the ancient village of belstone, hidden in a fold of low-lying, undulating hills, is inhabited chiefly by agricultural laborers. one irregular street, four or five narrow lanes, and a few behind-the-time shops, together with many small cottages, constitute this sequestered hamlet. there are a great number of farms and several country seats in the district, but those who own them usually buy the necessaries of life at lewes, so belstone cannot depend upon trade for its support. the villagers, however, do not mind this neglect, as they are sleepy-headed and indifferent to all, so long as they earn sufficient for bed and board. the sole houses of any note are the vicarage at one end of the village, and the great mansion of the inderwicks at the other. formerly the owners of the monastery--as the place is called--were lords of the manor, but, as their property has dwindled to a few acres, the title has passed to a modern and more prosperous family. the inderwicks, formerly so rich and powerful, are now of small account amongst the gentry of the county.

the rev. john fuller always maintained that the prehistoric name of the village was baalstone, and that it was so termed after an altar or stone to baal or bel, a deity whom the ph[oe]nicians had introduced into britain. but it is more than questionable whether these sea-rovers ever traded so far as sussex, and mr. fuller's assumption can be taken for what it is worth, although he held stoutly to his opinion. but be this as it may undoubtedly there was a druidical temple where the big house now stands, later a shrine to diana, and afterwards an altar to woden, until early christian missionaries built on the same spot a primitive flint and mortar church. finally came a benedictine monastery, which lasted until the reign of that arch-iconoclast, henry viii. from the expelled monks it had passed into the possession of nicholas inderwick, one of cromwell's favorite gentlemen, and had been owned by his descendants ever since. the spot had therefore always been a holy one, until secularised in the days of the great tudor monarch, and perhaps for this reason had never brought good fortune to the inderwicks, who had built up what prosperity they had attained to on the ruin of sacred things and the misfortunes of sacred people. certainly evil luck had followed them for generations: they had lost land, money, position and authority, and their family tree had been cut down root and branch, until only one feeble twig sprouted from the mouldering trunk. marie inderwick was the last descendant of the ancient line, and dwelt in the house of her ancestors on a penurious income which barely sufficed to keep her in food and fire and clothes. and when she married, or died, it was to be expected that the family name would vanish from the land.

all these things alan knew very well, as all his life they had been talked about in the village and at the vicarage. there was also a prophecy of an expelled monk dating over three hundred years ago, which promised renewed prosperity to the inderwicks when their fortunes were lowest. the young man could not think how much lower the fortunes could sink, and wondered as he strolled towards the monastery, if now was the appointed time for the fulfilment of the ancient saying:--

"when most is lost and most are dead,

the spoilers then shall raise their head.

jewels and gold from over-seas,

will bring them peace and joy and ease."

of course alan in his reading of the prophecy modernized the antique diction. there was much more of it, but only marie knew the whole of fate's decree, and was accustomed to repeat it hopefully when she felt down-hearted. she always insisted that sooner or later the curse pronounced on the inderwicks by the monk would be removed.

as there was no money to keep things in order, the place was woefully neglected. the great iron gates which swung from pillars surmounted by the inderwick escutcheon in the grip of tall dragons had not been opened for many years, and access to the park was gained through a small side entrance set in the mouldering brick wall which encircled the domain. the park itself was so overgrown and wild and tangled and savage that it might have been that very wood which shut in the enchanted palace of the sleeping beauty. alan dreamed that it might be so, and that he might be the fairy prince destined to awaken marie to a new life. and indeed since she loved him, and he adored her, he had succeeded so far; but how her fortunes were to be mended at the present juncture he could not see. yet had he been gifted with psychic powers he would have known more or less positively that he was on the eve of entering a new lane down which he would lead the girl towards happiness and prosperity.

