contour, while her large splendid eyes revealed aninexpressible sweetness and charm. From the first moment I realisedthat she was full of good-humour, with a bright, cheerful disposition,and yet quiet of manner and full of exquisite refinement. Theexpression in her great wide-open eyes was perhaps just a trifle tooshrewd, and she seemed, as I began to chat with her, possessed of aready wit and a quaint philosophy.
Of her wondrous and striking beauty there could be no two opinions. Shewas perfect, from the crown of her neat little straw motor-bonnet to thetop of her brown glace shoe. Her hands were small and well-gloved, andher pointed chin gave to her sweet delicate face an air of piquantirresponsibility that added greatly to her attractiveness.
Between the smart chauffeur and ourselves the window was closed;therefore we could converse without being overheard.
"Mr Shaw told me how generously you assisted him when you met atTotnes," she exclaimed at last. "Ah, Mr Kemball!" she added, suddenlygrowing very serious, "you cannot tell how great a service you renderedus then."
"Us?" I echoed. "Then I presume you are a relation?"
"His daughter," she replied, "or, to be quite correct, his adopteddaughter. My name is Asta--Asta Seymour. So perhaps I may be permittedto thank you, Mr Kemball, for the generous assistance you gave insecuring my foster-father's escape."
"No thanks are needed, Miss Seymour, I assure you," I declared. "Buttell me, why is he in dread of the police?"
"Of that you will learn soon enough, I fear," she replied in a hard,changed voice, which had a distant touch of sadness in it.
"Yes. But is there not a grave danger in returning to England?"
"He was compelled to do so--first in order to meet you at Totnes, andnow for a second reason, in connection with the unfortunate death ofpoor Mr Melvill Arnold."
"You, of course, knew Mr Arnold," I said. "It is your hand that hasplaced those fresh flowers upon his grave."
She was silent. Then in a low voice she said--
"I admit that I have done so, for he was always my friend--always. Butplease say nothing to my father regarding what I have done."
"To me a great mystery enshrouds Mr Arnold," I said. "Cannot you tellme something concerning him--who and what he was? By my very slightknowledge of him, I feel instinctively that he was no ordinary person."
"And your estimate was surely a perfectly correct one, Mr Kemball. Hewas one of the most remarkable of men."
"You knew of his death. How?"
"I knew he was in London, for he scribbled me a note telling me hisaddress, but requesting me to reveal it to nobody, not even my father,"she said, in a low, hoarse voice. "I called to see him upon some urgentbusiness--because he wished to see me, but, alas! they told me at thehotel that he had died only a few hours before. So I went away, fearingto reveal myself to you, who they told me was his friend. Two dayslater I made inquiries, and learned where they had buried him. Then, intribute to the memory of the man of whose greatness of heart andremarkable attainments the world has remained in ignorance, I laidflowers upon his grave."
"Why did you fear to reveal yourself to me, Miss Seymour?" I askedearnestly, looking straight into her soft brown eyes as the car rushedalong.
But she avoided my gaze, while a flush overspreading her cheeks betrayedher embarrassment.
"Because--well, because I did not know how far you might be trusted,"was her frank, open response, after a moment's hesitation. "Indeed, Ido not even now know whether you would still remain our friend andpreserve the secret if the ugly truth became revealed to you!"
CHAPTER SEVEN.
DAWNAY MAKES CONFESSION.
Her curious reply greatly puzzled me. What could be "the ugly truth" towhich she had referred?
At her side I sat in silence for some time. The car was tearing along awide straight main road between dusty hedges and many telegraph wires,and as I glanced at her I saw that she was staring straight before herfixedly, with a strange hard look upon her beautiful countenance.
Perhaps I might have been mistaken, but at my mention of the dead man Ifelt certain that I saw in her eyes the light of unshed tears.
Through the busy town of Northampton we went, and out again on the roadto lettering--a road I knew well, having motored over it many times. Inthe centre of the latter town we turned sharply to the left, and, takingthe Oakham Road, soon passed through the village of Great Oakley, andsuddenly descending a very steep hill, on the summit, of which a castlewas perched, we found ourselves in the wide straggling main street ofRockingham village.
