Clarice said nothing, and Ferdy evaded2 the eye of Jerce, while Anthony, having put Jane out into the garden, returned and closed the drawing-room door. Considering what was to be said, it was best, as he thought, to keep the conversation as private as possible. The doctor also noted3 that Ackworth looked stern and white. By this time, he showed a slight uneasiness, as trouble was too palpably in the air for him to ignore it. Perhaps some thought of betrayal crossed his mind, for he suddenly looked apprehensively4 at young Baird. Ferdy dodged5 his eye again, and the doctor, to break an oppressive silence, made an uneasy joke.
"You are all very quiet," said he, smiling in a wry6 way. "Is it because I have forgotten my manners, and have not shaken hands? I ask all your pardons, and will do so now, Miss Baird."
"No," said Clarice, putting her hands behind her back, "and I wonder that you have the assurance even to speak to me."
"Considering that you asked me down, that is a strange speech," said Jerce, frowning, and losing his suave8 looks. "I thought that you were satisfied with my assurance that I never wrote that anonymous9 letter of which you complained?"
"I know that you did not write it."
"In that case, I shall be glad to know why you greet me in this way?" said Jerce, in icy tones. "Is it that Captain Ackworth is angry with me because I dared to love you?"
"No," said Anthony, in his turn, "and to save you further surmises10 as to what is the matter, allow me to inform you, Dr. Jerce--"
"Sir Daniel, if you please," interrupted the other, his large face becoming watchful11 and cunning; "give me my proper title."
"I can do that," said Clarice, who was restraining her wrath12 with great difficulty, "you are a scoundrel."
"Indeed," said Jerce, blanching13 and wincing14, but maintaining his composure in a most wonderful manner, considering the provocation15. "I regret that you should call an old friend by so harsh a name."
"An old friend who plotted the death of--"
"It's a lie," broke in Jerce, with a sudden flash of rage. "I never intended Horran any harm."
"By your own mouth you are condemned," said Anthony, quickly. "Miss Baird never mentioned names. Why should you think that she meant Mr. Horran, I ask you?"
"Because Horran is dead, and death was mentioned," said Jerce, striving to extricate16 himself from the difficulty. "Perhaps you will explain why I have been asked here to be insulted?"
"Would you rather that the police insulted you?" asked Anthony, coldly.
"You speak in riddles17, Captain Ackworth."
"I think you can answer them, Sir Daniel."
"I fear that I cannot," rejoined Jerce, shrugging.
But with all his calmness, an air of fear pervaded19 his whole bearing, and his cold eyes glanced uneasily from one person to another. "Will you explain the meaning of all this, Ferdinand?" he said, addressing himself to the one person in the room who had not yet spoken.
"I have explained," said Ferdy, half afraid and half defiantly22; "they know everything."
"Concerning what?" asked Jerce, wincing again, but still self-controlled.
"Clarice and Anthony know the whole business," cried the young man, his voice loud and angry, as he strove to assert himself in the presence of the man he so greatly feared. "I have told them how you got the Purple Fern stamp, and how you tried to make me kill Uncle Henry. There! You can say what you like now."
Sir Daniel's nostrils23 dilated24, and his eyes grew hard. "You are talking nonsense, I think," he said, perfectly25 calmly.
"Nonsense!" stormed Ferdy, quailing26 under those stern eyes. "It is not nonsense, and you know it. I have had quite enough of being bullied27 by you, Jerce"--he did not pay him the compliment of a respectful use of the great man's title. "You have been my master too long. It is my turn now. And who are you to dictate28 to me?--you, who lead a fast life, who squander29 money, who play fast and loose with women of the worst--"
"Stop!" cried Jerce, so loudly that the young man's voice died away. "Remember that your sister is present. My character is high enough to need no denial to the charges you bring against it. The King does not honour men such as you have described, with knighthoods."
"Ah, you have always been clever enough to keep things dark," said Ferdy, bitterly. "But I overheard you talking to Barras. I know that you were in league with him to cheat Uncle Henry out of our money, and the forty thousand pounds went into--"
"You lie--you lie," interrupted the doctor, losing his temper, and a perspiration30 broke out on his high bald forehead. "You know that you lie. You can't prove a word you say."
"Barras can, and Barras will."
"Barras will not. Send for Barras now. I appeal to you, Miss Baird. I appeal to you, Captain Ackworth. My character is at stake. I demand that you telegraph to London for Barras, that he may be confronted with this young liar31. I am not afraid to face the truth."
The doctor spoke20 so bravely and so fiercely that for the moment Anthony and Clarice wavered in their belief of Ferdy's story. They knew well that Ferdy was a supreme32 liar, and, on the face of it, Sir Daniel Jerce's character had always been above reproach. The doctor saw that he had made an impression, and followed up his advantage, swiftly and vehemently33.
"That Ferdinand should accuse me is no surprise," he went on, in a ringing voice. "I have done so much for him, that it is natural he should be ungrateful. I have always found that those I have helped have been my worst enemies. Ferdinand is indebted to me for money, for advice, for education, and for liberty."
