The Wooden Hand

CHAPTER XX
AN AMAZING CONFESSION

Mr. and Mrs. Merry were seated the next day in the kitchen having a long chat. It was not a pleasant one, for Mrs. Merry was weeping as usual, and reproaching her husband. Giles had been out to see his old cronies in the village, and consequently had imbibed sufficient liquor to make him quarrelsome. The first thing he did, when he flung himself into a chair, was to grumble at the kitchen.

"Why should we sit here, Selina?" he asked; "it's a blamed dull hole, and I'm accustomed to drawing-rooms."

"You can't go into the drawing-room," said Mrs. Merry, rocking and dabbing her red eyes with the corner of her apron. "Miss Eva is in there with a lady. They don't want to be disturbed."

"Who is the lady?" demanded Signor Antonio, alias Mr. Merry.

"Lady Ipsen. She's Miss Eva's grandmother and have called to see her. What about, I'm sure I don't know, unless it's to marry her to Lord Saltars, not that I think much of him."

"Lady Ipsen-old Lady Ipsen?" said Giles slowly, and his eyes brightened; "she's an old devil. I knew her in the days when I and Hill and Strode enjoyed ourselves."

"And bad old days they were," moaned Mrs. Merry; "you'd have been a better man, Giles, if it hadn't been for that Strode. As for the jelly-fish, he was just a shade weaker than you. Both of you were under the thumb of Strode, wicked man that he was, and so cruel to his wife, just as you are, Giles, though you mayn't think so. But if I die-"

"You will, if you go on like this," said Merry, producing his pipe; "this is a nice welcome. Old Lady Ipsen," he went on, and laughed in so unpleasant a manner, that his wife looked up apprehensively.

"What wickedness are you plotting now?" she asked timidly.

"Never you mind. The marriage of Lord Saltars," he went on with a chuckle. "Ho! he's going to marry Miss Lorry."

"So they say. But I believe Lady Ipsen wants to stop that marriage, and small blame to her, seeing what a man he-"

"Hold your jaw, Selina. I can't hear you talking all day. You get me riz and you'll have bad time, old girl. So go on rocking and crying and hold that red rag of yours. D'ye hear?"

"Yes, Giles-but Lord Saltars-"

"He's going to marry Miss Lorry, if I let him."

Mrs. Merry allowed the apron to fall from her eyes in sheer amazement. "If you let him?" she repeated; "lor', Giles, you can't stop his lordship from-"

"I can stop her.," said Merry, who seemed determined never to let his wife finish a sentence; "and I've a mind to, seeing how nasty she's trying to make herself." He rose. "I'll see Miss Eva and make trouble."

"If you do, Mr. Allen will interfere," said Mrs. Merry vigorously. "I knew you'd make trouble. It's in your nature. But Miss Lorry wrote to Miss Eva and said she'd interfere if you meddled with what ain't your business."

Giles shook off the hand his wife had laid on his arm, and dropped into a chair. He seemed dumfoundered by the information. "She'll interfere, will she?" said he, snarling, and with glittering eyes. "Like her impudence. She can't hurt me in any way-"

"She may say you killed Strode," said Mrs. Merry.

Giles raised a mighty fist with so evil a face, that the woman cowered in her chair. Giles smiled grimly and dropped his arm.

"You said before, as I'd killed Strode. Well then, I didn't."

"How do I know that?" cried his wife spiritedly; "you can strike me, but speak the truth I will. Bad as you are, I don't want to see you hanged, and hanged you will be, whatever you may say. I heard from Cain that you talked to Strode on the Wednesday night he was killed. You met him at the station, when he arrived by the six-thirty, and-"

"What's that got to do with the murder?" snapped Giles savagely. "I talked to him only as a pal."

"Your wicked London friends were there too," said Mrs. Merry; "oh, Cain told me of the lot you're in with; Father Don, Foxy, and Red Jerry-they were all down at Westhaven, and that boy Butsey too, as lied to me. You sent him here to lie. Cain said so."

