they found a carriage to themselves which they entered as the train was starting, secure in the knowledge that they would be uninterrupted till victoria station was reached.
"now tell me your story," russell suggested.
"i think i am going to tell you more than you expect," wilfrid smiled. "but i will begin at the beginning, from the moment that i entered flower's house. i was sent for in a hurry, because the great man had cut his hand and he was frightened to death, as people of his class always are. i suppose you know that he has a niece, miss galloway, living with him?"
"yes, i know that," russell said with a grin. "on the whole, i should say you are a lucky individual. but go on. don't mind my chaff."
"well, there was nothing much the matter with his hand, as you may imagine. i'll come to the registered letter episode presently, but i want to tell you first how it was that flower's accident came about. miss galloway was sitting in the conservatory and she distinctly saw a man place his arm through a broken pane of glass and try to unlatch the door. she called to her uncle, who gave chase, but the man had vanished leaving no trace behind him. it was in hurrying after him that flower fell and cut himself. he was sitting waiting in the conservatory for me, when miss galloway introduced me and told me about the incident that had startled her so much. she went on to say that the man was fishing for the latch with a loop of string, whereupon flower broke in in his elegant way and declared that the whole thing was a pack of nonsense. by way of proving her theory miss galloway picked up the piece of string which had fallen from the man's hand inside the doorway and handed it to her uncle. i suppose you can give a pretty good guess what sort of string it was."
russell smote his hand vigorously on the cushions.
"you don't mean to say it was the string?" he shouted. "the string with five knots? that would be too good to be true."
"it is true all the same," wilfrid went on. "and if you have been hanging about castlebridge for the last three or four days you have wasted your opportunities, for during that time an attempt has been made upon flower's life, and if i hadn't been at hand he would have been a dead man now. and what is more, up till last night the two mysterious individuals i told you of, were members of gordon's company."
"stop! stop!" russell cried. "you are going too fast. if you wanted to surprise me you have more than succeeded."
the train was drawing up to the platform at victoria before wilfrid had finished his recital. russell's cheery manner had vanished. his face was grave and thoughtful. they waited in the carriage till everybody else had left the train, then russell dodged across the platform and hailed the nearest cab.
"i am going as far as my rooms in bloomsbury," he said. "then i will get you to don a suit of dress clothes which ought to fit you fairly well, as we are rather alike in build; with your overcoat on top nobody will notice anything peculiar. and then we shall go out for an hour or two."
"isn't it rather late for an entertainment?" wilfrid asked.
"for an ordinary show, yes," russell proceeded to explain. "but this is a function quite out of the common. it is a supper and fancy dress dance given by the proprietors to celebrate the opening of the new dominion theatre. everybody will be there; in fact, there will be a couple of thousand people at one time or another on the stage, and the house will be filled with privileged spectators, of whom you and i will be two. you will be interested to know that samuel flower and miss galloway are among the invited guests. but all that is by the way. i don't mind admitting that i am very much disturbed by the information you have given me. i knew flower had made bitter enemies abroad. i knew vengeance would overtake him sooner or later, but i hoped that his time would not be yet. you see, i am candid. i don't care whether he lives or dies, so long as he remains on this planet long enough for me to get my money out of him. so we have every reason to protect flower for the present. i am very glad i met you. i am very glad after all that you settled in oldborough. there must be a sort of providence in these things, mercer."
wilfrid smiled grimly. it was rarely that russell spoke like this. they drove on in silence till his quarters were reached, and, after partaking of a hurried meal, wilfrid struggled into a dress suit of mercer's which might have passed for his own. there was nothing to wait for, and as the night was fine and it was not a far cry to kingsway, the two set out on foot. they soon reached the theatre where a tremendous crowd had already gathered. a long stream of carriages was filing slowly up to the portico and an equally long stream of well-dressed people was pushing into the vestibule. it was a slow process. wilfrid allowed himself to be carried along with the tide until the grand staircase was reached. it was up this staircase that the guests proceeded, a temporary entrance being made for the spectators who were to fill the body of the house. wilfrid turned to speak to his companion, when he noticed that russell appeared to be deeply engrossed in one of the pictures on the wall. at the same moment, wilfrid, to his delight, saw that beatrice galloway was standing just behind him. in front of her, pushing on in his dogged fashion, was samuel flower.
"this is an unexpected pleasure," wilfrid whispered.
the girl's face flushed with delight; then as the colour died out of beatrice's cheeks wilfrid noticed that she seemed grave and troubled. there were lines under her eyes, too, which he had never remarked before.
"are you not well?" he asked.
"oh, i am well enough," beatrice said with a touch of despondency in her voice, "but i am a good deal worried. do you know it is strange that with all our wealth and all our entertaining we seem to have no real friends."
"i am sure you have one," wilfrid said reproachfully.
"i had forgotten that one for the moment," beatrice said with a quick flash of gratitude in her eyes. "i don't know whether i ought to confide in you or not, but i must tell somebody. can you contrive to see me before you leave to-night? i understand that the spectators will not remain after supper. you can manage to be here at midnight? i could run downstairs under pretence that i wished to see a friend in the theatre. i can't think of any better way."
"i will stay here all night if necessary," wilfrid said resolutely. "let us say just here at midnight."
the pressure of those behind drove them apart so that beatrice was lost to view round the bend in the staircase. wilfrid had passed in to the theatre itself, but russell lingered.
"ours are about the only two seats left," he explained, "and they are in one of the front rows in the stalls. i have my own reasons for staying here till most of the guests have arrived. a man i know promised me, if he could, to get us on to the stage after dancing began. at any rate, it is worth waiting on the off-chance of seeing him. so that was miss galloway you were talking to, eh? why wasn't she in fancy dress? i can understand flower coming in ordinary evening attire; i can't imagine his being so frivolous as to get himself up as a courtier or anything of that kind."
wilfrid made no reply for the simple reason that he was not listening. he was too concerned about beatrice to think of anything else. he was shocked to see what a change so short a time had brought about in the girl's appearance. he wondered what she could have to worry her. therefore it was, that the stream of people in all sorts of grotesque and fancy dresses passed him as if he were in a dream. they came flowing along, laughing and chattering, all the favourites that have done duty over and over again ever since fancy dresses were first invented. some were beautiful, some frankly ugly, and hardly one realistic. russell kept up a constant stream of criticisms, to most of which wilfrid replied more or less vaguely.
"you can't say that about that little man yonder," he said presently. "it is funny that he should be made up like an inhabitant of borneo when our heads are full of the malay peninsula. whoever dressed him was an artist and understood what he was doing. that is the man i mean, going up the stairs with the tall lady in yellow."
russell looked in the direction pointed out by mercer. he grabbed an opera-glass which some one had left on the table by his side. he turned eagerly to wilfred.
"made up be hanged," he whispered excitedly. "that man isn't made up at all. he is the real thing, my friend. it seems to me that the plot is thickening."