"For liberty?" echoed Clarice, drawing near to the speaker.
"Yes! That young whelp received a cheque from me for twenty pounds as a loan. He altered the figures and the writing to two hundred pounds with a cleverness which would have done credit to an accomplished34 forger35. I could have put him in gaol36. But I forgave him, and this ingratitude37 is my reward."
"One moment, Ferdy," said Clarice, checking her brother's speech with a gesture, "where is the forged cheque, Sir Daniel?"
Jerce was taken aback. "I gave it to Ferdinand," he said, sullenly39.
"You did, when you could have used it to stop his evil doings?"
"I wished to give him another chance of reforming," protested Jerce.
"You liar!" shouted Ferdy, beside himself with rage. "You gave me the cheque after I had stamped Uncle Henry's dead body with the Purple Fern according to your directions."
"Yes," said Jerce, rashly losing his self-control, "and after you had murdered your guardian40."
"I did not! I did not!"
"On what grounds do you base this accusation41, Jerce?" asked Ackworth.
"On the grounds that Felix Exton, the young man who died in Tea Street, Whitechapel, gave me the stamp of the Purple Fern----"
"You never said that before."
"There was no need. I never said so, because Ferdinand stole the stamp from me, and I thought that he might make use of it. Horran was angry with him, and Ferdinand wished to get rid of him, thinking that he would then come into the money. I base my accusation upon the fact that the Purple Fern was stamped on my poor friend's forehead, and only Ferdinand, who possessed42 the stamp, could have done that. For your sake, Miss Baird, I have held my peace, cruelly though you have treated me; but now, when Ferdinand seeks to throw the blame of his wickedness on me, I must speak out, to protect myself. If need be I shall go to the police, and tell all that I know. I am not a man to be defied with impunity43."
The clever turn which the doctor gave to Ferdy's story startled Clarice, as she saw how dangerous the man was, and to what lengths he was prepared to go to save his own skin. "You had the gold box," she said, rather weakly.
"Pardon me. Osip dropped that when he searched me."
"He denies that. He said that you had the box, for which he was looking, and threw it away."
"Osip says that--and how comes it that you have seen Osip?"
"I saw him by appointment at the Shah's Rooms last night," said Clarice, boldly; "and there I also saw you and Mr. Barras."
"What of that?" said Jerce, coolly. "I have a right to go to any place I choose, I should hope. So you saw Osip, and you did not have him arrested for the murder of your guardian."
"You forget," said Anthony, swiftly, "you have just accused Ferdinand of that crime, Sir Daniel."
"And I do still. Ferdinand is Osip's accomplice44. Both of them are concerned in the matter. And I am accused falsely. There is no one can prove that I am guilty in any way."
A knock came to the door, and Mrs. Rebson made her appearance. "Will you please to come out here, Miss?" she said, "there is a gentleman wants to see you."
Sir Daniel wriggled47 uneasily, and went a shade whiter. But he still maintained his defiant21 attitude; while Clarice, wondering who had come to visit her, and anticipating fresh trouble with a sinking heart, went into the hall, closing the drawing-room door after her. Here she found Mr. Clarke, looking more wild and wan46 than ever, and very much agitated48. On seeing her, he came up at once, while Mrs. Rebson discreetly49 withdrew to her own room.
"Is it true that Sir Daniel Jerce is here?" asked Clarke, abruptly50.
"Yes, I sent for him to clear up things. Why did you not come in?"
"I don't wish to see Sir Daniel," said Clarke, nervously51; "he has behaved very badly to me. He threatened to tell about something connected with a--a--a--a relative," ended Clarke, evasively.
Clarice knew as well as if he had spoken openly that the vicar referred to his scapegoat52 son. However, it was not her aim to frighten Clarke away by pretending to know too much, so she merely picked up some newly arrived letters from the hall table, as she replied, "You must come in and face Sir Daniel Jerce," she said quietly; "We are bringing him to book."
"Bringing him to book. What do you mean?"
"Go in and you'll hear," said Clarice, and was about to usher53 the vicar into the room, when she caught sight of the writing on one of the letters. "Go in--go in," she said, hurriedly. "I'll follow shortly."
Rather perplexed54, and not at all anxious to face Jerce, the vicar approached the drawing-room door with hesitating steps. There he glanced back, and saw Clarice hurriedly reading a letter, with a white face and an agitated manner. For the moment, he was inclined to return, but gathering55 his courage together, he boldly opened the door, and saw Sir Daniel Jerce, facing Ferdy, defiantly.
"You can say what you like," were the words which struck the parson's ear, "but you know that I am as innocent of Horran's death as you are guilty. You stabbed him, you----"
"No!" cried Clarke, coming forward rapidly. "What do you mean, Sir Daniel, by accusing this young man of such a crime?"
Jerce wheeled, and his eyes flashed when he beheld
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