"I'll break Cain's head if he chatters. What if my pals were at Westhaven? what if I did speak to Strode-?"

"You was arranging to have him shot," said Mrs. Merry, "and shot him yourself for all I know."

Signor Antonio leaped, and taking his wife by the shoulders, shook her till her head waggled. "There," he said, while she gasped, "you say much more and I'll knock you on the head with a poker, you poll-parrot. I was doing my turn at the circus at the time Strode was shot, if he was shot at nine on Wednesday as the doctor said. I saw the evidence in the paper. You can't put the crime on me."

"Then your pals did it."

"No, they didn't. They wanted the diamonds, it's true-"

"They struck him down and robbed him."

"You said they shot him just now," sneered Giles with an evil face, "don't know your own silly mind, it seems. Gar'n, you fool, there was nothing on him to rob. If my pals had shot him, they'd have collared the wooden hand. That was the token to get the diamonds, as Red Jerry said. But Mask hasn't got them, and though Father Don did open the hand he found nothing."

"Open the hand?" questioned Mrs. Merry curiously.

"Yes. We found out-I found out, and in a way which ain't got nothing to do with you, that the hand could be opened. It was quite empty. Then Father Don put it aside, and that brat Butsey prigged it. Much good may it do him."

"The wooden hand was put on the doorstep last night," said Mrs. Merry, "and I gave it to Miss Eva."

The man's face grew black. "Oh, you did, did you," he said, "instead of giving it to your own lawful husband? I've a mind to smash you," he raised his fist again, and his poor wife winced; then he changed his mind and dropped it. "But you ain't worth a blow, you white-faced screeching cat. I'll see Miss Eva and make her give up the hand myself. See if I don't."

"Mr. Allen will interfere."

"Let him," snarled Merry; "I know something as will settle him. I want that hand, and I'm going to have it. Get those diamonds I will, wherever they are. I believe Butsey's got 'em. He's just the sort of little devil as would have opened that hand, and found the paper inside, telling where the diamonds were."

"But did he have the hand?"

"Yes, he did. He dug up the hand-never mind where-and brought it to me. It was empty then. Yes, I believe Butsey has the diamonds, so the hand will be no go. Miss Eva can keep it if she likes, or bury it along with that infernal Strode, who was a mean cuss to round on his pals the way he did."

"Ah! he was a bad man," sighed Mrs. Merry; "and did he-?"

"Shut up and mind your own business," said Giles in surly tones. He thought he had said too much. "It's that Butsey I must look for. He stole the hand from Father Don and left it on your doorstep, for Miss Eva, I suppose. He must be in the place, so I'll look for him. I know the brat's playing us false, but his father's got a rod in pickle for him, and-"

"Oh, Giles, Giles, you'll get into trouble again. That Wasp-"

"I'll screw his neck if he meddles with me," said the strong man savagely; "see here, Selina, I'm not going to miss a chance of making a fortune. Those diamonds are worth forty thousand pounds, and Butsey's got them. I want money to hunt him down and to do-other things," said Giles, hesitating, "have you got five hundred?"

"No," said Mrs. Merry with spirit, "and you shouldn't have it if I had. You're my husband, Giles, worse luck, and so long as you behave yourself, I'll give you roof and board, though you are not a nice man to have about the house, but money you shan't have. I'll see Mr. Mask first. He's looking after my property, and if you-"

"I'll do what I like," said Giles, wincing at the name of Mask; "if I wasn't your husband, you'd chuck me, I 'spose."

"I would," said Mrs. Merry, setting her mouth, "but you're married to me, worse luck. I can't get rid of you. See here, Giles, you go away and leave me and Cain alone, and I'll give you five pounds."

"I want five hundred," said Giles, "I'll stop here as long as I like. I'm quite able to save myself from being accused of Strode's murder. As to Cain," Giles chuckled, "he's taken up with a business you won't like, Selina?"

"What is it? – oh, what is it?" gasped Mrs. Merry, clasping her hands.

"The Salvation Army."

