The Mystery Queen

"The same objection as my brother had, Mr. Halliday. Lillian is wealthy and you are poor."

"I have only a few hundreds a year, it is true, but-"

"No 'buts' if you please," Sir John flung up a delicate hand in protest. "You can't argue away facts. If you marry Lillian, you will live on her." Dan bit his lip and clenched his hands to prevent his temper from showing itself too strongly. "If another man had said that to me, Sir John, I should have knocked him down."

"Brute force is no argument," rejoined Moon unruffled. "Consider, Mr. Halliday, you have a few hundreds a year and Lillian has fifty thousand coming in every twelve months. Being wealthy, she can scarcely live on your income, so to keep up the position to which she has been born, she must live on her own. Husband and wife are one, as we are assured by the Church, therefore if she lives on the fifty thousand per annum, you must live on it also."

"I wouldn't take a single penny!" cried Dan hotly and boyishly. "Oh, I am not suggesting that you would," said Sir John easily, "but Lillian cannot live in the cottage your few hundreds would run to, and if she lives, as she must, being rich, in a large house, you must live there also, and in a style which your income does not warrant. You know what people will say under the circumstances. Either you must take Lillian to live on your small income, which is not fair to her, or you must live on her large one, which is not fair to you. I speak to a man of honor, remember."

"These arguments are sophistical."

"Not at all. You can't escape from facts."

"Then is this miserable money to stand between us?" asked Dan in despair, for he could not deny that there was great truth in what Sir John said. The baronet shrugged his shoulders. "It seems likely unless you can make a fortune equal to Lillian's."

"Why not? Aviation is yet in its infancy."

"Quite so, and thus accidents are continually happening. If you marry my niece, it is probable that you will shortly leave her a widow. No! No! In whatever way you look at the matter, Mr. Halliday, the match is most undesirable. Be a man-a man of honor-and give Lillian up."

"To be miserable with Lord Curberry," said Dan fiercely, "never!" And he meant what he said, as Sir John saw very plainly. This being the case the baronet used another argument to obtain what he wanted. "I have been young myself, and I know how you feel," he said quietly. "Very good. I suggest a compromise."

"What is it?" muttered Dan dropping into his chair again and looking very miserable, as was natural, seeing what he stood to lose. "My poor brother," went on Sir John smoothly, and crossing his legs, "has been struck down when most enjoying life. The person who murdered him-presumably the woman who called herself Mrs. Brown-has not yet been discovered in spite of the efforts of the police backed by a substantial reward. I propose, Mr. Halliday, that you search for this person, the period of searching be limited to one year. If you find her and she is punished, then you shall marry Lillian; if you fail, then you must stand aside and allow her to marry Lord Curberry."

"You forget," said Dan, not jumping at the chance as Sir John expected, "if I do bring the woman to justice, your arguments regarding my living on Lillian remain in full force."

"Oh, as to that, Mr. Halliday, when the time comes, I can find arguments equally strong on the other side. To use one now, if you revenge my brother's death, no one will deny but what you have every right to marry his daughter and enjoy her income. That would be only fair. Well?"

"Well," echoed Dan dully, and reflected with his sad eyes on the carpet. Then he looked up anxiously. "Meanwhile, Lillian may marry Lord Curberry."

"Oh," said Sir John, coolly, "if you can't trust her-"

"He can trust her," cried the voice of the girl, herself, and the curtain of the folding doors was drawn quickly aside. "Lillian!" cried Dan, springing to his feet and opening his arms. Sir John saw his niece rush into those same arms and laughed. "H'm!" said he whimsically, "I quite forgot that the folding-doors into the next room were open. You have been listening." Lillian twisted herself in Dan's arms, but did not leave them, as she felt safe within that warm embrace. "Of course I have been listening," she cried scornfully; "as soon as I knew Dan was in the house, and in the library, I listened. I told Bolly that I was coming down to listen, and though she tried to prevent me, I came. Who has a better right to listen when all the conversation was about me, and remember I should have seen him first."