a short brisk walk up the neglected avenue brought fuller into the wide open space wherein was placed the great mansion. some portions of the original monastery remained, but during hundreds of years it had been so altered that the monks would have had some difficulty in recognizing their former habitation. parts of the building had been pulled down and other parts built up, that had been altered and this had been permitted to remain in its original state, so that the old house presented an incongruous appearance which could be ascribed to no particular epoch of architecture. with its walls of grey flint, brown stone, red brick, and here and there blocks of white marble somewhat soiled by wind and rain and sunshine, it looked singularly picturesque. and the whole was overgrown with ivy, dank and green and wonderfully luxuriant, since it was never trimmed and never cut. the big building looked as though it were bound to the soil by the tough tendrils and what with the rank coarse grasses and the trees which grew right up to the walls, it might have been part and parcel of the earth itself, so swathed was it in greenery. there was something noble and austere about the dwelling befitting perhaps the benedictines who had dwelt in it at one time, but it looked altogether too sombre and unwholesome to shelter the fair head of marie inderwick, who was all smiles and sunshine. and as alan advanced towards the huge porch which was supported on twisted pillars, she unexpectedly made her appearance like a gleam of light shooting across a thunderous sky. it was alan the lover, and not fuller the lawyer, who made this poetic comparison.

"darling! darling!" cried marie, running down the broken steps with outstretched hands. "i knew you would come. but how late you are! i saw you in the church this morning, and have been expecting you all the afternoon. it is now three o'clock and only at this moment do you put in an appearance. no, i won't be kissed. uncle may be at the window and would make trouble, as he always does. besides you don't deserve a kiss, when you neglect me so."

"i shall take one for all that," said alan, suiting the action to the word, "and in spite of possible dragon eyes at the window."

"but your neglect," pouted marie, playing with his necktie, arranging it and rearranging it after the manner of women whose fingers must always be busy.

"dearest, i stayed for the midday communion, and when i came out you had gone home with your uncle."

"he hurried me away, alan. he's always very particular to keep an eye on me when you come down."

"undoubtedly. he wants you to marry a title."

marie shrugged her shoulders in a french fashion which she had acquired from a parisian school friend at the brighton seminary. "as if anyone would marry a pauper like me.'

"i think any man who has an eye for the beautiful would only be too glad to marry such a lovely pauper."

"that's nice. say it again and slowly."

"a lovely pauper, an adorable pauper, an angelic------"

"stop! stop! you flatter too much. you don't mean what you say."

"not a word," confessed alan candidly.

marie grew red and her eyes flashed. "then how dare you say such things!"

"you expect me to and you shouldn't fish."

"in shallow water? certainly not! alan eric reginald fuller," she gave him his complete name and pinched his arm, "you are a bear."

"bears hug," said the lover, taking her in his arms.

"oh, my gracious, you will get me into trouble," cried marie, extricating herself with some difficulty and flying across the lawn, followed hot-footed by alan. "come and hide out of sight of those horrid windows. uncle ran is sure to see us otherwise, and will order me indoors. come! come," she sang like a siren and fled after the fashion of atalanta into the woods.

the trees were bare of leaves, but here and there a fir stood up green and sombre, while the undergrowth of brambles and grass and ferns and various weeds had not yet lost their autumnal tints so that the park did not as yet look entirely wintry. the day was warm too for late november, and pale sunshine irradiated the grey depths of the sky, so that the birds had plucked up heart to sing, perhaps in the hope of averting coming snows. at top-speed marie flew down a side path which twisted and straightened at intervals for a considerable distance until it ended in a kind of sunken dell in the centre of which was a circle of cemented stones rising slightly above the fading herbage. over this was a wooden canopy of ancient appearance with a tiled red roof weather-worn and mellow, and beneath, a deep hole which seemed to penetrate into the bowels of the earth. this was st. peter's dell and st. peter's well since the monastery had been dedicated to the chief of the apostles. marie loved the spot, and haunted it in summer for the sake of its coolness. now she came because she knew that her philanderings with the forbidden lover would not be seen by anyone.

