Mrs. Baldwin had been much disturbed since the appearance of her husband. In her secret soul she dreaded¹ the return of the man who had treated her so badly. All these years she had kept her fears to herself, but sometimes she suffered agonies. For some time these had grown less keen, as Rufus not appearing she fancied he must be dead. But the head of Rufus had been seen at the window: she had distinctly seen his face, and she knew she was no longer safe. He could not touch her money which was safely tied up, nor could he deal with the land she owned. But he had a way of terrorising her which would make her give him whatever he wanted. He would spend the money, treat his children badly, leave her next door to a pauper², and on the whole make things as unpleasant as he knew how.  
There is nothing makes a man bolder than fear. This is paradoxical but true. Under the influence of supreme³ fear, the most cowardly person will become brave to rid himself of the cause of terror. Balzac acutely observes that "The rebellion of a sheep is terrible," and in this way Mrs. Baldwin felt. She was a timid woman in reality and had given in to the will of the brute⁵ she had unfortunately married. When he went away--not being able to get more money out of her--she breathed freely. But now that there was a chance of his coming into her life again, Mrs. Baldwin felt all her old terrors revive. But she determined⁶ if he did come she would kill him. To this extent had her fear driven her. She was scared to death, and therefore was the more dangerous.
 
Had she been wise, she would have seen her lawyers and told them everything. As Rufus had deserted⁷ her for so many years, the law would put things right for her. As he had treated her with brutality⁸ her evidence would enable the law to arrange matters so that she would no longer live in a state of terrorism. She could get a separation, even a divorce. But Mrs. Baldwin was not wise. She was a slow-thinking woman, and the mere⁹ presence of the man terrified. If he came to rule her again, she would not have the will to go to her lawyers and tell the truth. She therefore took matters into her own hands and bought a pistol which she kept under her bed-pillow in the night and under the sofa-pillow in the day. She made up her mind that if he came secretly to the house, as he had done, and would likely do again, she would shoot him. She would give the man no chance of exerting his influence over her. But of all this she said nothing, not even to Gerty, who could not understand why her mother grew thinner and more silent. Instead of reading and eating Turkish-delight as usual, Mrs. Baldwin wandered about the house feeling every now and then for the weapon in her pocket which she always took when she left the sofa.
 
"I'm all right, dear," said Mrs. Baldwin fretfully when Gerty made remarks; "I have a little worry, but it will pass away."
 
Things were in this state when Tracey arrived in the company of Arnold. The two entered the room, being introduced by one of the twins. Gerty was away teaching an old gentleman to manage a motor-car, and Mrs. Baldwin was alone. As usual she was lying on the sofa, but no longer reading or eating sweets. She lay there a shapeless mass in her tawdry tea-gown staring at the roof. When Tracey entered she started and thrust her hand under the pillow. But when she saw it was merely her future son-in-law she sank back with a smile. However, the sudden start made her face white, and Tracey noted¹⁰ it.
 
"You haven't been troubled by Rufus, have you?" he asked.
 
"No," said Mrs. Baldwin, with a faint smile, "he has never been near me since. When he does come," her eyes gleamed, "I am ready for him--I am no longer the timid weak woman I was. How are you, Mr. Calvert?"
 
"Very well, Mrs. Baldwin. You do not look well."
 
"I have trouble. We all have our troubles."
 
"Say," observed Tracey, "I've brought Calvert here to ask a question about a piece of jewellery of yours."
 
Mrs. Baldwin sat up. "My diamond necklace," she cried, "where is it?"
 
Arnold looked puzzled and Tracey held his tongue. "I know nothing about a diamond necklace," said Calvert; "this is what I wish you to see----" As he spoke¹¹ he extended his hand in the palm of which lay the round locket of pale gold which Fane had produced. Arnold did not get a chance of finishing his sentence, for the moment Mrs. Baldwin set eyes on the unpretending piece of jewellery she gave a loud cry, opened her eyes, and sitting up grasped Calvert by the arm:
 
"Where is he?" she asked; "is he outside? If he is----" she released Arnold and pulled out the pistol.
 
"What do you mean?" asked Calvert, drawing back.
 
"I guess I know," said Tracey, recalling the previous interview; "this locket belongs to Rufus."
 
"Yes it does," admitted Mrs. Baldwin, casting apprehensive¹² glances at the door and window, and still grasping the pistol; "where is he?"
 
"Not here," said Tracey, and strove to take the pistol away. But Mrs. Baldwin resisted.
 
"He will come," she said, "and I must be ready," and with that she replaced the pistol under the pillow.
 
"What does she mean?" asked Calvert in a whisper.
 
"Never mind," returned the American much discomposed, "ask her about the locket. She's queer, that's all."
 
"The locket--the locket," murmured Mrs. Baldwin, beginning to weep; "I gave it to Rufus when I thought he wasn't a brute. My portrait is in it. I was a young girl----"
 
"Will you look at it?" said Calvert, passing the locket.
 
Mrs. Baldwin shrank back as though she had been asked to handle a snake. "No, I dare not. He has worn it. Did he give it to you; or," she asked vindictively¹³, "was it taken from his dead body?"
 
"It was taken from a dead hand."
 
"From the hand of Rufus. Is he dead? Am I free? Oh, great heavens, am I free?" and Mrs. Baldwin clapped her hands hysterically¹⁴.
 
