CHAPTER XXXVII.

THE HEIRESS

Mrs. Emma Ward had told him practically all there was to tell about herself before the cab had drawn up at the entrance of the flat.

It was she who had failed to register the birth of Diana and her twin sister, and this failure had, curiously enough, saved her life; for when the gang had discovered, as they did a few hours earlier than Larry, that Gordon Stuart had left an enormous fortune to the daughter whose existence he had discovered through an accidental meeting with the charwoman at Nottingham Place, they lost no time in securing the one witness who could prove the legality and the circumstances of Diana’s birth.

Never had Larry so congratulated himself upon any event as he did upon the fact that he had engaged a chaperon for Diana. Once before had that nurse been useful; and now she took charge of the unhappy woman who, to the scandal of the neighbourhood, he brought to his flat; and it was a presentable and tidy lady of middle age who came into his sitting room an hour after her arrival within reach of hot water and clean towels.

“I am going now to see Miss”--he baulked at the word--“Miss Stuart,” he said.

The woman started.

“Do you know where she is?”

“Oh, yes,” said Larry, “I know! She has been with me for----” He was on the point of saying “years” and honestly believing the word he framed; and then, with a queer sense of surprise, he realized that weeks, and very few weeks at that, would most accurately describe the length of his friendship with “Miss Diana Ward.”

He had thought of telephoning the news to her, but somehow he wanted to tell her himself; and there were other things he had to say--things which were hard to think about. He thought it all over on the way to the Yard. Diana Ward, poor and dependent, was a different girl from Clarissa Stuart, an heiress to millions of dollars. He could ask Diana Ward to marry him and look forward with happiness to a union where each brought to the other only the treasure of love. Diana Stuart was a rich woman. He did not doubt that she would be sweet and generous and desirous that the marriage should go through; but after a time she would realize how enormous were the possibilities which great possessions offer. And then she would regret in a nice way, he told himself; for he defended her even as he accused her. And that was the end of the case, he thought. Kudos would come to him, though he could take no credit for that; and the long-deferred promotion--that also would come and he would sit in the office, an Assistant Commissioner, and exercise his function. But all the success he had secured was Diana’s. Hers was the brain that had disentangled the knottiest of the problems and had made the tangle of clues into one straight case.

It was curious that he did not also credit her with having discovered even more. Perhaps it was the natural vanity which is latent in all men which made him guard so jealously the claim to one achievement--the discovery of her identity.

The end of the case! And the end of all hope for him, as he knew. There was never another woman in the world like Diana Ward. She was the first in his heart and should be the last. He had renounced her in his mind and had drawn a gray veil over the future by the time he stood outside Room 47 with his hand upon the door-knob, hardly daring to turn it because of the loss which would be his. And his first words expressed aloud the thought that followed that moment of hesitation.

“Diana,” he said, “I am the most selfish brute in the world.”

She showed all her white teeth in a silent laugh.

“I waited for you for over an hour,” she said.

“Good Lord!” he gasped. “I was taking you to lunch.”

“Yes,” she nodded, “that was what you were talking about?”

He shook his head.

“I wish to Heaven it was,” he said. “There I am again, thinking of myself and being sorry for myself, when I ought to be on my knees, thanking Heaven for the good fortune which has come to you.”

She jumped up.

“You have found Emma!” she said.

“I have found Emma Ward,” he replied slowly, “and I have found--Clarissa Stuart.”

He walked toward her, both hands outstretched.

“Oh, my dear, my dear,” he said, “I am so glad for you.”

She took the hands in hers and lifted one to her cheek.

“Aren’t you glad for yourself, too?”

He was silent, and she looked at him quickly.

“Larry,” she said, “I have known all about this for days and days--ever since the day I fainted at that boarding house in Nottingham Place. Don’t you remember?”

He frowned.

“Of course. But why----”

“Why, you silly,” she said, “I knew it was Aunt Emma’s ring. I always called her ‘aunt,’ though I knew she was not my aunt. And then I guessed who Gordon Stuart was. I knew nothing would make her leave her wedding ring behind. Do you know where she went in such a hurry?”

He shook his head.

“To find me,” she said simply. “I guessed that. I knew it instinctively before I had heard of that ring. My father gave it to her. She used to tell me how she was married when she was in my father’s service, and how my father presented her with this strange wedding ring for all she had done for my mother.”

“You knew!” he said wonderingly. “But you never told me.”

“You went on a chase to-day”--she lifted her finger reproachfully and shook it in his face--“and you never told me! You said you were going to Hampstead and you went to Chelsea.”

“You knew that, too?” he gasped. “Do I get any credit out of this infernal--this case?” he corrected quickly.

“You get me,” she said demurely.

He pressed her hands together.

“Diana, I’ve got a serious talk coming with you, and it’s about----”

“I know what it’s all about,” she said. “You can save yourself the trouble. You can’t marry a rich woman because you’re afraid she’ll want to keep you. You would much rather marry a poor woman--and keep her, if she would submit to that indignity.”

There was fun in the eyes that were raised to his.

“Larry!” She shook his hands with quiet impatience.

“It makes a difference, doesn’t it?” he asked.

“Not to me, Larry,” she replied. “And anyway, it doesn’t matter.” She dropped his hands and walked back to her table. “Because you’ve promised.”

“Promised? What have I promised?”

“Hear this man!” she scoffed. “You promised me that, whatever happened, whatever was the outcome of the Stuart case, it would make no difference to our marriage.”

“Did you know?” he asked in astonishment. “Was that why you made me promise?”

“Of course I knew. I’ve been a rich woman for quite a long time, and I’m so used to the feeling that I can hardly restrain myself from taking a cab whenever I see one!”

He walked over to her and laid his arm about her shoulder.

“Diana----” he began, and then asked: “Or is it Clarissa?”

“Diana, always,” she said.

He kissed her.

“And always.”