"and uncle ran is asleep," she explained as she perched herself on the ragged rim of stones. "he always sleeps for an hour in the afternoon, because he says that it keeps him alive."

"i wish it didn't," growled alan, placing himself beside the girl, and putting an arm round her, probably to prevent her from falling into the depths. "i don't like your uncle ran, dear."

"since he won't let you make love to me, i can quite understand that," said marie rather pertly; "but he's all the relative i have so i must make the best of him, alan. but you haven't told me how i am looking."

"why, i've used at least a dozen adjectives. but i shall examine you carefully, darling, and give you my honest opinion."

taking her chin in his hand, he turned her face upward, and looked into the happy blue eyes. marie was indeed a very pretty girl, although not perhaps so superlatively lovely as alan imagined. her face would never have launched a thousand ships, or set fire to troy town. but her complexion was transparent and as delicately tinted as a rose, with the dewy look, so to speak, of that flower at dawn. her hair was golden and waved over her white forehead in rebellious little curls. then she had sapphire eyes and a straight little greek nose, and two fresh red lips, which seemed to invite the kiss alan now bestowed. as her figure was wrapped up in a heavy fur cloak of great antiquity, it could not be seen at the moment, but alan, who was well acquainted with its suave contours, knew that it was the most perfect figure in the three kingdoms, as her hands and feet were the smallest and most well-shaped. but what really drew his heart to marie was her sweet expression and candid looks. some women--few, of course--might have possessed marie's items of beauty in the shape of form and coloring, but no one, and alan said this aloud with great decision, ever owned such heavenly smiles or could give such tender glances. marie sighed and approved of the praise and nestled her head against his rough frieze overcoat.

"you always tell the truth, darling," she said, after he had assured her that she was something higher than an angel.

"always!" alan kissed her again for the tenth time. "and now i want you to tell me the truth, marie."

she looked up somewhat puzzled. "about what?"

"about the peacock of jewels, which------"

the girl drew away from his encircling arm and slipped to the ground. "why do you want to speak about that?" she asked, standing before him and looking as charming as the queen of sheba when she visited solomon; "it was lost before i was born, and no one ever speaks of it. except uncle ran," she added with an afterthought, "he loves jewels, as you know, and always regrets the loss, although the peacock belongs to me and not to him."

"marie," said alan again and gravely, "come and sit down, as i have something important to tell you which you must not repeat to your uncle until i give you leave."

"i shall sit here," said miss inderwick, sinking on to the trunk of a fallen tree which was a few feet away, "and i wish you wouldn't look so solemn or talk about such things. you make me nervous."

"there is nothing to be nervous about, my dear."

"then why am i not to repeat what you say to uncle ran?" demanded marie in an inconsequent manner.

"because i think if mr. sorley got that peacock he would be greedy enough to keep it to himself."

"he couldn't. it's mine."

"he would, because he looks upon your property as his own."

"the peacock was left to me by my father's will, along with the park and the house," insisted marie folding her hands pensively. "it was particularly mentioned because of the good fortune it will bring--that is when the secret is discovered."

"the secret. what secret?" alan spoke almost sharply.

"that connected with the golden peacock. you know the story?"

"only that there is such a fetish, which is supposed to be the luck of the inderwicks."

"and has been for one hundred years and more. but the secret------"

"i have heard nothing about that."

"now i come to think of it, i daresay you haven't. i only became acquainted with the real meaning of the peacock of jewels a year ago. i read all about it in a manuscript which i found in the library. when was the battle of plassey, alan?"

"in 1757," answered fuller, who had a good memory for dates.

"it was won by lord clive, wasn't it?"

"yes. but what has that to do with the peacock?"

"a great deal, as you shall hear."

"one moment, marie. is this peacock of indian workmanship?"

"no. it was made by a man called simon ferrier, who was the servant of my great great great--i don't know how many greats--grandfather."

"let us say the grandfather who lived about the time of plassey. what was his name?"