"What! Has he joined the Salvation Army?"

"Yes," sneered the father; "he chucked the circus at Chelmsford, and said it was a booth of Satan. Now he's howling about the street in a red jersey, and talking pious."

Mrs. Merry raised her thin hands to heaven. "I thank God he has found the light," she said solemnly, "I'm Methodist myself, but I hear the Army does much good. If the Army saves Cain's immortal soul," said the woman, weeping fast, "I'll bless its work on my bended knees. I believe Cain will be a comfort to me after all. Where are you going, Giles-not to the drawing-room?"

"As far as the door to listen," growled Merry. "I'm sick of hearing you talk pious. I'll come and stop here, and twist Cain's neck if he prays at me."

"Trouble-trouble," wailed Mrs. Merry, wringing her hands, "I wish you'd go. Cain and me would be happier without you, whatever you may say, Giles, or Signor Antonio, or whatever wickedness you call yourself. Oh, I was a fool to marry you!"

Giles looked at her queerly. "Give me five hundred pounds, and I won't trouble you again," he said, "meanwhile" – he moved towards the door. Mrs. Merry made a bound like a panther and caught him.

"No," she said, "you shan't listen."

Giles swept her aside like a fly, and she fell on the floor. Then with a contemptuous snort he left the kitchen and went into the passage which led to the front. On the right of this was the door of the drawing-room, and as both walls and door were thin, Mr. Merry had no difficulty in overhearing what was going on within. Could his eyes have seen through a deal board, he would have beheld an old lady seated in the best arm-chair, supporting herself on an ebony crutch. She wore a rich black silk, and had white hair, a fresh complexion, a nose like the beak of a parrot, and a firm mouth. The expression of the face was querulous and ill-tempered, and she was trying to bring Eva round to her views on the subject of Saltars' marriage. The girl sat opposite her, very pale, but with quite as determined an expression as her visitor.

"You're a fool," said Lady Ipsen, striking her crutch angrily on the ground. "I am your grandmother, and speak for your good."

"It is rather late to come and speak for my good, now," said Eva with great spirit; "you have neglected me for a long time."

"I had my reasons," said the other sharply. "Jane, your mother, married Strode against my will. He was of good birth, certainly, but he had no money, and besides was a bad man."

"There is no need to speak evil of the dead."

"The man's being dead doesn't make him a saint, Eva. But I'll say no more about him, if you'll only listen to reason."

"I have listened, and you have my answer," said Eva quietly; "I am engaged to Allen Hill, and Allen Hill I intend to marry."

"Never, while I have a breath of life," said the old woman angrily. "Do you think I am going to let Saltars marry this circus woman? No! I'll have him put in gaol first. He shall not disgrace the family in this way. Our sons take wives from theatres and music-halls," said Lady Ipsen grimly, "but the sawdust is lower than either. I shan't allow the future head of the house to disgrace himself."

"All this has nothing to do with me," said Eva.

"It has everything to do with you," said Lady Ipsen quickly; "don't I tell you that Saltars, since he saw you at that Mrs. Palmer's, has taken a fancy to you? It would take very little for you to detach him from this wretched Miss Lorry."

"I don't want to, Lady Ipsen!"

"Call me grandmother."

"No. You have never been a grandmother to me. I will be now," Lady Ipsen tried to soften her grim face; "I wish I'd seen you before," she added, "you're a true Delham, with very little of that bad Strode blood in you, unless in the obstinacy you display. I'll take you away from this Mrs. Palmer, Eva-"

"I have no wish to leave Mrs. Palmer."

"You must. I won't have a granddaughter of mine remain in a situation with a common woman."

"Leave Mrs. Palmer alone, Lady Ipsen. She is a good woman, and when my relatives forsook me she took me up. If you had ever loved me, or desired to behave as you should have done, you would have come to help me when my father was murdered. And now," cried Eva, rising with flashing eyes, "you come when I am settled, to get me to help you with your schemes. I decline."

The old woman, very white and with glittering eyes, rose. "You intend then to marry Allen Hill?"