"Well," said her uncle unmoved, "it's no use arguing with you. A man's idea of honor and a woman's are quite opposed to one another. You heard. What have you to say?"

"I think you're horrid," snapped Lillian, in a schoolgirl manner, "as if my money mattered. I am quite willing to give it to you and marry Dan on what he has. It's better to love in a garret than to hate in a drawing-room."

"Quite epigrammatic," murmured Sir John cynically. "Well, my dear, I am much obliged to you for your fifty thousand a year offer, but I fancy what I have is enough for me. I never did care for millions, and always wondered why my late brother should wear himself out in obtaining them. I decline." "Whether you decline or not, I marry Dan," said Lillian hotly. "What does Dan say?" The young man disengaged himself. He had kept silent during the passage of arms between uncle and niece. "I say that I can trust Lillian to remain true to me for twelve months."

"For ever, for ever, for ever!" cried the girl, her face flaming and her eyes flashing; "but don't make any promise of letting our marriage depend upon finding the woman who murdered my poor father."

"Ah," said Sir John contemptuously, "you never loved your father, I see."

"How dare you say that?" flashed out the girl, panting with anger. "My dear, ask yourself," replied Moon patiently; "your father has been basely murdered. Yet you do not wish to avenge his death and prefer your own happiness to the fulfilment of a solemn duty. Of course," added Sir John, with a shrug, for he now knew what line of argument to take, "you can't trust yourself to be faithful for twelve months and-"

"I can trust myself to be faithful, and for twelve centuries, if necessary."

"No, no, no!" smiled Moon, shaking his head, "you prefer pleasure to duty. I see you love yourself more than you loved your father. Well," he rose and waved his hands with a gesture of dismissal, "go your ways, my dear, and marry Dan-you observe I call you 'Dan,' Mr. Halliday, since you are to become my nephew straight away. When is the wedding to be?"

"You consent?" cried Lillian opening her eyes widely. "I can't stop you," said Moon, still continuing his crafty diplomacy. "You will soon be of age and you can buy your husband at once, since you dare not risk a probation of twelve months."

"I can risk twelve years," retorted Lillian uneasily, for in a flash she understood how selfishly she was behaving, seeing that her father's assassin was still at large, "and to prove it-" she looked at Dan. He understood and spoke, although he had already made up his mind as to the best course to pursue. "To prove it," he said steadily, "we accept your proposal, Sir John. Lillian will wait twelve months, and during that time I shall search for the woman who murdered Sir Charles. If I don't find her-"

"Lillian marries Lord Curberry," said Moon quickly. "No," cried the girl defiantly; "that part of the agreement I decline to assent to. Twelve months or twelve years it may take before the truth comes to light, but I marry no one but Dan." Sir John reflected on the dangers of aviation and swiftly came to a conclusion. "We'll see at the end of the year," he said cautiously, "much may happen in that time."

"So long as Lillian's wedding to Curberry doesn't happen," said Dan obstinately, "I don't care. But it is understood that Lillian is not to be worried about the matter?"

"That depends upon what you and Lillian call worry," said Moon drily, "so far as I am concerned I shall not coerce her in any way. All I wish is the promise of you both that you will wait twelve months before taking any steps to marry. Meantime, you must not see too much of Lillian."

"Oh," cried the girl, indignantly, "you would push Dan out of my life."

"It's a test," explained Sir John, blinking nervously. "You will be in mourning for the next twelve months, and should see few people."

"Of whom Dan will be one," she flashed out. "Occasionally-very occasionally, you can see him, but, of course, if you can't trust yourself to be true without being continually reminded that Mr. Halliday exists, there is no more to be said."

"I can trust myself," muttered the girl uneasily. "And I can trust Lillian," said Dan, promptly and decisively. "It does not look like it since you always wish to see one another. And remember, Lillian, you owe it to your father's memory to put all thoughts of love, which is self, out of your heart until the mystery of his death is entirely solved."

