Part 3

His lordship is still working on the treasure. He had an old book sent to him from Germany last Tuesday, written by a German who was in this country hundreds of years ago. I cannot read the title because of the funny printing, which is like old English. His lordship has also had a plan sent to him from a London bookseller of Fossaway Manor. His lordship’s brother, Mr. Alford, has sold Red Farm to Mr. Leonard for £3,500 [here Mr. Gilder smiled]. Miss Gwyn came to tea yesterday with his lordship and Mr. Alford, and afterward Miss Gwyn and his lordship went for a walk in the home park. There is some talk about the Black Abbot having been seen near the old abbey. He was seen by Thomas Elwin, the half-witted son of Elwin, his lordship’s cowman, but nobody takes any notice of this. He has now been seen by Mr. Cartwright, the grocer. His lordship has had an offer for his Yorkshire estate, but I heard Mr. Alford advise him not to sell as he was sure there was coal on it.

Gilder nodded, understanding just how his employer’s plan had fallen through.

… When I was taking tea into the library I heard his lordship say that he wanted the wedding to take place in October, but Miss Gwyn said she would like it after Christmas. His lordship said that he didn’t mind because he was so busy. Mr. Alford said he thought that the marriage settlement should be fixed by Sampson & Howard, who were the old Lord Chelford’s solicitors, but his lordship said that he thought the settlement had better be in Mr. Gwyn’s hands. I did not hear any more because Mr. Alford told me to get out. Miss Wenner, who used to be his lordship’s secretary, came down from London yesterday, but Mr. Alford has given orders that she is not to be admitted. His lordship did not see her.…

Mr. Fabrian Gilder’s spy reported other minor matters which were less interesting. He read the letter again, put it in his pocket, and was busy at his desk for five minutes.

He came back to find his employer leaning over his desk, his head between his hands, and laid a slip of paper before him.

“What is this?” asked Gwyn, startled.

“A six-months’ bill for seven thousand pounds. I’ve put an extra thousand in for luck,” said Gilder coolly.

Gwyn read the document quickly. It was a bill, and required only his signature and that of Harry, Earl of Chelford, to make it convertible into solid cash.

“I dare not do it--I simply dare not do it!”

“Why tell him it’s a bill at all?” asked Gilder. “You can get him by himself, spin a yarn--you have a fertile imagination--but I suggest to you that you tell him you need his signature to release some of your sister’s property and once his name is on the back of the bill----”

Arthur Gwyn looked up sharply. Was it a coincidence that this excuse should be suggested? There was nothing in the head clerk’s face to suggest otherwise.

“But when it comes due?” he asked irresolutely, as he turned the document over and over in his hands.

“In six months’ time he’ll be married, and if things aren’t better with you, he’ll either have to meet the bill or hush the matter up.”

The eyes of the two men met.

“You’re on the edge of ruin, my young friend,” said Gilder, “and I’m rather concerned. If you go down, my livelihood disappears.”

How true this was, Arthur learnt one bitter day.

“You make a deuced sight more out of it than I do,” he grumbled as he wrote the name of a bank across the face of the bill.

“I spend less than you, and when I get money I know how to keep it.”

“You might even raise the sum yourself,” said his employer, with a feeble attempt at jocularity.

“I might,” said Gilder grimly, “but, as I said before, I know how to take care of my own, and lending money to you is not my notion of a good investment.”

He had been out of the room only a few minutes when he came back, and closing the door carefully behind him:

“Do you know a Miss Wenner?” he asked.

Mr. Gwyn frowned.

“Yes. What does she want?”

“She says she must see you on an urgent personal matter. Is she one of your--friends?”

Arthur shook his head.

“N-no--I have met her. She was Chelford’s secretary. Can’t you find out what she wants?”

“I’ve tried, but it is a matter personal to you. Do you want to see her?--I can easily stall her.”

Arthur thought for a while. She might have something important to tell him.

“Ask her to come in,” he said.

A few minutes later Mary Wenner came into the room and greeted him with a familiar nod.

“Well, my dear, this is an unexpected pleasure. You are getting prettier every time I see you.”

She accepted the flattery as her right, and sat on the edge of his desk.

“I’ve been down to Fossaway, Arthur,” she said.

“Silly girl,” he smiled. “But I thought that affair was all over and done with. You’ve got to be good, Mary. Chelford is going to marry my sister.”

“Isn’t that grand! And I’m not surprised. I saw you working when I was at Fossaway.”

She slipped down from the desk and dropped both her hands on his shoulders.

“Arthur, I’m tired of stenogging! And I want like sin to get back on that cold-blooded hound Dick Alford. I’ve been fired out once for proposing to a man--I’m going to take a second chance. We’ve been good pals, Arthur.”

He murmured something in his alarm.

