapable of understanding anything romantic. However, I'm in no mood for laughing now. He's got a woman in to watch me, a governess, but luckily I've quite got her to be on my side, though of course I haven't told her anything about my private affairs.

Will you meet me one day this week, to-morrow if you can, at No.

15, Calthorpe Street? Four o'clock is the safest time for me.

Between the two small shops you will see a swing door with "Madame Paula, Milliner," on it; push it open and go straight upstairs. On the first landing you will see a door with "Gone out, enquire upstairs," on it. Push up the door k.n.o.b (don't try to turn it) and walk in. The room will be empty, but you will see a door leading to a back room; push _up_ the k.n.o.b and there--there you will find your poor little Pansy, fainting with joy at seeing her big strong Theo again.

Send me a postcard, saying, "Mrs. Jarvice can be fitted on (day you select)." If posted before eleven, it will reach me in time. Of course, I'm running a risk in meeting you _here_, so near my home, but I _must_ see you, for I have a great favour to ask you, Theo, and I dare not propose going away even for one day.

PANSY JARVICE.

Major Lane paused a moment, then went on:

Theo, I wrote to you ten days ago, but I have had no answer. I am dreadfully worried; I know you are in Birmingham, for I saw your name in a paper before I wrote to you. I have gone through such terrible days waiting for the postcard I asked you to send me.

Write, if only to say you don't want to hear again of poor miserable

PANSY JARVICE.

"I suppose you will now admit that you know who wrote these letters?"

asked Major Lane sternly.

"Yes--at least I suppose they were written by Mrs. Jarvice."

Theodore Carden spoke with a touch of impatience. The question seemed to him to be, on the part of his father's old friend, a piece of useless cruelty.

"And can you suggest to whom they were written, if not to yourself?"

"No, of course not; I do not doubt that they were written to me," and this time his face was ravaged with a horror and despair to which the other two men had, so far, no clue. "And yet," he added, a touch of surprise in his voice, "I never saw these letters--they never reached me."

"But of course you received others?"

Major Lane spoke with a certain eagerness; then, as the young man seemed to hesitate, he added hastily: "Nay, nay--say nothing that might incriminate yourself."

"But indeed--indeed I have never received a letter from her--that perhaps is why I did not know the handwriting."

"Theodore!" cried his father sharply, "think what you are saying! What you've been shown are only copies--surely you understood that? What Lane has just shown you are copies of letters which purport to have been addressed to you, but which were intercepted on their way to the post--is that not so?" and he turned to the Head Constable.

"Yes," said Major Lane; then he added, very deliberately.

"The originals of these two letters, which were bought for a large sum from Mrs. Jarvice's governess, evidently the woman referred to in the first letter, are now in the hands of the news editor of the _Birmingham Dispatch_. I was shown them as a great favour"--a grim smile distorted, for a moment, the Head Constable's narrow jaw.

"I did my best--for your father's sake, Theodore--to frighten these people into giving them up; I even tried to persuade them to hold them over, but it was no good. I was told that no Birmingham paper had ever had such a--'scoop', I believe, was the word used. You and your father are so well known in this city." And again Theodore Carden marvelled at the cruelty of the man.

Thomas Carden broke in with a touch of impatience:

"But nothing else has been found, my boy! Lane should tell you that the whole theory of your having known Mrs. Jarvice rests on these two letters--which never reached you."

Father and son seemed suddenly to have changed places. The old man spoke in a strong, self-confident tone, but the other, his grey face supported on his hands, was staring fixedly into the fire.

"Yes," said Major Lane, more kindly, "I ought perhaps to tell you that within an hour of my being shown these letters I had Mrs. Jarvice's house once more searched, and nothing was found connecting you with the woman, excepting, I am sorry to say, this;"--and he held out an envelope on which was written in Theodore Carden's clear handwriting the young man's name and business address.

"Now, I should like you to tell me, if you don't mind doing so, where, when, and how this name and address came to be written?"

"Yes, I will certainly tell you."

The young man spoke collectedly; he was beginning to realise the practical outcome of the conversation.

"I wrote that address about the middle of last October, in London, at Mansell's Hotel in Pall Mall East."

"The poor fellow's going to make a clean breast of it at last," so thought Major Lane with a strange feeling of relief, for on the flap of the envelope, which he had kept carefully turned down, was stamped "Mansell's Hotel."

It was in a considerate, almost kindly tone, that the Head Constable next spoke.

"And now, I beg you, for your own sake, to tell me the truth. Perhaps I ought to inform you, before you say anything, that, according to our theory, Mrs. Jarvice was certainly a.s.sisted in procuring the drug with which there is no doubt she slowly poisoned her husband. As yet we have no clue as to the person who helped her, but we have ascertained that for the last two months, in fact, from about the date of the first letter addressed to you, a man did purchase minute quant.i.ties of this drug at Birmingham, at Wolverhampton, and at Walsall. Now, mind you, I do not suspect, I never have suspected, you of having any hand in that, but I fear you'll have to face the ordeal of being confronted with the various chemists, of whom two declare most positively that they can identify the man who brought them the prescription which obtained him the drug in question."

While Major Lane was speaking, Theodore Carden had to a certain extent regained his self-possession; here, at least, he stood on firm ground.

"Of course, I am prepared to face anything of the kind that may be necessary." He added almost inaudibly: "I have brought it on myself."

Then he turned, his whole voice altering and softening: "Father, perhaps you would not mind my asking Major Lane to go into the library with me?

I should prefer to see him alone."

II

And then the days dragged on, a week of days, each containing full measure of bitter and public humiliation; full measure also of feverish suspense, for Theodore Carden did not find it quite so easy as he had thought it would be to clear himself of this serious, and yet preposterous accusation of complicity in murder.

But Major Lane was surprised at the courage and composure with which the young man faced the ordeal of confrontation with the various men, any one of whom, through a simple mistake or nervous lapse of memory, might compel his presence, if not in the dock, then as a witness at the coming murder trial.

At last the awful ordeal was over, for, as a matter of fact, none of those brought face to face with him in the sordid promiscuity of such scenes, singled out Theodore Carden as resembling the mysterious individual who had almost certainly provided Mrs. Jarvice with the means wherewith to poison her husband.

But it was after the need for active defence had pa.s.sed away that Theodore Carden's true sufferings began.... The moment twilight fell he was haunted, physically and mentally possessed, by the presence of the woman he had known at once so little and so well--that is, of her he now knew to be Pansy Jarvice.

Especially terrible were the solitary evenings of those days when his father was away, performing the task of breaking so much of the truth as could be told to the girl to whom his son had been engaged.