"Yes, I do."

"Well then, you can't," snapped the old woman; "his mother isn't respectable."

"How dare you say that?" demanded Eva angrily.

"Because I'm accustomed to speak my mind," snapped Lady Ipsen, glaring; "it is not a chit like you will make me hold my peace. Mrs. Hill was in our family as a governess before your father married my daughter Jane."

"What of that?"

"Simply this: a valuable diamond necklace was lost-an heirloom. I believe Mrs. Hill stole it."

Eva laughed. "I don't believe that for one moment," she said scornfully. "Mrs. Hill is a good, kind, sweet lady."

"Lady she is, as she comes of good stock. Sweet I never thought her, and kind she may be to you, seeing she is trying to trap you into marrying her miserable son-"

"Don't you call Allen miserable," said Eva, annoyed; "he is the best man in the world, and worth a dozen of Lord Saltars."

"That would not be difficult," said Lady Ipsen, sneering; "Saltars is a fool and a profligate."

"And you expect me to marry him?"

"To save him from disgracing the family."

"The Delham family is nothing to me," said Eva proudly; "look after the honour of the family yourself, Lady Ipsen. As to this talk about Mrs. Hill, I don't believe it."

"Ask her yourself, then."

"I shall do so, and even, if what you say is true, which I don't believe, I shall still marry Allen."

"Eva," the old lady dropped into her seat, "don't be hard on me. I am old. I wish you well. It is true what I say about Mrs. Hill. You can't marry her son."

"But I can, and I intend to."

"Oh, this marriage-this disgraceful marriage!" cried the old woman in despair, "how can I manage to stop it. This Miss Lorry will be married to Saltars soon, if I can't put an end to his infatuation."

Eva shrugged her shoulders. "I can give you no help."

"You might plead with Saltars."

"No. I can't do that. It is his business, not mine. Why don't you offer Miss Lorry a sum of money to decline the match?"

"Because she's bent upon being Lady Saltars, and will stop at nothing to achieve her end. I would give five hundred-a thousand pounds to stop the marriage. But Miss Lorry can't be bribed."

It was at this point that Giles opened the door softly and looked in. "Make it fifteen hundred, your ladyship, and I'll stop the marriage," he said impudently.

"Giles," cried Eva, rising indignantly, "how dare you-?"

"Because I've been listening, and heard a chance of making money."

Mrs. Merry burst in at her husband's heels. "And I couldn't stop him from listening, Miss Eva," she said, weeping; "he's a brute. Don't give him the money, your ladyship; he's a liar."

"I'm not," said Giles coolly, "for fifteen hundred pounds I can stop this marriage. I have every reason to hate Miss Lorry. She's been playing low down on me, in writing to you, Miss Strode, and it's time she learned I won't be put on. Well, your ladyship?"

The old woman, who had kept her imperious black eyes fixed on Giles, nodded. "Can you really stop the marriage?"

"Yes I can, and pretty sharp too."

"Then do so and you'll have the fifteen hundred pounds."

"Will you give me some writing to that effect?"

"Yes," said Lady Ipsen, becoming at once a business woman; "get me some ink and paper, Eva."

"Stop," said Giles politely-so very politely that his poor wife stared. "I don't doubt your ladyship's word. Promise me to send to this address," he handed a bill containing the next place where Stag's Circus would perform, "one thousand five hundred in notes, and I'll settle the matter."

"I'll bring the money myself," said Lady Ipsen, putting away the bill; "you don't get the money till I know the truth. How can you stop the marriage? Tell me now."

"Oh, I don't mind that," said Giles, shrugging. "I'm sure you won't break your word, and even if you were inclined to you can't, if you want to stop the marriage. You can't do without me."

"Speak out, man," said Lady Ipsen sharply.

"Well then-" began Giles and then hesitated, as he looked at poor faded Mrs. Merry in her black stuff dress. "Selina, you give me fifteen hundred pounds and I'll not speak."

"What have I got to do with it?" asked his wife, staring.