“Listen--don’t turn down a good thing. You can marry me and I’ll bring you a bigger dowry than your sister will take to Harry Chelford.”

He stared at her.

“You?… Dowry?” he stammered.

She nodded slowly.

“Marry me, and I’ll take you to the place where you can lay your hands on fifteen tons of Spanish gold--the Chelford treasure! Two and a half million pounds!”

VIII

Fifteen tons of gold! Two and a half millions sterling!

Arthur Gwyn stared at the girl incredulously. But she was making no idle statement, and that she at least believed what she said was clear from her flushed face and shining eyes. For a second he was speechless.

“Fifteen tons of gold?” He frowned and smiled at the same time. “You’re mad, Mary!”

“Mad, am I?” She nodded vigorously. “Oh, indeed, I daresay you think so, but you won’t be thinking that very long! I have found the Chelford treasure, I tell you.”

He sat down heavily in his chair, his startled eyes still fixed upon hers. He was for the moment inarticulate.

“Rubbish!” he managed to say at last. “There is no Chelford treasure! Living so long in the same house with Harry Chelford has made you as mad as he!”

She walked slowly to the desk, and, with her palms on the ledge, leant down over him.

“You think that, do you?” she asked in a steady voice. “I was three years Lord Chelford’s secretary, and it’s true I had this treasure stuff dinned into me from morning till night. The sight of a black-lettered book makes me ill even now, and the plans of Fossaway Manor that I’ve studied--well, I don’t like to think of them! I’ve lived with this treasure for three years, Arthur, and there have been times when I could have screamed when it was mentioned. I got so that I came to like Dick Alford, just because he never spoke to me about it. And then one day there came a bundle of plans from London--Harry had a standing order with an old bookseller to send him anything he could find about Chelfordbury or Fossaway Manor. Harry had gone up to town that morning and I had no other work to do, so I went through these dusty old sheets to index them. And on the third sheet I found something that made me open my eyes.”

“What was it?” asked Arthur carelessly.

She looked at him with a quiet smile.

“A lot has to happen before I tell you that,” she said. “Arthur, if I give you this, or your share of this, will you marry me?”

Arthur looked at her steadily.

“If you can put me next to a million, or half a million,” he said slowly, “I would marry you if you were the plainest woman on the face of the earth! Instead of being the bonniest, prettiest little angel----”

“You can keep that stuff for later,” she said practically.

She opened her handbag and took out a paper, and he watched with fascinated interest. If he expected the secret of the Chelford treasure to be laid before him in writing, he was to be disappointed.

“I’m not much of a lawyer,” said Mary, as she smoothed out the paper and laid it on his blotting-pad, “but I think this is binding on both sides.”

He took up the paper with a wry face and read it.

In consideration of receiving one half of the Chelford treasure, I, Arthur Gwyn, of Willow House, Chelfordbury, Sussex, agree to bind myself to Mary Agnes Wenner in the holy bonds of matrimony within one month of the treasure being found and divided.

“Is that in order?” she asked, watching his face.

He put the paper down.

“My dear girl----” he began, in his suavest manner.

“Listen, Arthur.” She perched herself on the edge of the desk. “This is the time for ‘yes’s’ and ‘no’s,’ for ‘I will’s’ and ‘I won’t’s’! I’m not in love with you and you’re not in love with me. But I want a home and a position. I may not be a lady, but I am ladylike, and I have lived long enough with swagger people to make no mistakes. Is it yes or is it no?”

Arthur looked at the paper again.

“Does it strike you,” he said, “that the Chelford treasure is not yours or mine to divide? That it belongs to Harry Chelford, his heirs and his successors?”

“It is treasure trove,” she said startlingly. “I know the law of the country, because I’ve talked this thing over with Harry times without number. Treasure found hidden after hundreds of years has to be divided between the State and the finder.”

He shook his head with a smile.

“Our Mary is a lawyer!” he bantered. “You’re wrong, my dear. That is only the case if the owner of the money cannot be found. In the present instance there is no doubt whatever that the treasure would belong to Chelford.”

He saw her face fall and went on:

“I don’t know that that is going to seriously inconvenience us,” he said, looking her straight in the eyes. “You cannot lose what you never had, eh?”

She drew a deep sigh of relief.

“It is Harry’s, I suppose, but after the way he has treated me, and all that I’ve done for him----”

“Yes, yes,” he said soothingly. “We needn’t worry about Harry. The only question is, have you found the treasure?”

She nodded.

“You’ve actually seen it?”

“No,” she hesitated, “I haven’t seen it. I hadn’t time. But I saw the boxes through the grating. The door was locked, and I was so excited that I had to come out and walk around. And then Dick Alford saw me.”

Arthur was puzzled. He knew this girl well enough; they had been good friends in the days when she was Chelford’s secretary, and she had been a most useful agent of his.

“Now, let’s get down to brass tacks,” he said brusquely. “Where did you see this treasure and when?”