"george inderwick. he went to india to------" here marie broke off and looked at her lover searchingly. "but why do you ask about the peacock?"

"i'll explain that when i have heard the legend."

"it isn't a legend, but a true story, and you are very mysterious," said the girl somewhat incoherently. "well then, george inderwick went out to india long before the battle of plassey in the hope of restoring the family fortunes. he was only a younger brother and left the monastery in possession of julian inderwick. things were very bad with the family then and they have been worse since. now"--marie sighed--"everything is lost unless the treasure is discovered."

"the treasure?" alan looked excited. "is there a treasure?"

"of course, you stupid thing. that is the secret of the peacock."

alan became exasperated by the way in which he had to drag things out of her and frowned. "i wish you would tell me the story clearly," he said tartly.

"i shall do so if you won't interrupt so often," retorted marie. then looking round the quiet dell, as if for inspiration, and finally finding it in the eager look in her lover's eyes, she began the tale. "george went to india along with his servant, simon ferrier, who was his foster-brother------"

"wait a bit," interrupted fuller again. "who wrote this manuscript?"

"simon ferrier, and i won't tell you anything if you keep asking questions, alan. how can i speak when you talk?"

"i am dumb, my dearest virago. go on."

"i'm not a virago, you horrid boy. well then, george went to madras as a clerk of the east india company, and was lent to some rajah to drill his army. he learned soldiering from lord clive, although he wasn't lord clive at the time. simon went with george to some hill fort and palace and the two became quite friendly with the rajah. then some enemy of the native prince they served stormed the palace or town or whatever it was, and killed the lot of them."

"even george and simon?" asked alan, noting the loose way in which she was telling the tale, and privately deciding to ask for the manuscript, so that he might read it himself.

"no, you silly. they were taken prisoners. but before the place was captured, the begum--that's the rajah's wife--gave all her jewels to mr. inderwick, because he saved her life, and the life of her son. simon hid them when he and his master were captured by the other king, or rajah, or------"

"never mind; say captured by the enemy."

"oh, very well," said marie obediently, "when they were captured by the enemy. they were a long time in captivity, and george was forced to drill the native troops, while simon was made to work as a jeweller."

"why as a jeweller?"

"oh, it seems that he had been brought up in england as a watchmaker, and having mended some clock belonging to the enemy, he was set to work in a shop to make ornaments for the enemy's wives. he learned how to make indian ornaments and became very clever--at least he says so himself, but perhaps he was bragging."

"i don't think so, if the stories about the beauty of the peacock he made are to be believed," said fuller thoughtfully, and recalling certain stories related by old village women who had set eyes on the ornament in question before it had disappeared. "go on, dear. this is interesting."

"the most interesting part is to come," replied marie, nodding her small head with a wise air. "simon managed to get away, and went back to where he had hidden the jewels. he dug them up and came to england------"

"leaving his master in captivity. how shabby of him."

"he only did what his master told him," said marie quickly. "he was to take the jewels to england and give them to julian inderwick so that the fortunes of the family might be restored. but simon did not like julian and found out that he was a spendthrift and a gambler. if he had given him the jewels they would have been wasted, and the inderwicks would have been none the better for them. simon therefore said nothing about his mission, but he hid the jewels and then returned to india to rejoin his master, who was now free and was fighting beside lord clive."

"well, and what happened then?"

"when the battle of plassey was being fought, and before simon could return to his master, he was taken prisoner by those who had before held him captive. they had come to know about the jewels, and insisted that he should tell where they were. simon was even tortured to make him tell, but he refused to speak, so they grew tired and set him to work again, as a jeweller. it was then that he made the peacock."

"why the peacock particularly?"

"because he wished to let george inderwick know where the jewels of the begum were hidden in england, and could only do so by indicating the place through this golden peacock."

"but in what way?"