"It will be worth your while to pay me," said Merry threateningly.

"I can't and I won't, whatever you may say. Tell Lady Ipsen what you like. Your wickedness hasn't anything to do with me."

"You'll see," he retorted, turning to the old lady. "I've given you the chance. Lady Ipsen, I accept your offer. Lord Saltars can't marry Miss Lorry, because that lady-"

"Well, man-well."

"That lady," said Giles, "is married already."

"Who to?" asked Eva, while Lady Ipsen's eyes flashed.

"To me," said Merry; "I married her years ago, before I met Selina."

"Then I am free-free," cried Eva's nurse; "oh, thank heaven!" and she fell down on the floor in a faint, for the first and last time in her life.

CHAPTER XXI
THE DIAMONDS

At seven o'clock that same evening Allen and his American friend were walking to Mrs. Palmer's to dine. As yet, Allen knew nothing of what had transpired at Misery Castle, for Eva was keeping the story till they met. But as the two men passed the little inn they saw Giles Merry descend from a holiday-making char-à-banc.. Two or three men had just passed into the inn, no doubt to seek liquid refreshment. Allen knew Merry's face, as Mrs. Merry had shown him a photograph of Signor Antonio in stage dress, which she had obtained from Cain. The man was a handsome and noticeable blackguard, and moreover his good looks were reproduced in Cain. Therefore young Hill knew him at once, and stepped forward.

"Good evening, Mr. Merry," he said; "I have long wished to meet you."

Giles looked surly. "My name is Signor Antonio, monsieur," he said.

"Oh," mocked Allen, "and being Italian you speak English and French badly?"

"What do you want?" demanded Giles savagely, and becoming the English gipsy at once. "I've no time to waste?"

"Why did you send that cross to Mr. Hill?"

Giles grinned. "Just to give him a fright," he said. "I knew he was a milk-and-water fool, as I saw a lot of him in the old days, when I did Strode's dirty work."

"You dug up the wooden hand?"

"No, I didn't. Butsey, who was on the watch, saw Hill plant it, and dug it up. He brought it to me, and I gave it to Father Don. Then Butsey stole it back, and passed it along to that young woman you're going to marry."

"I guess," said Horace at this point, "you'd best speak civil of Miss Strode. I'm not taking any insolence this day."

Allen nodded approval, and Giles cast a look over the big limbs of the American. Apparently, strong man as he was, he thought it would be best not to try conclusions with such a giant. "I wish I'd met you in Father Don's den," he said. "I'd have smashed that handsome face of yours."

"Two can play at that game," said Allen quietly; "and now, Mr. Merry, or Signor Antonio, or whatever you choose to call yourself, why shouldn't I hand you over to Wasp?"

"You can't bring any charge against me."

"Oh, can't I? You know something about this murder-"

"I was playing my turn at the circus in Westhaven when the shot was fired," said Giles coolly.

"I didn't say you shot the man yourself; but you know who did."

"No, I don't," said Merry, his face growing dark; "if I did know the man, I'd make him a present. I'd like to have killed Strode myself. He played me many a dirty trick, and I said I'd be even with him. But some one else got in before me. As to arrest," he went on sneeringly, "don't you think I'd be such a fool as to come down here, unless I was sure of my ground. Arrest me indeed!"

"I can on suspicion. You're in with the Perry Street gang."

Giles cast a look towards the inn and laughed. "Well, you've got to prove that I and the rest have done wrong, before you can run us all in."

"The wooden hand-"

"Oh, we know all about that, and who stole it," said Giles meaningly.

Allen started. He saw well enough that he could not bring Giles to book without mentioning the name of his father. Therefore he changed his mind about calling on Wasp to interfere, and contented himself with a warning. "You'd best clear out of this by to-morrow," said he angrily. "I shan't have you, troubling your wife."

"My wife! Ha-ha!" Merry seemed to find much enjoyment in the remark.

"Or Miss Strode either."

