The Mystery Queen. Hume Fergus

haven't that amount to lend," said Freddy, drily; "but you must have seen, if you read our very interesting paper, that our proprietor has offered a prize of two thousand pounds for a successful flight from London to York."

      "A kind of up-to-date Dick Turpin, I suppose," laughed Dan, rising and stretching his long limbs. "Good, I'll have a shot, I may win."

      "You will, if you use a Vincent machine."

      "Vincent, Vincent? Where have I heard that name?"

      "Everywhere if you know anything of the aviation world," snapped Laurance rather crossly, for at times Dan's indolence in acquiring necessary information annoyed him. "Solomon Vincent, who has been inventing airships and new-fangled aeroplanes for ever so long."

      "Yes, yes! I remember now. He's a genius. Every one knows him." "Every one knows of him, except yourself; but no one knows him personally. He lives a secluded life up in Hillshire, on the borders of the moors, where he can find wide space for his experiments in aerial craft. I interviewed him a year ago, and-and-" Laurance blushed red. "Hullo, what's this?" asked Dan shrewdly. "Can it be that the inventor has a daughter fair?"

      "A niece," retorted Laurance, recovering; "why shouldn't I be in love as well as you, Halliday? However, that doesn't matter."

      "It matters a great deal to you."

      "Never mind. What you have to do is to secure one of Vincent's machines and try for this race. If you win the prize you will have heaps of money to search for the gang. But why doesn't Miss Moon-"

      "I don't take Lillian's money," said Dan curtly, and blushed in his turn. "It is a good idea, Freddy. How can I get hold of the machine?"

      "I shall take you up to Hillshire next week, and you can see Vincent for yourself. He can talk to you, and-"

      "And you can talk to the niece. What's her name?"

      "Oh, shut up and get out," said Laurance, turning away, "you're interrupting my work."

      "Going to write a letter to the beloved," said Dan, leisurely making for the door. "All right, old son, I'll go. You know my address, so write me when you want me. I'd like to see Vincent's machines, as I hear he has made several good improvements, and everything tells in a race. Salaam!"

      "Keep your eyes open," Laurance called after him; "remember Monsieur Chance may prove to be our best friend." Dan departed, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't believe in heaven-sent miracles," were his last words. But they were wasted on Freddy, for that alert young man was already buried in his work. It was painful to witness such industry, in Halliday's opinion. In an inquiring frame of mind, the amateur detective strolled along Fleet Street, thinking of Lillian instead of keeping his wits about him, as Freddy had requested. It seemed impossible that he should strike on a clue without deliberately searching for it, which he did not feel inclined to do at the moment. Monsieur Chance, indeed! He was a mythical personage in whom this sceptical young man did not believe. Besides love dominated his thoughts to the exclusion of minor matters, and he dreamed about his darling all along the Strand. Thus he did not look where he was going, and stumbled into the midst of a Charing Cross crowd, where a motor had broken down after colliding with a 'bus. A policeman was conversing with the chauffeur and the 'bus driver, who were conversing abusively with one another. The crowd blocked the street and stopped the traffic in order to enjoy the conversation, which left nothing to be desired in the way of free language. Dan halted idly, as a spectator, not because he wished to be one, but for the very simple reason that he could not get through the crowd into Trafalgar Square. Thrust up against one man, and wedged in by two others, and surrounded by hundreds, he grumbled at the delay, and peered over shoulders to see when the incident would end. As he did so, he suddenly in his mind's eye saw a vision of Sir Charles lying dead in the well-lighted library. While wondering why he thought of the crime at this particular moment, he became aware that a familiar scent assailed his nostrils, the scent about which he had talked to Durwin and Tenson and Laurance. Nosing like a hound, he tried to find the person from whom it emanated, and almost immediately later the man turned, and Dan found himself face to face with Marcus Penn.

