The dead having been buried, and the will read, and the business arranged by Mr. Barras, with the assistance of Clarice, things settled down into the usual quiet jog-trot of existence. The reward offered for the apprehension¹ of Alfred Osip remained unclaimed, as neither Sims, nor his fellow-detectives, could discover the whereabouts of the assassin. He had vanished as completely as though the earth had swallowed him up, and gradually all interest in the case died away. Even in Crumel, people almost forgot, and, indeed, Horran had been merely a name to the townspeople for so long, that he was not missed, as a more prominent man would have been.  
Ferdy returned to London and to his studies under Dr. Jerce on the day after the funeral, leaving Clarice to manage affairs. The doctor himself never reappeared again at Crumel for some time, and never even sent a message through Ferdy when the boy wrote. Nevertheless, Clarice could not help thinking that in some way Jerce was not inactive, and that he would yet make trouble. She had attempted to see Mr. Clarke and his daughter, after Ferdy had taken his departure; but found, to her surprise--for the parson was a notable stay-at-home--that they had gone to Brighton for a few weeks. A locum tenens occupied the pulpit of the ancient church, and his sermons pleased the congregation much more than the discourses² of Mr. Clarke. Prudence³ had left a note for Clarice, saying that her father was ill, and had to take a rest, and also asking her to do nothing about the thousand pound loan until the vicar returned. But Clarice noted⁴ that the girl gave no address where letters might be sent to, and on making enquiries at the vicarage, found that the same reticence⁵ had been observed there. Mr. Clarke's letters, therefore, accumulated until his return--in three weeks. Clarice heard the news, when she was conversing⁶ with Anthony.
 
Captain Ackworth came over nearly every day, and had long conversations with Clarice. He urged her--now that she was her own mistress--to marry him forthwith, and be happy, but this she resolutely⁷ declined to do. On this very occasion, three weeks after the burial of Henry Horran, the young man was still urging, and Clarice was still refusing.
 
"Dear," she said to her lover, "I have my duty to perform towards Ferdy."
 
Anthony, who was walking up and down the long drawing-room, uttered an angry growl⁸. "Why should you make yourself miserable⁹ over that silly boy?" he demanded, crossly.
 
"Just because he is a silly boy and my brother. Wait until he is married to Prudence, and then I'll become your wife, whenever you like, my dear. I'm sure," added Clarice, with a sigh, "I would give anything to marry you now, and be happy."
 
"That rests with yourself," said Anthony, coming to the sofa and putting his arm round her waist. "Clarice, you suffer too much from a very aggressive conscience."
 
"All the better for our married life," said the girl, gaily¹⁰, "think how anxious I shall be to please my fireside tyrant¹¹."
 
"I am afraid you will be the tyrant, dearest. See how unable I am to make you do what I want."
 
"Because it would not be right, Anthony. I wish to settle all things connected with the past before I begin a new life with you."
 
"I fancied--according to your own way of putting it--that the new epoch¹² had begun," joked Ackworth.
 
"It has, and it has not. My new epoch begins with my marriage to you, darling, and the old epoch ended with Uncle Henry's death. This is a kind of interregnum--"
 
"Which will end--?"
 
"When Ferdy is married."
 
"And when will that be?"
 
"As soon as I can arrange. Anthony, what is the use of talking more about the matter? I have told you how necessary it is, that Ferdy should have someone to guide him. While he is unmarried I must be his guide, but when Prudence becomes his wife, I have every hope that she will be able to keep him in order."
 
"Well, then, I wish you would marry the young scamp as soon as you can," said Ackworth, rather wounded. "It seems to me, Clarice, that you love him more than you do me."
 
"My dearest, the weakest always require the most love. You are strong, Anthony; you can walk alone. But poor weak Ferdy--"
 
"Selfish, greedy Ferdy," contradicted Ackworth. "I should like to give him a good thrashing."
 
"Well," said Clarice, musingly¹³; "I don't think that would hurt him."
 
"It would," said Ackworth, grimly, "if I administered it."
 