“I’ll tell you when. I saw it two days ago,” she said, to his surprise, for he had thought she was talking about some experience she had had when she was an inmate of Fossaway Manor.

“Two days ago?” he gasped.

“Two days ago,” she affirmed. “And as to where, well, there’s another matter to be settled before we get as far as that, Arthur. Will you sign that agreement?”

He looked at the paper again. His training in the law, his natural instincts against putting his name under any document which bound him, urged him to temporize.

“It is yes or no,” she said, as though she read his mind. “I’m not going to fool around with you unless you mean business. I’ll take it to Harry, and maybe, if I put him in possession of this gold, he’ll do the right thing by me.”

And, seeing that he made no move, she took up the paper, folded it determinedly, and put it in her little satchel.

“What’s the hurry?” he said, in alarm. “Mary, you’re mad to expect me to take a big decision like this without giving the matter a moment’s thought. Don’t you realize what you’re asking me to do? You’re proposing an act of sheer robbery and you’re asking me to become an accomplice. After all----” He shrugged his shoulders.

“If your conscience is hurting you,” she said, “we’ll leave it. I’m not the sort of girl who’d throw herself at any man’s head. I’ll take it along to Harry and see if his conscience is busy.”

She turned to go, but before she reached the door he had intercepted her.

“Don’t be silly and don’t be unreasonable.” He was more than a little agitated. “It’s a big thing you’re asking----”

“It’s a big thing I’m giving,” she said impatiently. “Two million and a half pounds--there’s nothing mean about that.”

He took her by the arm and forcibly drew her back.

“Sit down and don’t be a fool,” he said. “I’ve told you already I’ll marry you to-morrow, and I’ll go farther and say that there never was a time when money was sweeter to me than it is at the moment.”

“Will you sign that note?”

He skimmed it through quickly, making sure that he was under no obligation if the treasure did not materialize, and, picking up a pen, he made a little correction, she watching suspiciously, and signed with a flourish.

“What is that you’ve put into the paper?” she demanded.

“An exit for Arthur Gwyn,” he said with a whimsical smile. “The document reads ‘In consideration of receiving on behalf of my client Lord Chelford,’ etcetera, etcetera.”

At first she did not understand, and then a slow smile dawned on her face.

“I see,” she nodded. “That means that if anything comes out, you’re acting for him and not for yourself. Arthur, there are times when I think you’re clever!”

Arthur Gwyn smiled as he put his arm about her and led her to the window. Below, thick streams of road traffic were passing east and west. A great lorry was under his eyes; he saw an inscription on its side, “5 tons.” It would require three such lorries to move the Chelford treasure, he thought, and for a moment his head reeled.

“I’ll tell you how clever I am when I handle the first bar of the Chelford treasure. And you’ll know how clever you are when I’ve dealt with the last. There’s two millions in this. Now, tell me, where is this gold?”

She looked at him for a second, and then, lowering her voice:

“In the vaults of Chelford Abbey,” she said.

For a second neither spoke, and then:

“Will you see your sister, Mr. Gwyn? She has just arrived.”

Arthur Gwyn spun round, an oath on his lips. Gilder had come noiselessly into the room, his inscrutable eyes fixed upon his employer. Not a muscle of his face betrayed whether or not he had overheard the last words.

IX

Leslie Gwyn’s occupations at Willow House were well defined. Though her brother did not maintain a very expensive or elaborate establishment, he lived in a style consonant with the position he held in the county. There were little dinner parties, an occasional dance, and in the winter, Arthur, who was a good man to hounds and was ambitious to be master of the local pack, entertained on a lavish scale the more prominent members of the hunt. In these amenities Leslie acted as hostess for her brother, and at all times was the real housekeeper of the establishment. For all his extravagance he was a careful and grudging house master, required that the necessities of life should be bought in the cheapest markets, that the best at the lowest price should be found upon his table.

The resolve to go to town that morning had been born of a sudden impulse. The day was her own and she could do as she liked with it. For some reason the idea of lunching alone did not appeal to her. She had a wild thought of going on to Fossaway Manor, but remembered that Wednesday was a day that Dick Alford gave up entirely to visiting his tenant farmers. She did not attempt to explain to herself why the prospect of lunching tête-à-tête with her fiancé was even more distasteful than lunching alone. She had got beyond the point of finding excuses for herself; she felt a certain recklessness; was conscious that her manner and attitude of mind were defiant. Against what and whom?

With a lift of her pretty shoulders she shrugged the matter out of consideration. All that she knew was that the preoccupation of Dick Alford and the unlikelihood of seeing him, made a visit to Fossaway Manor not only undesirable but out of the question.

