Surelythat wasn't bad?"
"Ah! that was because Liane was sitting beside me. It's wonderful whatluck that girl has."
"Then why not take her back again this season?" his companion suggested.
"She wouldn't go," he answered, after a slight pause.
"Wouldn't go!" cried the Prince, raising his dark, well-defined brows."You are her father. Surely she obeys you?"
"Of late she's very wilful; different entirely from the child as youknew her. Since poor Nelly's death she seems to have been seized with asudden desire to go to church on Sunday, and is getting altogether abluestocking," the Captain said.
"Poor Nelly!" sighed the Prince. "I have never ceased to think of thatsad evening when she grasped my hand through the carriage-window as thetrain was moving, and with a merry mischievous laugh waved me farewell.She was bright and happy then, as she always was; yet an hour later shewas shot dead by some villainous hand. I wonder whether the mysterywill ever be explained," he added, reflectively.
The Captain made no reply, but smoked on steadily, his head thrown back,gazing fixedly at the opposite wall.
"The police have done their best," he answered at length. "At present,however, they have no clue."
"And I don't believe they ever will have," answered Zertho, slowly.
"What makes you think that?" Brooker inquired, turning and looking athim.
"Well, I've read all that the papers say about the affair," he answered,"and to me the mystery seems at present one that may never be solved."
"Unless the crime is brought home to the assassin by some unexpectedmeans."
"Of course, of course," he answered. "You're a confounded fool toremain down in that wretched, dismal hole, Brooker. How you can standit after what you've been used to I really can't think."
"My dear fellow, I've grown quite bucolic," he assured his companion,laughing a trifle bitterly. "The few pounds I've still got suffice tokeep up the half-pay wheeze, and although I'm in a chronic state ofhard-up, yet I manage to rub along somehow and just pay the butcher andbaker. Hang it! Why, I'm so infernally respectable that a chap cameround last week with a yellow paper on which he wanted me to declare myincome. Fancy me paying an income-tax!"
The Prince laughed at his friend's grim humour. In the old days atMonte Carlo, Erle Brooker had been full of fun. He was the life andsoul of the Hotel de Paris. No reverse ever struck him seriously, forhe would laugh when "broke" just as heartily as when, with pockets bulkywith greasy banknotes, he would descend the steps from the Casino, andcrack a bottle of "fizz" at the cafe opposite.
"If I were you I'd declare my income at eight hundred a year, pay up,and look big," Zertho laughed. "It would inspire confidence, and youcould get a bit of credit here and there. Then when that's exhausted,clear out."
"The old game, eh? No, I'm straight now," the other answered, his facesuddenly growing grave.
"Honesty is starvation. That used to be our motto, didn't it? Yet hereyou are with only just enough to keep a roof over your head, living in adreary out-of-the-way hole, and posing as the model father. The thing'stoo absurd."
"I don't see it. Surely I can please myself?"
"Of course. But is it just to Liane?"
"What do you mean?"
"It is essential for a young girl of her temperament to have life andgaiety," he said, exhibiting his palms with a quick, expressivemovement. "By vegetating in Stratfield Mortimer, amid surroundingswhich must necessarily possess exceedingly painful memories, she willsoon become prematurely old. It's nothing short of an infernal shamethat she should be allowed to remain there."
Brooker did not reply. He had on more than one occasion latelyreflected that a change of surroundings would do her good, for he hadnoticed with no little alarm how highly strung had been her nerves oflate, and how pale and wan were her cheeks. Zertho spoke the truth.
"I don't deny that what you say is correct," he replied thoughtfully."But what's the use of talking of gaiety? How can any one have lifewithout either money or friends?"
"Easily enough. Both you and Liane know the Riviera well enough to findplenty of amusement there."
"No, she wouldn't go. She hates it."
"Bah!" cried the prince, impatiently. "If, as you say, she's turned abit religious, she of course regards the old life as altogetherdreadful. But you can easily overcome those prejudices--or I will."
"How?"
"In December I'm going to Nice for the season," Zertho explained. "Weshall have plenty of fun there, so at my expense you'll come."
"I think not," was the brief reply.
"My dear fellow, why not," he cried. "Surely you can have no qualmsabout accepting my hospitality. You will remember that when I was laidup with typhoid in Ostend I lived for months on your generosity. Andheaven knows, you had then but little to spare! It is my intention nowto recompense you."
"And to endeavour to win Liane's love," added the Captain, curtly.
Zertho's brows narrowed slightly. He paused, gazing at the fine diamondglittering upon his white finger.
"Well, yes," he answered at last. "I don't see why there should beanything underhand between us."
"I gave you my answer when you came down to Stratfield Mortimer," theother responded in a harsh, dry tone, rising slowly. "I still adhere tomy decision."
"Why?" protested his whilom partner, looking up at him intently, andsticking his hands into his pockets in lazy, indolent attitude.
"Because I'm confident she will never marry you."
"Has she a lover?"
His companion gave an affirmative nod. Zertho frowned and bit his lip.
"Who is he?" he asked. "Some uncouth countryman or other, I'll bebound."
"The son of Sir John Stratfield."
The prince sprang to his feet, and faced his visitor with a look ofamazement.
"Sir John's son! Never!" he gasped.
"Yes. Strange how such unexpected events occur, isn't it?" Brookerobserved, slowly, with emphasis.
"But, my dear fellow, you can't allow it. You must not!" he criedwildly.
"I've already told her that marriage is entirely out of the question.Yet she will not heed me," her father observed, twirling the moustacheswhich he kept as well trained now as in the days when he rode at thehead of his troop on Hounslow Heath, and was the pet of certain Londondrawing-rooms.
"Then take her abroad, so that they cannot meet. Come to Nice inDecember."
"I am to bring her, so that you may endeavour to take GeorgeStratfield's place in her heart--eh?" observed the Captain shrewdly.
"Marriage with George Stratfield is agreed between us both to beimpossible, whereas marriage with me is not improbable," was the reply.
Erle Brooker shrugged his shoulders as he again puffed vigorously at hiscigar. He now saw plainly Zertho's object in asking him to call.
"Well," continued his friend, "even I, with all my faults, am preferableto any Stratfield as Liane's husband, am I not?"
"I don't see why we need discuss it further," said Brooker quietly."Liane will never become Princess d'Auzac."
"Will you allow me to pay my attentions to her?"
"If you are together I cannot prevent it, Zertho. But, candidlyspeaking, you are not the man I would choose as husband for mydaughter."
"I know I'm not, old fellow," the other said, shrugging his shouldersslightly. "And you're not exactly the man that, in ordinarycircumstances, I'd choose as my father-in-law. But I have money, and ifthe man's a bit decent-looking, and sound of wind and limb, it's aboutall a woman wants nowadays."
"Ah! I don't think you yet understand Liane. She's not eager for moneyand position, like most girls."
"Well, let me have a fair innings, Brooker, and she'll consent to becomePrincess d'Auzac, I feel convinced. You fancy I only admire her; but Iswear it's a bit more than mere admiration. For Heaven's sake take herout of that dismal hole where you are living, and make her break it alloff with Stratfield's son. She must
do that at once. Take her to theseaside--to Paris--anywhere, for a month or two until we can all meet inthe South."
Brooker, leaning against the mantelshelf, slowly flicked the ash fromhis cigar, meditated deeply for a few moments, then asked--
"Why do you wish to take me back to the old spot?"
"Because