“Oh,” said Loveday contemptuously, “so you were to have a hundred pounds for your share in this fraud, were you?”
“We didn’t want to take it,” said the girl, between hysterical bursts of tears; “but Miss Monroe said if we didn’t help her someone else would, and so I agreed to—”
“I think,” interrupted Loveday, “that you can tell us very little that we do not already know about what you agreed to do. What we want you to tell us is what has been done with Miss Monroe’s diamond necklace—who has possession of it now?”
The girl’s sobs and tears redoubled. “I’ve had nothing to do with the necklace—it has never been in my possession,” she sobbed. “Miss Monroe gave it to Mr. Danvers two or three months before she left Pekin, and he sent it on to some people he knew in Hong Kong, diamond merchants, who lent him money on it. Decastro, Miss Monroe said, was the name of these people.”
“Decastro, diamond merchant, Hong Kong. I should think that would be sufficient address,” said Loveday, entering it in a ledger; “and I suppose Mr. Danvers retained part of that money for his own use and travelling expenses, and handed the remainder to Miss Monroe to enable her to bribe such creatures as you and your mother, to practice a fraud that ought to land both of you in jail.”
The girl grew deadly white. “Oh, don’t do that—don’t send us to prison!” she implored, clasping her hands together. “We haven’t touched a penny of Miss Monroe’s money yet, and we don’t want to touch a penny, if you’ll only let us off! Oh, pray, pray, pray be merciful!”
Loveday looked at Mr. Hawke.
He rose from his chair. “I think the best thing you can do,” he said, “will be to get back home to your mother at Cork as quickly as possible, and advise her never to play such a risky game again. Have you any money in your purse? No—well then here’s some for you, and lose no time in getting home. It will be best for Miss Monroe—Mrs. Danvers I mean—to come to my house and claim her own property there. At any rate, there it will remain until she does so.”
As the girl, with incoherent expressions of gratitude, left the room, he turned to Loveday.
“I should like to have consulted Mrs. Hawke before arranging matters in this way,” he said a little hesitatingly; “but still, I don’t see that I could have done otherwise.”
“I feel sure Mrs. Hawke will approve what you have done when she hears all the circumstance of the case,” said Loveday.
“And,” continued the old clergyman, “when I write to Sir George, as, of course, I must immediately, I shall advise him to make the best of a bad bargain, now that the thing is done. ‘Past cure should be past care;’ eh, Miss Brooke? And, think! what a narrow escape my nephew, Jack, has had!”
THE GHOST OF FOUNTAIN LANE, by Catherine Louisa Pirkis
“Will you be good enough to tell me how you procured my address?” said Miss Brooke, a little irritably. “I left strict orders that it was to be given to no one.”
“I only obtained it with great difficulty from Mr. Dyer; had, in fact, to telegraph three times before I could get it,” answered Mr. Clampe, the individual thus addressed. “I’m sure I’m awfully sorry to break into your holiday in this fashion, but—but pardon me if I say that it seems to be one in little more than name.” Here he glanced meaningly at the newspapers, memoranda and books of reference with which the table at which Loveday sat was strewn.
She gave a little sigh.