"There is something in that," said Halliday thoughtfully and Lillian nodded; "but of course I can write to Lillian." "Occasionally," said the baronet again, "you must both be tested by a year's separation, with a meeting or a letter every now and then. Duty must be the keynote of the twelve months and not pleasure. Well?" The lovers looked at one another and sighed. The terms were hard, but not so hard as Sir John might have made them. Still both the boy and the girl-they were little else-recognized that their duty was to the dead. Afterwards pleasure would be theirs. Silently they accepted and silently adjusted the situation. "We agree!" said the two almost simultaneously. "Very good," said Moon, rubbing his hands, "how do you intend to begin your search for the missing woman, Mr. Halliday?"

"I don't know," murmured Dan, miserably. "Neither do I," rejoined Sir John with great amiability. "Come to tea?" And to tea the lovers went as to a funeral feast. But Sir John rejoiced.

CHAPTER IV

AN AMATEUR DETECTIVE

Dan left the Mayfair house very mournfully, feeling that Sir John was indeed master of the situation. By a skilful appeal to the generous emotions of youth, to the boy's honor and to the girl's affections, he had procured a respite of twelve months, during which time the lovers could do nothing, bound as they were by silken threads. This would give Curberry time to push his suit, and there was always a chance that Dan would come to grief in one of his aerial trips in which case Lillian would certainly be driven to marry her titled swain. Halliday knew nothing of Moon's reckoning on these points, or he would have only accepted the situation on condition that Curberry was not to meet the girl or write to the girl oftener than himself. Logically speaking, the peer and the commoner should have been placed on the same footing. But Dan's grief at the parting confused his understanding, and he had not been clever enough to seize his opportunity. Therefore Sir John, winning all along the line, had cleared the path for Curberry, and had more or less blocked it for Dan. But, as yet, the young man did not grasp the full extent of Sir John's worldly wisdom. What Halliday had to do-and this dominated his mind immediately he left the house-was to solve the mystery of Sir Charles's death. The sooner he captured the false Mrs. Brown, who, presumably, had murdered the old man, the sooner would he lead Lillian to the altar. Therefore he was feverishly anxious to begin, but for the life of him he did not see how to make a start. He had absolutely no experience of what constituted the business of a detective, and was daunted at the outset by the difficulties of the path. All the same he never thought of halting, but pressed forward without a pause. And the first step he took was to consult a friend, on the obvious assumption that two heads are better than one. It was Freddy Laurance whom he decided to interview, since that very up-to-date young journalist knew every one of any note, and almost everything of interest, being, indeed, aware of much of which the ordinary man in the street was ignorant. He and Dan had been to Oxford together, and for many years had been the best of friends. Laurance had been brought up in the expectation of being a rich man. But over-speculation ruined his father, and on leaving the University he was thrown unprepared on the world to make his money as best he could, without any sort of training in particular. Hearty praise from an expert for three or four newspaper articles suggested journalism, and having an observant eye and a ready pen, the young man was successful from the beginning. For a time he was a free-lance, writing indiscriminately for this journal and for that, until the proprietor of The Moment, a halfpenny daily, secured his exclusive services at a salary which procured Freddy the luxuries of life. This was something to have achieved at the age of five and twenty. The Moment was a bright shoot-folly-as-it-flies sort of journal, which detailed the news of the day in epigrammatic scraps. Its longest articles did not exceed a quarter of a column, and important events were usually restricted to paragraphs. It, indeed, skimmed the cream of events, and ten minutes' study of its sheets gave a busy man all the information he required concerning the doings of humanity. Also it daily published an extra sheet concerned entirely with letters from the public to the public, and many of these were prolix, as the paragraph rule did not apply to this portion of the journal. People wrote herein on this, that, and the other thing, ventilating their ideas and suggesting schemes. And as many wrote many bought, so that friends and relatives might read their letters, therefore vanity gave The Moment quite a large circulation independent of its orthodox issue. The proprietor made money in two ways; by supplying gossip for curious people, and by giving vain persons the chance of seeing themselves in print. Seeing what human nature is, it is scarcely to be wondered at that The Moment was a great success, and sold largely in town and country. Freddy's post was that of a roving correspondent. Whenever any event of interest took place in any of the four quarters of the globe, Laurance went to take notes on the spot, and his information was boiled down into concise, illuminative paragraphs. Indeed, the older journalists said that it was hardly worth while for him to make such long journeys for the sake of condensed-milk news; but, as Freddy's details were always amusing as well as abrupt, the editor and the public and the proprietor were all satisfied. A man who can flash a vivid picture into the dullest mind in few words is well worth money. Therefore was Laurance greatly appreciated. Dan walked to a grimy lane leading from Fleet Street with some doubt in his puzzled mind as to whether Freddy would be in his office. At a moment's notice, the man would dart off to the ends of the earth, and was more or less on the move throughout the three hundred and sixty-five days of the year. But, of late, sensational events had concentrated themselves in England, so Dan hoped that his friend would be on the spot. An inquiry from the gorgeous individual who guarded the entrance to the red brick building wherein The Moment was printed and published and composed revealed that Mr. Laurance was not only in London, but in his office at the very second, so Dan sent up his name, and rejoiced at the catching of this carrier-pigeon. And it was a good omen also that Freddy saw him straight away, since he generally refused himself to every one on the plea of business. "But I couldn't resist seeing you, Dan," remarked Mr. Laurance, when he had shaken hands, before supplying his visitor with a cigarette and a chair. "I was coming to see you, if the mountain hadn't come to Mahommed!" Dan lighted up, and through the smoke of tobacco stared inquisitively at his friend, wondering what this introductory remark meant. Laurance was rather like Dan in personal appearance, being tall and slim and clean-shaven, with Greek features and an aristocratic look. But he was decidedly fair, as Halliday was decidedly dark, and his eyes were less like those of an eagle than the eyes of the aviator. But then Laurance was not accustomed to the boundless spaces of the air, although he had twice ascended in an airship; therefore the new expression of the new race was wanting. Nevertheless, he looked a capable, alert young man, able to get the full value out of every minute. He was an admirable type of the restless, present-day seeker. "Well, Mahommed," said Dan, leisurely, "here's the mountain. What have you to say to it?"