"Oh," sneered the man insolently, "you'd best see Miss Strode. She may have something interesting to tell you. But I can't stay talking here for ever. I'm going back to Shanton to-night. Come round at eleven," he said to the driver of the char-à-banc.. "We'll drive back in the moonlight."

"I think you'd better," said Allen grimly; "you stop here to-morrow, and whatever you may know about a person, whose name need not be mentioned, I'll have you run in."

"Oh, I'll be gone by to-morrow," sneered Merry again, and took his cap off with such insolence that Horace longed to kick him, "don't you fret yourself. I'm a gentleman of property now, and intend to cut the sawdust and go to South Africa-where the diamonds come from," he added with an insolent laugh, and then swung into the inn, leaving Allen fuming with anger. But there was no use in making a disturbance, as the man could make things unpleasant for Mr. Hill, so Allen walked away with Horace to Mrs. Palmer's.

It would have been wiser had he entered the inn, for in the coffee-room were three men, whom he might have liked to meet. These were Father Don smartly dressed as a clergyman, Red Jerry as a sailor, and Foxy in a neat suit of what are known as hand-me-downs. The trio looked most respectable, and if Jerry's face was somewhat villainous, and Foxy's somewhat sly, the benevolent looks of Father Don were above suspicion. Giles sat down beside these at a small table, and partook of the drinks which had been ordered. The landlord was under the impression that the three men were over on a jaunt from Shanton, and intended to return in the moonlight. Merry had met them at the door, and now came in to tell them his plans.

"I've arranged matters," he said in a low voice to Father Don, "the groom Jacobs is courting some young woman he's keeping company with, and the women servants have gone to a penny reading the vicar is giving."

"What of young Hill and his friend?"

"They are dining with Mrs. Palmer. The house is quite empty, and contains only Mr. and Mrs. Hill. I have been in the house before, and know every inch of it. I'll tell you how to get in."

"You'll come also?" said Foxy suspiciously.

"No," replied Giles. "I'll stop here. I've done enough for the money. If you're fools enough to be caught, I shan't be mixed up in the matter."

"We won't be caught," said Father Don with a low laugh; "Jerry will keep guard at the window, and Foxy and I will enter."

"How?" asked the sharp-faced man.

"By the window," said Giles. "I explained to Father Don here, in London. Hill has taken up his quarters in a Japanese room on the west side of the house, just over the wall. There are French windows opening on to the lawn. You can steal up and the grass will deaden the sound of footsteps. It goes right up to the window. That may be open. If not, Jerry can burst it, and then you and Don can enter."

"But if Hill isn't alone?"

"Well then, act as you think best. Mrs. Hill's twice the man her husband is. She might give the alarm. But there's no one in the house, and she'll have to sing out pretty loudly before the alarm can be given to the village."

"There won't be any alarm," said Father Don calmly. "I intend to make use of that paper I got from you. Where did you get it, Merry?"

"From Butsey. I found him with Strode's blue pocket-book, and made a grab at it. I saw notes. But Butsey caught those and bolted. I got the book and some papers. The one I gave you, Don, will make Hill give up the diamonds, if he has them."

"He must have them," said Don decidedly, "we know from the letter sent to Mask, and which was left at his office by Butsey, that the hand could be opened. I did open it and found nothing. I believe that Strode stored the diamonds therein. If Hill stole the hand, and took it home, he must have found the diamonds, and they are now in his possession. I expect he looked for them."

"No," said Merry grimly, "he was looking for that paper you intend to show him. He'll give up the diamonds smart enough, when he sees that. Then you can make for Westhaven-"

"What of the charry-bang?" asked Jerry in heavy tones.

"That's a blind. It will come round at eleven, but by that time we will all be on our way to Westhaven. If there is pursuit, Wasp and his friend will follow in the wrong direction. Then Father Don can make for Antwerp, and later we can sell the diamonds. But no larks," said Merry, showing his teeth, "or there will be trouble."

"Suppose young Hill and his friend tell the police?"