      CHAPTER V

      MUDDY WATER

      The secretary of the late Sir Charles Moon smiled irresolutely when he recognized Dan. That young gentleman, who thought Penn a weak-kneed idiot, had never taken much notice of him, but for the fact that he was perfumed with the unusual scent would not have spoken to him now. But as he looked at the lank creature with his yellow face, and scanty moustache, he guessed that he was exactly the effeminate sort of person who would use perfume. What he wished to know was why he affected this particular kind of fragrance, and whence he obtained it. To gain the information he pretended a friendliness for the man he was far from feeling. Dan, strong, virile, and self-confident, was not altogether just to Penn, who was not responsible for his pallid looks and weak character. But Halliday was not a perfect individual by any means, and had yet to learn that the weak are meant to be protected and helped instead of being despised. "You here, Mr. Penn?" said Dan, thus formal to mark the difference between them. "Yes," replied the man in his faint hesitating voice, and, as they moved out of the crowd, Halliday smelt the weird perfume more strongly than ever shaken from Penn's clothes by his movements. "I stopped to look at the accident."

      "A very ordinary one," rejoined Mr. Halliday, with a shrug. "By the way, I have not seen you since the funeral of Sir Charles. What are you doing now, if I may ask?"

      "I am secretary to Lord Curberry."

      "Oh!" The reply gave Dan something of a shock, for he did not expect at the moment to hear his rival's name. But then the whole incident of meeting Penn and smelling the incriminating perfume was strange. Monsieur Chance had proved himself to be an actuality instead of the mythical personage Dan had believed him to be. It was certainly odd that the meeting had taken place, and odder still that Penn should prove to be the servant of Curberry. As Halliday said nothing more than "Oh!" the other man stroked his moustache and explained. "Sir John got me the post, Mr. Halliday," he said, with his shifty eyes anywhere but on Dan's inquiring face. "I was quite stranded after Sir Charles's unexpected death, and did not know where to turn for employment. As I support a widowed mother, the situation was rather serious, so I took my courage in my hands and went to Sir John. He was good enough to recommend me to Lord Curberry, and I have been with his lordship for a month, more or less."

      "I congratulate you, Mr. Penn, and Lord Curberry, also. Sir Charles always said you were an excellent secretary," Dan stopped as Penn bowed his acknowledgments to the compliment, and cast a keen side glance at the man. They were walking through Trafalgar Square by this time, passing under the shadow of Nelson's Column. "Do you know what I was thinking of when behind you in the crowd yonder, Mr. Penn?" he asked abruptly, and it must be confessed rather undiplomatically, if he wished to get at the truth. "No," said the secretary, with simplicity and manifest surprise. "No, Mr. Halliday, how can I guess your thoughts?"

      "I was thinking of the murder of your late employer," said Dan straightly. Penn blinked and shivered. "It's a horrible subject to think about," he remarked in a low voice. "I can scarcely get it out of my own thoughts. I suppose the sight of me reminded you of the crime, Mr. Halliday?"

      "Scarcely, since I was behind you, and did not recognize you until you turned," replied Dan, calmly, and the other appeared to be surprised. "Then how-" he began, only to be cut short. "It's that scent."

      "Scent!" echoed Penn nervously, but manifestly still surprised. "I don't understand exactly what you mean, Mr. Halliday. I like scent, and use much of it." Dan's lip curled. "So I perceive. But where did you get the particular scent you are using now, may I ask?" Something in his tone annoyed the secretary, for he drew himself up and halted. "I don't know why you should criticize my tastes, Mr. Halliday."

      "I'm not criticizing them, and don't jump down my throat. But you reek of some strange perfume, which I last smelt-" He paused. "You cannot have smelt it anywhere," said Penn indifferently. "What do you mean by that exactly?" asked Dan with considerable sharpness. Penn resumed his walk and drew his light eyebrows together. "I am willing to explain as soon as you tell me why you speak of the scent."

      "Hang it, man," rejoined Halliday, dropping into step, "any one would notice the scent and speak of it since it is so