The Scarlet Bat. Fergus Hume

will have a full description of you. Everyone will be on the look-out. Thank Heaven, you're of the commonplace type. Pink and white, fair hair, blue eyes, well-groomed, military figure, and all the rest of it."

      "How will my blue eyes match black hair?"

      "We'll say you're Irish, and you can fix up a brogue. Trust me. I've been in several holes myself, and know how to get out of the deepest."

      "But, Jarman, who do you think killed the man?"

      "I can't say that until I know more. The reason is to be found in Walter Starth's past. He has sown the wind pretty freely, and I can hardly wonder at his reaping this whirlwind."

      "Do you think he intended to trap me?" asked Lancaster.

      "Yes. He's not the man to apologise. And the house being empty on that evening shows that Starth was up to some trickery. Maybe he intended to kill you. However, he never intended to die himself."

      "How do you know? He may have committed suicide."

      "Bosh! Starth was the last man in the world to have such an idea. He wasn't cowardly enough. I will say that. Besides, if he wished to commit suicide he would scarcely invite you to see him do it."

      "I don't know. He might have left a letter saying I shot him, and then got out of the world to hang me."

      Jarman shrugged his huge shoulders. "That's an extreme measure of revenge. If he wanted to get you into trouble, he would certainly like to be present to see how you took your gruel. Another thing, from what you say, your pistol was used."

      "I think so. At all events, it was taken from my pocket."

      "H'm! He searched you. Anything else missing?"

      "The note in which he asked me to call."

      "That proves Starth set a trap. I think--no I don't; I can't deliver an opinion until I know more. Go to bed and sleep."

      "I can't sleep," said Frank, passionately. "I'm ruined."

      But for all that he dropped into a deep slumber almost as soon as his head touched the pillow.

      "Worn out, poor wretch!" said Eustace.

       CHAPTER IV

      TWO HUNDRED POUNDS REWARD

      "What do you think of my new secretary, Miss Cork?" asked Jarman next morning, when his housekeeper was laying the table. He put the question purposely to arrange matters for the disguise.

      "I didn't see quite rightly, Mr. Jarman, my eyes being weak. Young?"

      "And dark and Irish. His eyes are weak to the extent of blue glasses."

      "I didn't see them, sir."

      "No, poor chap. He broke them crossing the Common, left his baggage in London, and got lost in our country."

      "Oh, he'll know it soon, Mr. Jarman. I'm an Essex woman myself--Billericay way--and the country is easy. What's the gentleman's name, Sir?"

      "Desmond," said Eustace, lying with an unmoved face. "Desmond O'Neil."

      "I'll remember, sir."

      "And, oh, Miss Cork, I shouldn't mention about his late arrival and loss of baggage if I were you. The Irish are sensitive."

      "As well I know from politics, Mr. Jarman. No, sir, I'll say nothing."

      Miss Cork was a tall, lean woman with watery grey eyes and grey hair screwed into a cast-iron knob behind. Her lips were thin, and her nose red by reason of tight-lacing. Miss Cork had a good figure and improved it, in her own opinion, by making her waist smaller. She usually wore a grey dress with cloth slippers, and moved like a shadow. For many years she had been with Eustace, who had produced her from a London police-court where she was being charged with vagrancy. But he never told anyone this, and Miss Cork bore a high character. But she was not popular, as she never gossiped. And a woman who does not gossip in a village is not fit companion for those who want to know their neighbours' affairs. Eustace knew that she would hold her tongue. Nevertheless, he was glad that her limited vision had not been able to take in Frank Lancaster as he had been.

      As it was, Mr. Desmond O'Neil appeared late at the breakfast, and Miss Cork, bringing in the bacon and eggs, silently avowed the truth of her master's description. The new secretary was brown-skinned, with dark hair, and a clean-shaven face, shaded about the eyes with blue spectacles. Miss Cork was rather doubtful about the clean-shaving. From the glimpse she got of him on the previous night she fancied he had worn a moustache, and this she mentioned to Jarman. "It was a smear of clay," explained Eustace. "The poor chap was tumbling in the mud all the time. Were you mired, O'Neil?" he asked, aloud.

      "I was that!" responded the Irish gentleman, wondering why his host kicked him under the table.

      "The mud do splash high in Essex," said Miss Cork. "I'm a Billericay woman myself, Mr. O'Neil." Then she left the room, and Jarman explained. But Frank continued uneasy.

      "I don't like the looks of that woman," he said. "Is she honest?"

      "Oh, quite, except what she says about Billericay. She's invented the idea of being a native of those parts, as the villagers here don't like strangers. But she's been with me for three years. I picked her up in London."

      "Where?"

      "Well, it isn't fair to give her away. She's had a past, although I don't know the rights or wrongs of it. But she'll hold her tongue."

      "Suppose a reward is offered, will she?"

      "Sure. She owes me too much to play me false," said Jarman, pouring out the coffee. "And where's the reward to come from?"

      "The Government--"

      "Pooh! Government won't offer much, even if it offers any, which isn't likely. No one else will plank down the money. Miss Starth hasn't much, and there are no relatives. Make your mind easy about the reward. There won't be a cent offered for your apprehension."

      "What's Miss Starth's name?" asked Frank, who made a fair breakfast.

      "Mildred," responded Jarman, with a flush. "She's the sweetest girl you ever met."

      "I saw that from the glimpse I caught of her," said Lancaster, and wondered why Jarman coloured through his tan. He scented a rival, but could not be sure, and, of course, was unable to ask questions. Besides, in spite of his newly-born passion, his position was so dangerous, that he had but one thought, namely, how to escape being hanged on circumstantial evidence.

      Frank wished to talk of the matter the moment breakfast was over, but this Eustace would not allow. "You'll have enough of it before you win free," he said. "We must wait until we hear what the newspapers have to say. I daresay there's nothing in the morning lot; but this afternoon we may read something. Then, again, I expect to see Mildred--I mean Miss Starth. She's sure to be wired for."

      Frank noticed the slip, and became convinced that Eustace admired the girl more than a little. However, his brain was too filled with his own danger to think of anything else, and he accompanied Jarman on an exploring tour round the village. The idea was that his arrival and appearance and position as secretary should be made as public as possible, so that he might become an accepted fact. After the first few days the villagers would accept him as part of the Shanty household, and cease to discuss him. The subsequent indifference would be another element of safety.

      So round the village that afternoon the two went, arm-in-arm. Jarman took his new secretary into several shops, and then to the post-office, which was conducted by a fat woman, who read all the letters and made all the mischief she could. Early as it was, she had a piece of news.

      "Oh! Mr. Jarman," said she, puffing, for the day was hot and muggy after the rain, "whatever's come to Miss Starth? I saw her driving like a mad thing to catch the two train. And she only keeps a donkey too--leastways, it's Mrs. Perth who does."

      "I