one, Mr Mervyn. But at the same timeit might prove dangerous with some people. According to British lawturning a key on an independent fellow-subject is a ground for actionfor false imprisonment."
"Law--did you say?" returned Mervyn, in a gouty, gusty sort of way."Why, I was administering law what time you were being smacked in thenursery--or ought to have been."
This was a pretty nasty one for Helston Varne, somewhat famed clearer-upof mysteries. But he took it equably. The other eyed him not in theleast kindly.
"Who turned any key on you?" he said abruptly.
"Well, I was locked in there, wasn't I?"
"Not by me--and certainly no one has been in here since," answeredMervyn. "Just try that door handle, will you?"
"I don't know that I will," laughed the other, again becoming alive tothe importance of keeping up his character of artistic--andunprofessional stranger. "I think I've had about enough of it. There'ssomething uncanny about it. I'd better keep away from it."
"All right then. Look here," Mervyn went to the door and turned thehandle--there was no key in the lock--then opened it slightly.
"That's all right, Mr Mervyn," answered the other, with a jolly laugh."I wasn't serious in what I said. Besides, I can take a joke as well asanybody. Don't you worry about that."
"I thought it only the thing to leave you undisturbed while you madeyour investigations," rejoined Mervyn, "but seem to have left you toolong. And now, if you're ready for lunch--so am I. It's later thanusual, but there's no point in waiting any longer."
Varne glanced at the clock opposite. It was nearly two. When he hadentered his recent prison it was just half past twelve. He had spent anhour and a half nearly, down there in the cold and darkness. Heavens!and it seemed eight times that period. His resentment partially revivedwith the recollection, and he was about to refuse, when a sound struckupon his ears, the sweet, clear, full voice of a girl. That decidedhim.
"Well, thanks, Mr Mervyn, I think I am too, after my morning'sexperiences," and he laughed again.
"We're late, Joe. I told you we should be," the voice was saying."You'd much better have let me drive. Now bring in the things--you canput up the trap afterwards."
The visitor, listening, thought he had never heard quite such a voice.And then its owner appeared.
She came into the room mapped in large warm furs. The day, thoughbright, carried a sharp tinge in the wind, and had imparted a delightfulpink glow to her cheeks, and the blue eyes were dancing. The visitordid not miss the effect of the straight firm walk, the erect carriage ofthe golden head, crowned with an exceedingly becoming toque.
"Just fancy, Uncle Seward," she began--and then stopped short as shebecame alive to the presence of a stranger. Her uncle introduced them.No stiff or conventional bow, but out went a long, gloved hand, infrank, easy fashion, and the straight glance of the blue eyes met thoseof the other, in which surprise and admiration would hardly bedissembled. Helston Varne remembered his pronouncement upon her whentalking with Nashby. "She's lovely, and so uncommon looking." Now itcame home to him, that if possible, he had even then hardly done herjustice. A new light seemed likely to lead away from the Heath Hovermystery.
"I suppose you've been into Clancehurst, Miss Seward," he said. "Do youfind the shops there fairly satisfactory?"
"Oh yes--on the whole. It's a jolly little place and has a ripping oldchurch."
"`Old stones,'" thought the guest to himself, with a smile. Then aloud,"I hear you're a great antiquarian, Miss Seward."
"I don't know about that, but I'm awfully keen on old architecture, andold art in general."
"You've got a kindred spirit then, dear," said Mervyn. "Mr Varne hascome over to look at some of our antiquities. He went into ecstasiesover the door," with a nod behind him in that direction, and a veryhumorous look crinkling round the corners of his eyes.
"Did you?" turning to the stranger, in her bright, brisk, naturalmanner. "Yes, it's awfully quaint--but--there's a something about it.Did you go into the old cellar? You did?" as she read the affirmativeon the faces of both men. "Well, didn't it give you the cold shivers?I can tell you it did me, the two or three times I've been into it.There must be a spook hidden away down there, but thank goodness thatdoor is thick enough and heavy enough to keep it there."
"But I thought spooks were traditionally independent of such trifles asbolts and bars, Miss Seward," said Varne with an amused smile.
"Of course. It's the moral effect, I suppose, for it's difficult toimagine anything being able to get through such a solid mass of oak asthat. But it's a splendid old door."
She had shed her outer furs and had sat down to table. Helston Varnewas watching her keenly, though of course not seeming to do so.Whatever mystery Mervyn was mixed up in, this girl was entirely outsideit, even as he had imparted to Nashby, and more than ever now was thatopinion confirmed. And with that sop to professionalism he dismissedthe same, and fell to giving himself up to studying the rare,fascinating personality, thus unexpectedly unfolded before him. But heturned the conversation on to what he saw was a very congenial topicwith her, and soon she got launching Ruskin at him; and, glowing withher subject, talked not a bit as though she had never known of hisexistence half an hour ago. Mervyn, the while, his sense of humourthoroughly tickled--although somewhat grimly so--was observing the pair,with an inward twinge of dissatisfaction, which, as his said sense ofhumour entirely enabled him to realise, was essentially selfish. Forhis guest was an exceptionally good-looking man, who talked withknowledge, and well, moreover; and had--what for want of a betterdefinition he defined as--a way about him. And thinking thus, the sideof the other's visit which had been with him all the morning and up tillnow, seemed to slide into a back seat. What had ousted it was theconsciousness of how Melian seemed to be "cottoning" to the engagingstranger.
Then in the glow of a discussion which she was thoroughly enjoying, shegot up suddenly to move some of the things.
"The old woman who usually looks after us is shamming again, Mr Varne.At least, she isn't really shamming, but I always tease her by tellingher she is," Melian explained. "So I'm afraid it's a case of takingthings as they are."
Helston Varne at once scented a chance of further insight. Now he couldget, at first hand, what was rumoured at second--the reason why Mervynnever kept indoor servants. But immediately he felt ashamed of thethought. Professionalism under these circumstances could go hang; underthem, if he couldn't sink the "shop," when could he? In fact, if itcame to that he would.
Just then, taking advantage of the door being open, the little blackkitten made its way in and jumped up on Melian's lap as she sat downagain.
"No, no, pooge-pooge, not _on_ the table," she said decisively,restraining a move on the part of the little thing to jump up there."Uncle Seward has got you into bad ways--in fact, thoroughly spoiledyou--and now you'll have to get out of them."
"What a jolly little fluffy ball," said Helston Varne, thinking what apicture was here before him, these two graceful creatures, the human andthe animal, every movement on the part of either one that of perfectprettiness and grace.
"Do you like them, then?" Melian asked, flashing her bright glance athim.
"Yes, if only they would stay small."
"I'm so glad. But I think this one will, there are kinds, you know,that never grow large, and I like them best that way myself." And thenshe launched forth into another favourite topic, and here again Varnemet her on her own ground, and with knowledge. And here again Mervynwas observant, and had misgivings.
Now all of a sudden something he had been puzzling over took light, andit was caused by a casual remark on the part of this somewhat strangelyformed acquaintance.
"Have you been in India?" he interrupted, abruptly.
"Yes, a little."
"Where?"
"In the North West Provinces, and the Northern border."
"Strange how things come back," went on Mervyn. "Now your name is a bituncom
mon, and I've been racking my brain box over it. Do you happen tobe related to Varne Coates, who was Commissioner at Baghnagar?"
"Yes. He's rather a near cousin of mine."
"Look at that now. He used to be one of my greatest friends. Smallworld this after all."
"Yes, isn't it? Well, Mr Mervyn, that only adds to the pleasure ofmaking your acquaintance--in such an accidental manner."
For the life of him Mervyn could not restrain the ghost of a queersmile, for he knew