"What nonsense! Don't frown"--she smoothed away a wrinkle or two on his forehead, and then kissed him as he was about to speak. "I do not wish to argue any more, my dear, obstinate¹⁴, darling sweetheart. I may as well tell you that the Clarkes return to-morrow, as I heard this morning. I'll see them in the afternoon, and arrange as soon as possible about Ferdy's marriage. Then--and not till then--we,----"
 
"All right," interrupted Anthony, and stole a kiss in his turn, "but will Ferdy give up that dancing girl?"
 
"Why, I told you that he had done so. Zara went away immediately after the funeral, and her mother accompanied her to stop in Town for a week or so. Ferdy has forgotten all about Zara by this time. It is just as well," sighed Clarice, "as I had to pay those awful bills. Two thousand pounds, Anthony. Think of it."
 
"Oh, I always knew that Ferdy could get through no end of cash," said Ackworth, coolly, "especially when Butterfly had him in tow. But now that he has escaped her, I dare say he'll marry Miss Clarke."
 
"He is willing enough to do so," said Clarice, "and I think that he really loves her, as much as his weak nature will allow him to love anyone but himself. The opposition--so I gathered from Ferdy--is on the part of Mr. Clarke."
 
"But why, seeing that Mr. Clarke is in your debt, and should be glad that his daughter should make a rich marriage?"
 
"I can't explain, Anthony. Mr. Clarke certainly seemed to be pleased when the marriage was announced--that is, the engagement. Why he should have changed his mind, I can't say. But I'll know to-morrow."
 
"Well, then, when this is settled we can look after our own happiness?" said the Captain.
 
"Yes. You know, I want to have you, all to myself."
 
"I know, I know. I am of the same way of thinking. Also my father and mother are most anxious to meet you again. They are old, and want a sweet daughter in the house. I am an only child, you know, Clarice, so when I marry you I'll chuck the army, and we can live near the old people."
 
"I should not like you to leave the army," said Clarice, thoughtfully; "you must have something to do in life."
 
"I'll make love to you, dear. However, I'll obey your slightest command. Indeed, Clarice, I often wish that you would allow me to help you now."
 
"In what way. I have arranged all business affairs with Mr. Barras. The search for Osip is in the hands of the detectives. I am arranging about Ferdy's future as I tell you, and--and--well, everything is going smoothly¹⁵. There's nothing to be done."
 
"Have you found out where that forty thousand pounds went?"
 
"Not a trace of it. Uncle Henry received it in gold, but we have searched the room and the house and even the garden, without coming upon any buried treasure. Chalks declares that he never heard Uncle Henry say anything about money, and never saw him with any save a few sovereigns."
 
"Could Mr. Horran have hidden the gold without Chalks knowing anything about the hiding?"
 
"Oh, yes. Chalks was not always with Uncle Henry. He was frequently away for hours, and rarely sat up with him a night, unless by the doctors' orders. Uncle Henry received the gold in small sums, so could easily hide it if he wished."
 
"Or spend it in London," said Ackworth, significantly.
 
"Ah, you mean that Uncle Henry went secretly to London," said Clarice, recalling the story Anthony had told about the Shah's Rooms.
 
"Well, I saw him there with Osip, you know."
 
"Are you sure that his companion was Osip?"
 
"Yes. I did not know at the time. But when Jerce described that criss-cross scar and the thin, lean figure of the man, I am sure it was Osip. And Mr. Horran also. I knew him well enough," ended Ackworth, with emphasis, "and even in the glimpse I caught of him, I was certain."
 
"But I can't see how Uncle Henry, ill as he was, could have travelled to town," objected Clarice.
 
"My dear, we argued all this before, and I stated then, as I state now, that a quick motor-car could easily take Mr. Horran from here to London. And now, Clarice, this large sum of money which is missing, points to the fact that Mr. Horran must have secretly led a gay life, and that his illness was merely an excuse to hide his real existence."
 
"No, no!" said Clarice, with horror, "I can't think Uncle Henry was so wicked; and remember, the doctors found out what he suffered from, and that it was a real disease."
 
"Humph! Perhaps," said Ackworth, grudgingly¹⁶; "but the money?"
 
"I can't say anything about that."
 
"If Mr. Horran had forty thousand paid to him in gold," said Anthony, firmly, "he must either have spent it by secretly going to town, and to places like the Shah's Rooms, where I saw him; or he must have concealed¹⁷ the money somewhere. Now you can't find the money and the lawyer can't account for it in a business way. It only

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