it was all very strange, thought beatrice, as she walked towards convent grange. she had learned much from orchard and from mrs. snow, yet apparently there was more to learn. who had killed colonel hall? who had murdered jarvis alpenny? was the assassin one and the same? and if she found the assassin, would she learn who possessed the necklace, which seemed to account for both crimes? finally, did she discover the identity of the assassin and the necklace, would she be able to learn the mystery which lurked in the background of vivian's life? these were the questions which beatrice asked herself on the way home.

in spite of mrs. snow's assertion and significant tale of the midnight meeting with alpenny, the girl could not bring herself to believe that her mother was guilty. a woman would never think of cutting a man's throat, and probably when a frail little woman such as mrs. hall was reported to have been, would not have the power. then again, alpenny was murdered in the same way, and mrs. hall had been lying in hurstable churchyard for years. also, if mrs. hall was guilty, what had the black patch which had reappeared in the second crime to do with the first one? it seemed impossible that these riddles could be answered.

on arriving at the grange, beatrice found dinah and jerry snow walking down the avenue. apparently they had been quarrelling, for they did not walk arm in arm as usual, and jerry was as sulky as dinah was tearful. "whatever is the matter?" asked beatrice, stopping.

"it's jerry's cruelty," mourned dinah, whose sorrow made her look even plainer than usual.

"it's dinah's foolishness," retorted jerry, and walked on.

"come back," cried the girl, "or i'll never, never, never speak to you again. do you wish to break my heart?"

"you're breaking it yourself," grumbled the young man. all the same, he returned to where the two girls were standing.

"and after all i have put up with from your mother," complained dinah.

"oh! leave my mother alone."

"i wish she would leave me alone. she is always highly disagreeable to me. i believe it is a family failing," concluded dinah spitefully.

"don't marry me, then."

"i don't intend to--you--you bear!"

beatrice listened to all this with covert amusement. she knew that the two loved one another too well to think of parting, whatever might be the grounds of their quarrel. "come, come," she said soothingly, and prepared to play the part of peacemaker. "what is the matter? is jerry jealous?"

"no," snapped dinah. "i am--very jealous. he"--she pointed to jerry, who still looked sulky--"has been flirting with another girl. i was in the village an hour ago, and there was jerry as bold as brass talking to a red-haired minx, who squinted."

"she doesn't squint," growled jerry.

"there, you see; he defends her."

"dinah!" cried jerry in desperation, "how can you be so silly? i love you and you only."

"you love that horrid girl. i saw her looking at you."

"a cat may look at a king."

"she certainly is a cat, though you're not a king."

"well," said beatrice, preparing to move on, "i am going back to the house, and you two can settle it yourselves."

dinah clung to her friend. "no. i won't be left alone with jerry."

"well, then, explain," said beatrice impatiently, for she had too many worries of her own to take any profound interest in the frivolous ones of these milk-and-water lovers.

"i'll explain," said mr. snow defiantly. "there is a young lady i know in london----"

"young!" cried dinah; "she's thirty-five, and painted."

"well, then, she came down here to the inn, and i met her outside. she exchanged a few words with me, and said that she wanted to know the nearest way to the downs. it seems that her father is a shepherd on the downs--a man called orchard."

"what?" cried beatrice, disengaging herself from dinah's too fond embrace. she could scarcely believe her ears. that she should come from seeing the ex-butler for the first time, to stumble--so to speak--across his daughter, was indeed an extraordinary coincidence.

jerry looked at her amazed, as he could not understand her tone. "why do you look so astonished?" he asked.

"i have only lately come down from seeing orchard," she said. "oh, by the way, dinah," she added, turning to the girl, "vivian came back with you from brighton?"

"no," said dinah crossly; "he had to see someone, and will not be back until late. i came home myself, and passed through the village to see jerry making love to that horrid girl. and jerry had the coolness to follow me."

"only to explain," urged jerry. "come, dinah, don't be silly. i know the lady only a little; she is on one of the papers belonging to our editorial firm, and does the fashion column."

"she might dress better, then," retorted dinah crossly, and determined not to be appeased. "i saw cheapness in every line of her dress."

"ah," said jerry artfully, "she cannot set off a dress like you."

"don't be silly," cried miss paslow, but smiled for all that.

"what is this lady's name?" asked beatrice.

"lady!"--dinah tossed her head--"when her father is a shepherd, and, i dare say, a very bad one."

"miss maud carr is her name," said mr. snow, ignoring dinah, much to her wrath.

"maud!" beatrice remembered that this was also the name of vivian's dead wife, and again wondered at the long arm of coincidence.