She would go to town: the decision was taken in an instant, and she went upstairs and dressed hurriedly, whilst the gardener wheeled her little two-seater to the drive before the house. Five minutes later she was spinning along the straight road toward the railway station. She had plenty of time; indeed, there was a certainty that she would arrive at the rail at least half-an-hour before the train left, even if it pulled out on time.

As she entered Fontwell Cutting she thought she saw a familiar form crossing the field toward the road a quarter of a mile away, and her heart jumped for no known reason. The high walls of the cut road shut out her view, but when she emerged and slid down the steep little hill to the village road, she discovered that she had not been mistaken, and brought her car to a halt as Dick Alford opened a field gate and came out.

He greeted her with a wave of his hand and a smile, and, to her consternation, would have passed on had she not called him back.

“You are very jumpy and cross this morning,” she said, and to her surprise he admitted that fault, though she had seen nothing in his manner to deserve the challenge she had made.

“I am very annoyed indeed. If there is one thing I don’t want to see, it is our good farms turned into little residential estates for the City gentry! I sold Red Farm to Mr. Leonard last week, under the impression that the old”--he checked a naughty word--“gentleman wanted to extend his holding, though why on earth he should want to buy Red Farm, which is the poorest land around here, I couldn’t guess.”

“And what has he done?”

Dick was indeed very much annoyed, she noticed now, and was secretly amused. She had a woman’s satisfaction in seeing the man she liked thrown momentarily off his balance and revealing himself in a light that was new to her.

“And what has the old--gentleman done?” she mocked him.

“He has resold the farm to a wretched man in London--though the purchaser is not aware that such a sale is invalid without my signature.”

“A stranger?” she asked.

“Yes; though he has been living in the neighbourhood all summer. He has a cottage somewhere about here.”

“On the Ravensrill?” she asked, in surprise.

“That is the fellow,” he nodded. “I’ve never seen him, but I understood he was only staying here for a few months. And now I find that the beggar’s bought Red Farm and intends putting up something in stucco with bow windows! And I daresay he will dig an artificial pond, start a rosary, and turn God’s productive acres into a forcing house for sickly flowers!”

“Why shouldn’t he?” she asked coolly, and he stared at her. “After all, you said this was the poorest land round here, and if it cannot be useful it may as well be beautiful. I rather like artificial ponds and rosaries.”

In spite of his annoyance he laughed.

“Then probably you’ll go to Mr. Gilder’s house-warming,” he said.

She started.

“Who?” she asked.

“Mr. Gilder. He’s something in the City--probably a deuce of a swell in his own way, but I wish he’d gone somewhere else. And as to Leonard, I’ve already told him that I shall not go to his funeral.”

“Dick, you ought to be ashamed of yourself!” she said indignantly. “Poor old man!” Then, in a different voice: “You don’t know his Christian name?”

“Whose--Leonard’s?”

“Don’t be stupid--Mr. Gilder’s.”

Dick frowned.

“Fabrian,” he said at last. “What a name! It sounds like a secret society!”

She wondered if Arthur knew of this enterprise of his clerk: it was hardly likely that Mr. Gilder would buy property in the neighbourhood without consulting his chief. For the moment she deemed it prudent to turn the subject.

“If you were nice and kind and brotherly,” she said, “you would come along with me to the station and garage my car like a nice man.”

He stood irresolutely, and for a moment she went hot at the implied rebuff. And then:

“I’m wasting my master’s time,” he said, “but there are occasions when pleasure must interfere with duty, and this is one of them. Do you mind if I drive? I have no faith in women drivers.”

“You are very rude,” she said, but nevertheless moved aside to let him take the wheel.

“How is Harry this morning?”

“Fine,” he said sardonically. And then, heartily ashamed of himself: “Harry is trying a new patent medicine. You’ve never been in his bedroom? That is an indelicate question to ask, but have you?”

She shook her head, the hint of laughter in her eyes.

“There are about eight hundred and forty-five varieties of patent medicines in Harry’s bedroom,” he said grimly. “Once every three months we have a spring-cleaning and chuck ’em out! Really, there isn’t very much wrong with Harry, and if he did not read patent medicine advertisements he would be a happier man. Just now he’s trying something for his nerves, and if there’s anything left in the bottle at the end of the week I shall take it myself.”

“Poor Harry!” she said softly.

“Yes, I’m a brute to grouse,” he said, almost gruffly, and seemed to imply in some subtle fashion that she was a provocative party to his brutality.

It occurred to her as strange that he never spoke about the time when she would be mistress of Fossaway Manor. It would have been natural in him to say, “When you’re married I hope you’ll cure Harry of that nonsense,” but he had made no such reference. That was the strange thing about Dick, that he never even suggested or hinted of a coming time when she would be Countess of Chelford. In one way she was glad he did not--especially now.

They wound slowly through the leafy lanes, passed a little wood, all olive, russet, and purple with the decay of autumn, and came to the station ten minutes ahead of time.