"i don't know. i can't find out. simon feared lest the secret should be discovered by the indians and lest they should send someone to england to get back the gems. he therefore, as i say, made the peacock, and contrived to have it taken to george inderwick through a native who was friendly to him. he then died, after writing the manuscript, telling his master that the secret was hidden in the peacock. he was murdered, i believe, as he says at the end of his manuscript that he expected to be put to death."

"but what was the use of sending the secret to george when it could not be guessed?"

"it was stupid," admitted marie thoughtfully, "since george never managed to find out from the peacock where the jewels were. in his anxiety to keep the secret from everyone but his master, simon over-reached himself, and entirely forgot that george would find it as hard to learn the truth as anyone else into whose hands the peacock fell. however, he died, and the ornament with the manuscript came to george. after the battle of plassey george returned home with some money, and tried hard to learn the whereabouts of the jewels from the peacock. julian by this time had died, so the younger brother succeeded to the estate--what there was left of it. he--george, i mean--was poor all his life, as he brought back very little from india, and all he could do was to keep what julian had left."

"well?" asked alan, seeing that she said no more.

"that is all. george left a will saying that the jewels were to be found if the secret of the peacock was discovered. but simon, in his desire to keep them safe, had hidden the truth too securely. everyone has tried to find the truth, even uncle ran, for i asked him, but all have failed."

"how much are the jewels worth?" asked fuller after a pause.

"oh," marie jumped up and spread her hands, "thousands and thousands of pounds, dear! one hundred thousand, two hundred thousand, i don't know how much. there are rubies and emeralds and opals and diamonds and--and----" she stopped for want of breath. "isn't it wonderful, alan?"

"wonderful indeed," admitted the young man.

"so there is one or two hundred thousand pounds attached to the possession of the peacock of jewels if its secret can only be discovered. hum! it's worth risking one's neck for."

marie ran up and shook him by the arm. "how can you say such horrid things?"

"i am not talking of my own neck, marie, but of that belonging to the man who murdered baldwin grison."

"oh." the girl stared. "i know that the poor man was murdered. mrs. millington--she's the village dressmaker, and a friend of mine--told me about that crime. louisa grison was mrs. millington's bridesmaid, and they are very much attached, and--and--but, alan, what has the peacock to do with this horrid murder?"

"much. baldwin grison was murdered, as i truly believe, so that his assassin might obtain it. now listen, dear, and be sure you don't repeat what i say to your uncle."

"no, i won't. though i don't see why you want to keep things secret from him. go on. what is it?"

fuller quickly and concisely told her all that he had learned from dick latimer and inspector moon relative to the rotherhithe murder, and laid great stress on the fact that jotty the street-arab had seen the peacock of jewels. marie listened with open mouth.

"but you can't be sure that the poor man was murdered because of the peacock," she said when he ended. "besides, how could he have it?"

"oh, that last is easy. grison was your uncle's secretary and may have taken the peacock out of revenge, knowing that mr. sorley was fond of jewels. on the other hand, grison may have read the very same manuscript about which you have been telling me and might have tried to learn the secret."

"then he could not have," cried the girl positively, "else he would not have remained in that horrid slum. who has the peacock now?"

"the assassin."

"who is he?"

"no one knows, and no one can find out."

"but are you sure mr. grison was murdered because of the peacock?" asked marie again, and doubtfully.

"i think so, since the room was ransacked, and grison had no other object of value in his miserable dwelling to tempt anyone to commit a crime."

"well, it might be so. but why am i not to tell uncle ran?"

"because i wish to find the peacock and deliver the assassin of grison to justice. if mr. sorley goes on the trail also he will get the peacock and will not give it to you, to whom it rightfully belongs."

"i see. of course i shall say nothing. and alan"--she laid her arms round her lover's neck----"do find the peacock, and let us look for the treasure."

"and then?" questioned the young man, smiling at the bright face.

"then! then," said miss inderwick, dancing away from him, "why then, you stupid creature, we can marry and defy uncle ran."