"i know very little about it or her," said jerry in an injured tone, "save that she writes about women's fashions. we have met at journalistic clubs in london, and, of course, when i saw her i passed the time of day with her."

"you passed an hour," snapped dinah, "and very pleasantly, i'm sure."

"she's not a bit ashamed of her birth," continued jerry, still ignoring dinah as a punishment. "i never knew her father was a shepherd in london, but she confessed it to me here quite easily."

"that's her artfulness," commented dinah. "why are you so curious about this woman?" she asked beatrice.

the girl shrugged her shoulders. "i am not curious," she denied; "but as i have just seen old orchard, it is strange that his daughter should have been speaking to jerry."

"not at all, beatrice. jerry is always fond of these painted, horrid women, who never pay for their dresses because they write for fashion papers. i should be ashamed to earn my living in that way.--well"--she faced round to the impenitent mr. snow--"and what have you to say?"

"nothing," said jerry crossly. "you are always nagging, dinah."

"after that!" cried miss paslow, looking up to see why the heavens did not fall. "well, i'm--i'm----" words failed her, and she turned her back. "i'm going home. all is at an end!" and she sped up the avenue, glancing back meanwhile on occasions to see if jerry followed.

but jerry did nothing of the sort, and explained to beatrice why he stood his ground. "dinah needs a lesson," he said gravely. "you have no idea how she nags at me. i can't speak to any one without her getting into a pelting rage."

"it shows how she loves you," said beatrice soothingly.

"i don't want to be loved in that selfish way. it's just like mother: she wants all one's affection, and nags the whole time, saying it is for my good. i've had quite enough of that in mother, without taking it on in a wife. i want a woman who will cheer me up, and look upon me as something to be looked up to. but i'll punish her," said jerry wrathfully. "she expects me to run after her. i won't; i'll stay here and talk to you."

"i'm busy," said beatrice, taking a step or two away. "i have to go to the camp to see durban."

"you needn't. he's at convent grange looking for you."

"oh! then i'll go to him at once."

"better wait to hear what i have to say," urged jerry; "it's about the murder of mr. alpenny."

beatrice stopped short, wondering what she was about to hear. "have you discovered anything?" she asked breathlessly.

"i can't say if what i have discovered is of any use," explained mr. snow, "but it might put the police on the track of the assassins."

"what have you found out?"

"well, i was down whitechapel the other night," said jerry, "making an inquiry into some robbery that has taken place. there was a detective with me, and we saw all manner of queer things; also, we heard all manner of queer talk. in one way and another we picked up information about the black patch gang."

"the black patch gang!" echoed beatrice. "yes!--yes?"

"it's a gang of rogues, thieves, and vagabonds," went on mr. snow. "the police have never been able to lay hands on the head of the gang, or break it up. this gang goes about committing burglaries, and stealing things, and picking pockets. they must have a kind of academy like fagin's," mused jerry, "and they know one another by a black patch worn over the left eye."

"just like the man i saw?"

"yes. i thought of that when i heard the story," said jerry, "and the detective thought the same. he is going to hunt out this gang and learn the whereabouts of their headquarters. and, beatrice"--he moved forward to place a cautious hand on her arm--"it struck me--i don't know if it struck the detective, but it struck me, that alpenny, who was a precious scoundrel--i beg your pardon----"

"go on," she said impatiently. "i know he was my stepfather, but i always thought him a wicked man myself."

"i believe he was a fence," said jerry solemnly.

"what is that?"

"the chap who disposes of stolen goods. yes; i really believe that was why alpenny lived in the country. the black patch gang brought their stolen goods down here, and he got rid of them in some way. i expect the police will come down and make a thorough search throughout the camp. there may be all manner of secret hiding-places."

"but, jerry," protested beatrice, who was very pale, as various thoughts rushed through her mind, "i never saw any london thieves in the camp, or, indeed, any one disreputable."

"did you ever see any client?" asked jerry impressively.

"no. mr. alpenny kept his business very quiet."

"he had need to if he was a fence. beatrice, remember how the keys were in the counting-house, where the man was murdered, and how the assassin could not have got out unless he used the keys. i believe there is another entrance to that railway carriage, and the assassin came in by that way, along with the rest of alpenny's precious clients. i am quite sure the old man was the head of the gang."

"there was waterloo----"

"i know," said jerry quickly. "dinah told me about him, and mrs. lilly told her. waterloo is a blackguard. the detective in whitechapel explained what a scoundrel he was--one of the worst. why did he come down here?"

