SADIE MAXELL was as white as the paper on which she had been writing. “How did you get in here?”
Timothy did not answer. He stepped round so that he was between the woman and the door.
“Where is Cartwright?”
“Cartwright?” she repeated. “What do you want to know of him?”
“Lower your voice, if you please,” said Timothy sharply. “What is Cartwright to you?”
She licked her dry lips before she spoke. Then:
“I married Cartwright or Benson in Paris—years ago,” she said.
Timothy took a step back.
“You married Cartwright,” he said incredulously. “That explains why you came away?”
She was looking at him steadily.
“If it wanted any explanation—yes,” she said. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going after the man you have upstairs, the fake Moor, who came into this house half an hour ago, and I’m going to hand him to justice.”
Before he knew what had happened, she gripped him by his coat with both hands.
“You are not going to do anything of the kind, Mr. ‘Take A Chance’ Anderson,” she said between her teeth, and her voice trembled with passion. “I hated him once, but that was before I knew him. I would sooner see you dead as the other man died than that you should bring him more trouble.”
“Let me go,” said Timothy, trying to press loose her hands.
“You’ll leave this house and forget that you were ever here. Oh, you fool, you fool!”
He had wrenched himself clear of her and flung her backward.
“I have a few words to say to your friend,” he said, “and I think you’d better stay here whilst I’m saying them. I hate having family quarrels in public, anyway.”
He had not heard the door open behind him and it was the “swish” of the loaded cane which warned him. It did not strike him fair on the head, as was intended, but caught him a glancing blow and he fell on his knees, turning his face to his attacker. He knew it was Brown even before the blow fell.
“Shall I settle him?” said a voice as the stick went up again.
“No, no!” cried the woman, “for God’s sake, no!”
It was at that moment that Timothy low-tackled his assailant. Brown tried to strike, but he was too late and went crashing to the floor, his head against the wall. He made one effort to rise, and then with a groan collapsed.
Timothy rose, shaking himself and rubbing his bruised shoulder. Without a word, and with only a look at the woman, he made for the door and banged it in her face. His head was swimming as he made his way up the stairs, swaying at every step. From the broad landing at the top led three doors, only one of which was closed. He turned the handle and went in.
A man was standing by the window, which overlooked the calm expanse of ocean, glittering in the light of the rising sun. From shoulder to heel he was clad in a long white mantle and a dark blue turban encircled his head.
“Now, Cartwright,” said Timothy, “you and I will settle accounts.”
The man had not moved at the sound of the voice, but when Timothy had finished he turned.
“My God!” cried Timothy. “Sir John Maxell.”
CHAPTER THE LAST
 
“TIMOTHY,” said Mary, “I was just thinking about that beautiful house you took me to see at Cap Martin.”
“Were you, dear?” s............