My fair companion spoke but little. She seemed suddenly to have becomestrangely preoccupied. Indeed, it struck me as though she had beenseized by some sudden apprehension, by a thought which had crossed hermind for the first time. Her manner had completely changed.
"Your father has been away in France since I met him?" I remarked, forwant of something else to say.
"Yes," she responded; "he has been moving rapidly from place to placefor reasons to which I need not refer."
"But why has he returned if there is still danger?" I queried.
"I scarcely think there is further danger--at least at present," sheanswered. I was puzzled at her reply, but not for long, as I willrelate.
The car slipped through Rockingham, and when about two miles farther onswung abruptly through a handsome pair of lodge-gates and into a broad,well-timbered park, at last pulled up before a long, old-fashionedJacobean mansion which commanded from its grey stone terrace fine viewsof the green undulating hills and rich pastures around. The oldivy-clad place, with its pointed gables and mullioned windows, was agood type of the stately English home, and as the car drew up at theporch the great door was flung open by a neat man-servant, who bowed lowas we entered the fine hall, where the stone slabs were, I noticed, wornhollow by the tread of generations.
The place was built in a quadrangle, two-storeyed, with handsomeheraldic devices in the stained windows. There seemed to be roomycorridors, leading by stout oak doors to roomier apartments within, someoak-panelled, others with moulded ceilings and carved stone fireplaces.The whole place had a cloak and rapier look about it, built probablywhen the old Cavalier was poor and soured and had sheathed his sword,but nevertheless was counting the months when the King should come tohis own again.
I followed Asta Seymour along the hall, and turning into a corridor onthe left, suddenly found myself in a pleasant sitting-room wherein theman I knew as Dawnay stood, his hands behind his back, awaiting me.
As we entered she closed the door behind us. The room bore an old-worldair, with chintz-covered furniture and filled with the perfume ofpot-pourri.
"At last, Mr Kemball! At last?" cried the fugitive, crossing quicklyto me and taking my hand in warm welcome. "So Asta found you all right,eh?"
"Her appearance was certainly a surprise," I said. "I expected you tomeet me yourself."
"Well," he laughed, his small narrow-set eyes filled with a merrytwinkle. "It would hardly have been a judicious proceeding. So I sentAsta, to whom, I may as well tell you, I entrust all matters ofstrictest confidence. But sit down, Mr Kemball. Give me your hat andstick."
And he drew forward for me a comfortable chair, while the girl, excusingherself, left us alone.
When she had gone, my friend looked me in the face, and burst outlaughing, exclaiming--
"I suppose, Mr Kemball, this is rather a surprise to you to find thatHarvey Shaw, the occupier of Lydford Hall, and Alfred Dawnay are one andthe same person, eh?"
"It is," I admitted. "I have passed the edge of your park many times inmy car, but I never dreamed that you lived here."
"Well," he said, "I rely upon your secrecy. You were extremely good tome the other day, so I see no reason why I should not be just a littlefrank with you."
"Your affairs are, of course, no business of mine," I declared. "Butwhatever you may reveal to me I shall certainly treat with the strictestconfidence."
"Ah! I feel sure that you will. Melv
ill Arnold would never have takenyou into his confidence if he had not been certain that he could trustyou. He was one of the very shrewdest men in all England, or he wouldnot have been so enormously successful."
From the long windows, with their small leaded panes, I could see fromwhere I sat far away across the park with its fine beech avenue. Overthe wide fireplace were carved many heraldic devices in stone, whileagainst the dark oak-panelling the bright chintzes showed clean andfresh. Taste was displayed everywhere--the taste of a refined man.
Mr Shaw, as he was apparently known there, was dressed very differentfrom the occasion when we had met at Totnes. Then he had assumed theappearance of a racing man, but in his guise of country gentleman he wasdressed in