"That murder of Sir Charles Moon." Halliday quivered with surprise. It was so amazing that Laurance should hit upon the very subject, which employed his own thoughts. "Yes?" he inquired. "You are engaged to Miss Moon; you were in the house when the crime was committed; you saw the body; you-"

"Stop! Stop! I was not in the house when the crime was committed. I returned there from the theatre some time later-in fact about midnight. I certainly did see the body. As to being engaged to Miss Moon-h'm! I came to see about that, Freddy."

"The deuce you did. Great minds jump. What?" Laurance puffed a blue cloud, sat down astride a chair and leaned his arms on the back. "Strange!"

"That you and I should be on the hunt. Well it is."

"On the hunt!" echoed Laurance, staring. "What do you mean?"

"I should rather ask that question of you," said Dan drily. "Sir Charles is dead and buried these many weeks, and the woman who assassinated him can't be found, in spite of the reward and the effort of the police. Why, at this late hour, do you wish to rake up stale news? I thought that The Moment was more up-to-date."

"It will be very much up-to-date when the next murder is committed," observed Laurance, grimly and significantly. The legs of Dan's chair grated, as he pushed back in sheer surprise. "What do you mean by the next murder?" he demanded sharply. "Well, this gang-"

"Gang! gang! Who says there is a gang?" and Dan's thoughts flew back to Durwin's reason for visiting Sir Charles. "Humph!" growled Laurance, thrusting his hands into his pockets. "I'm disappointed. I thought you knew more."

"I know a good deal," retorted the other quickly, "but I don't intend to talk to you about what I know until I learn your game."

"What about your own?" "That comes later also," said Halliday promptly. "Go on! I want to know why you rake up Moon's murder."

"Naturally you do, seeing you are engaged to the daughter."