"i don't know," murmured beatrice, and then it flashed across her mind that the tramp had come to see vivian. coupling this desire with the speech of the late jarvis alpenny regarding vivian's crimes and vivian's secret troubles, which she was so anxious to find out, the girl suddenly turned pale. she wondered if paslow himself was one of the black patch gang. "it's impossible," said beatrice, with a gasp, and leaned against a tree to support herself.

"what is impossible?" asked jerry. "here, hold up."

"it's all right," she said, recovering herself with a violent effort; "a little weariness, that is all. i have been on the downs, remember. i don't see how you can connect this gang with mr. alpenny."

"remember, he was murdered by a man with a black patch over his eye."

"yes, but----" the girl broke off. "i hope the police won't come down here," she said, with pale-lips, and wondering if vivian's conduct would bear investigation.

"they just will," said jerry bluntly, "and i hope so. i'll be able to make a lot out of the matter, if any loot is found. why, the editor may raise my salary."

"you aren't worth it," cried an indignant voice near at hand, and dinah appeared from amongst the trees. "how dare you treat me in this way, jerry snow? why didn't you come after me, and why didn't----"

"dinah," asked beatrice hurriedly, "have you been listening long?"

"no. all i heard was that jerry wanted his salary raised. what has he been talking about?" and she eyed the two suspiciously.

"are you jealous of beatrice?" demanded mr. snow scornfully.

"what nonsense, when you know she is going to marry vivian! and i really don't think i'll marry you. take back your ring, and----"

beatrice waited to hear no more. leaving dinah pouring out her voluble wrath on the devoted head of her lover, she ran up the avenue, wondering what further revelations she would hear. this was a day of wonders. she had learned that she was the daughter of colonel hall; she had heard her dead mother accused of murder by mrs. snow; and now she discovered that alpenny--as was probably the case--had been connected with a gang of rogues. what would be the end of all these terrible things? she could not tell, and ran on, anxious to reach her own room in order to think matters over.

she quite forgot that jerry had told her durban was waiting to see her. but the old servant was on the watch. hardly had she set foot on the terrace when he issued from the house; and came towards her with a smile. it died away, however, when he saw her pale face.

"whatever is the matter, missy?" he asked anxiously, beatrice looked at him calmly, and wasted no time in explaining herself. "i have learned at last what you would not tell me."

"missy!" cried durban, and his swarthy face grew green, as it always did when he was startled.

"i am the daughter of colonel hall, who was murdered here. my mother was really mrs. hall, who called herself mrs. hedge and married alpenny!"

durban gasped. "who told you this?"

"orchard, who was the butler here, and now is a shepherd on the downs."

"it is true," said durban, flinging wide his hands. "i knew you would find out. i am glad you have found out."

"why did you not tell me?"

"i was prevented."

"by whom?"

"first by alpenny, and then by major ruck."

"the man with whom my mother was about to elope?"

durban looked at her swiftly. "orchard never told you that?"

"no. mrs. snow told me."

"you have seen her. then you know?"

"i know that she accuses my mother of the crime--of the murder of my father, colonel hall."

"that is a lie," said durban between his teeth. "but she would not stick at a lie to harm your mother."

"how can she harm the dead?"

"she might harm the memory of the dead," said durban evasively. "and what else have you heard?"

"from mr. jerry snow, i have just heard that there is a gang of thieves in london called the black patch gang."

"augh!" groaned durban, casting down his eyes. "go on."

"mr. alpenny is connected with them. mr. snow says that he was a fence who disposed of stolen goods."

"where did mr. snow hear this story?"

"from various people in whitechapel."

"rumours only," said durban, striving to appear calm; "there is not a word of truth in it. mr. alpenny was wicked, but not so bad as that, missy. i swear it."

"i believe that mr. snow has spoken the truth," said beatrice sharply. "you are still trying to keep me in the dark."

"for your good, missy--for your good."

"or for mr. paslow's safety--which?"

"i don't know what you mean," gasped durban hoarsely.

"i don't know myself exactly, since you will not be candid," said the girl wearily; "but i have found out much, and i shall find more. when i discover that necklace----"

"the obi necklace? you have never found that?"

"no. but i am looking for it."

"missy, do not. i implore you, do not. there is a curse on that necklace. it caused the death of your father, the disgrace of your mother, and the murder of mr. alpenny."

"how do you know that? had mr. alpenny the necklace?"

"yes. your mother gave it to alpenny for you."

"then where is it?"

"i don't know--i cannot tell. and if i did know i would never tell, missy. enough sorrow and trouble has come about over that necklace--the accursed thing! i--i----" durban broke down, and, with a groan, fairly ran away, leaving the amazed beatrice mistress of the field.