"No. It was taken from the hands of the woman who was killed at Ajax Villa¹⁵. Evidently the man who wore it----"
 
"Rufus," whispered Mrs. Baldwin----
 
"Had a struggle with his victim. She might have seen the blow coming, and putting out her hand to ward⁴ it off, must have clutched the locket as it hung to the watch-chain."
 
"Rufus wore it on his watch-chain," said Mrs. Baldwin; "it is his locket. I gave it to him. He is a burglar. Now he is a murderer. He will come and kill me. Where's the pistol?" and she fumbled¹⁶ under the sofa-pillow, grey with fear.
 
"We don't know that he's a murderer yet," said Tracey soothingly¹⁷; "you go slow, ma'am."
 
"I tell you if that locket was found in the dead woman's hand, Rufus killed her," said Mrs. Baldwin, crushing her hands together.
 
"What is Rufus like in looks?" asked Tracey.
 
"Fat and red-faced, with grey hair. Always smiling--always smiling--a kind-looking man--with a black heart. A criminal--a brute, a----"
 
"Tracey," interrupted Arnold, rising, "she is describing Jasher."
 
"That's so," said the American, without surprise; "ever since Bocaros confessed that Jasher was his friend I have suspected. Well, now we know at last who killed Mrs. Brand."
 
"Another woman--another woman," moaned Mrs. Baldwin, "another victim."
 
"It will be his last," said Tracey grimly; "thank God he's not Gerty's poppa. I'm sorry for the children, though."
 
Mrs. Baldwin rose. "They must never know--never!"
 
"If Jasher, or Rufus as you call him, is caught he'll speak out, and the whole business will come to light," said Tracey.
 
"I don't know about that," said Arnold, with a troubled look; "let us see what we can do. Perhaps Jasher may be innocent."
 
"If there was murder to be done he did it," said Mrs. Baldwin, in a sharp manner; "do what you like, but keep the man out of my life. I'm dangerous. Quite as dangerous as he is."
 
"It's all right. You say nothing," said Tracey, and thereupon made Mrs. Baldwin lie down. Then he sent Arnold to wait for him outside, and soothed¹⁸ the woman. When he came out, he walked in silence to the gate. "I've mailed that letter," he said, "and sent a wire also. You bet Jasher, not suspecting anything wrong, will be at the little house yonder to-night."
 
"Will we get in the police?"
 
"Not just yet," said Tracey hesitatingly; "you see, he's Gerty's step-father after all. I guess we'll make him confess, and then chuck him out of the country. I don't want him to be arrested."
 
"We can't be sure of his guilt¹⁹ yet, either."
 
"No. That's a fact. Bocaros is keeping something back."
 
"What about Mrs. Baldwin?"
 
"She's all right. I've got her quiet. So long as this man doesn't cross her track she'll lie still. If he does----"
 
"Well. What if he does?"
 
"She'll drop him with that pistol of hers."
 
"Nonsense. She can't shoot!"
 
"She'll get the bullet into the heart of Jasher somehow, if he is her husband, as seems likely. The woman is mad with fear, and she'll get him out of her life somehow. I say, Calvert, don't say anything to any one of the rubbish she talks."
 
"No I won't--not if she shoots Jasher. And if he's the murderer, it would be about the best thing that could happen. For the sake of Mrs. Fane and the child, for Laura's sake, I want things hushed up."
 
"Same here," assented²⁰ Tracey, "for the sake of Gerty and the kids. And for Momma Baldwin's sake also," he added; "I'm real sorry for her. She's a good sort, and will sleep better when Jasher's caught."
 
"But, I say, Tracey, why should Jasher have killed Flora²¹ Brand?"
 
"Can't say, unless it has to do with the money. But you go slow, we'll get at the truth this night."
 
Nothing more was said at the time, and with Luther, Calvert drove back to town. The play had ceased to run, so his evenings were now his own. He and the American had a meal in a Soho restaurant, but neither ate very much. When the meal was ended Tracey proposed to start for the professor's house at once. But Arnold, calling a cab, first drove to his lodgings²². When there he produced two Derringers, and giving one to Tracey, put the other into his pocket.
 
"But what's this for?" asked Tracey.
 
"I think there's going to be a row," said Arnold, leading the way downstairs. "Jasher will show fight if he is the villain²³ Mrs. Baldwin makes him out to be. Then there's Bocaros. I do not trust Bocaros."
 
"Oh, he's all right," said Luther, as they entered a hansom; "he's on the money tack²⁴, and so long as you give him the dollars he'll make it hot for Jasher."
 
"Do you think Bocaros knows the truth?"
 
"I'm sure of it. He only told so much as he was obliged to this afternoon. A deep cuss is the professor. I say, it's raining!"
 
"Worse," said Arnold, drawing up the collar of his coat, "a mist is coming on. We'll get lost in those fields."
 
"Don't mind, so long as Jasher don't get lost."
 
The cab drove on. The fog was not very thick in town, but as they neared Troy it became more dense²⁵. By the time they turned down Achilles Avenue a dense white pall²⁶ lay over the earth, and the air was as cold as a December day. The cabman professed²⁷ his inability to drive them further. On hearing this Tracey hopped²⁸ out, followed by Calvert. "It's just as well," said the latter; "we don't want to make the thing too public."
 
He paid the cabman lavishly............