"Oh," said Giles, grinning, "they will do so at the risk of the contents of that paper being made public. Don't be a fool, Don, you've got the whole business in your own hands. I don't want a row, as I have to meet a lady in a few days," Giles grinned again, when he thought of Lady Ipsen, "and we have to do business."

So the plan was arranged, and after another drink Father Don and stroll in the village to "see the venerable church in the moonlight," as the pseudo clergyman told the landlord. But when out of sight, the trio changed the direction of their walk, and made for "The Arabian Nights" at the end of the village. Departing from the high-road they stole across a large meadow, and, in a dark corner, climbed the wall. Father Don was as active as any of them, in spite of his age. When the three rascals were over the wall and standing on a smoothly-shaven lawn, they saw the range of the Roman pillars, but no light in the windows. "It's on the west side," said Don in a whisper; "come along, pals."

The three crept round the black bulk of the house and across the drive. All was silent and peaceful within the boundary of the wall. The moonlight silvered the lawns and flower-beds and made beautiful the grotesque architecture of the house. A few steps taken in a cat-like fashion brought the thieves to the west side. They here saw a light glimmering through three French windows which opened on to a narrow stone terrace. From this, the lawn rolled smoothly to the flower-beds, under the encircling red brick wall. Father Don pointed to the three windows.

"The middle one," he said quietly; "see if it's open, Foxy. If not, we'll have to make a certain noise. And look inside if you can."

Foxy stole across the lawn and terrace and peered in. After a time, he delicately tried the window and shook his head. He then stole back to report, "Hill is lying on the sofa," he said, "and his wife is seated beside him. He's crying about something."

"We'll give him something to cry about soon," said Father Don, feeling for the paper which he had received from Giles. "Smash the middle window in, Jerry."

Without the least concealment the huge man rushed up the slope and hurled his bulk against the window. The frail glass gave way and he fairly fell into the centre of the room. With a shrill cry of terror, Hill sprang from the sofa, convulsively clutching the hand of his wife, while Mrs. Hill, after the first shock of alarm, faced the intruders boldly. By this time Father Don with Foxy behind him was bowing to the disturbed couple. Jerry took himself out of the room, and guarded the broken window.

"Who are you? what do you want?" demanded Mrs. Hill. "If you don't go I'll ring for the servants."

"I am afraid you will give yourself unnecessary trouble," said Don suavely. "We know the servants are out."

"What do you want?"

"We'll come to that presently. Our business has to do with your husband, Mr. Hill" – Father Don looked at the shivering wretch.

"I never harmed you-I don't know you," mumbled Hill. "Go away-leave me alone-what do you want?"

"We'll never get on in this way. – No, you don't," added Don, as Mrs. Hill tried to steal to the door, "Go and sit down by your good husband," and he enforced this request by pointing a revolver.

"I am not to be frightened by melodrama," said Mrs. Hill scornfully.

"Sit down, Sarah-sit down," said Hill, his teeth chattering.

The woman could not help casting a contemptuous look on the coward, even though she fancied, she owed so much to him. But, as she was a most sensible woman, she saw that it would be as well to obey. "I am ready to hear," she said, sitting by Hill, and putting her strong arm round the shivering, miserable creature.

"I'll come to the point at once," said Don, speaking to Hill, "as we have not much time to lose. Mr. Hill, you have forty thousand pounds' worth of diamonds here. Give them up!"

Hill turned even paler than he was. "How do you know that?" he asked.

"It can't be true," put in Mrs. Hill spiritedly. "If you are talking of Mr. Strode's diamonds, my husband hasn't got them."

"Your husband stole the wooden hand from the dead," said Foxy, with his usual snarl. "He took it home and opened it."

"I did not know it contained the diamonds," babbled Hill.

"No. You thought it contained a certain document," said Don, and produced a paper from his pocket, "a blue paper document, not very large-of such a size as might go into a wooden hand, provided the hand was hollow as it was. Is this it?"

Hill gave a scream and springing up bounded forward. "Give it to me-give it!' he cried.

"For the diamonds," said Father Don, putting the paper behind him.