the announcement of ackworth was so terrible, and so unexpected, that clarice could scarcely believe her ears. she knew that frank clarke was a rascal and extravagant, that he was selfish and dishonourable, but it never entered her head that he would turn out to be a cold-blooded murderer. no wonder the vicar, who had forgiven much to his prodigal son, had stopped short of finally pardoning such an unmitigated scoundrel.

"he must have known what frank was," said: clarice, involuntarily.

"who must have known?" asked anthony, quickly.

"mr. clarke. he was here a short time ago, and would not let me mention his son's name. he must know. yes," clarice struck her hands together, "this was why he refused to let prudence marry ferdy."

"i thought that it was prudence herself who refused to marry ferdy."

"yes, but for another reason. i told you that reason--the accusation of mr. clarke by zara dumps."

"i remember." anthony ruffled his hair in sore perplexity. "what have you done about that?"

"i have seen zara."

"you have seen that girl? when? where?"

"last night--in london. at the mascot music hall, and at her own rooms. you look surprised."

"i am. you should not have gone to her rooms, let alone the mascot music hall."

"i know that--but to save ferdy i did so. it was just as well that i went, for several reasons. oh, i have much to tell you"--clarice drew her lover to the sofa with gentle force--"and perhaps you will be angry with me."

"i said that i would trust you," remarked ackworth, slowly.

"your trust has not been misplaced. but i have done what you may think rather a bold thing. still, in this case, what i have learned is so important, that i can safely say that the end has justified the means."

"what have you done?" anthony looked apprehensive.

she tapped his cheek. "nothing to make you colour up in that way, my dear boy. i'll tell you everything when you have explained how you came to find out about frank clarke."

"oh, that will not take long. i asked ferdy down yesterday, as you desired me to do, and he came without any suspicions that you wanted him out of the way. we had a very jolly evening. at least, ferdy had, for i was worrying about you, and wondering what you were doing. also, i must admit that i had the detective fever."

"what is that?" asked miss baird, opening her eyes.

"well, the errand you wanted me to execute raised my curiosity to fever heat. i felt that i could not rest until i had learned the name of jerce's consumptive patient, especially when i remembered that he was one of the purple fern triumvirate. next morning, i had no duties to attend to, so i handed ferdy over to an irish chap, who would amuse him and keep an eye on him, and then bunked off to london by the ten o'clock train."

"you did not come up to see what i was doing?" asked clarice, in a suspicious manner.

"no. i did not even know that you were in london," replied anthony, rather wounded by her doubts, "and in any case, as i intended to trust you, i should not have spied upon you."

"i ask your pardon, dear," and she kissed him.

ackworth accepted the delightful apology, and continued. "i went down to whitechapel, and had a deuce of a hunt to find tea street. but i came across a kind of sister of mercy, who knew all about jerce and his philanthropic missions. jerce has a surgery in tea street, and goes there twice a week, usually at night. sister anne--so she told me she was called, and it reminded me of bluebeard--showed me where the consumptive young man had lived. the police had been there, after jerce had communicated that letter to scotland yard."

"what letter?"

"the one given by the dying man to jerce, warning him that he might be attacked by osip. if you remember, the sick chap confessed that he was one of the members of the triumvirate. according to sister anne, this young man was called felix exton, but the police found stray letters in his rooms which showed that he was really frank clarke, the son of the vicar."

clarice nodded. "and i expect the police came down and told mr. clarke about the discovery. poor man, no wonder he suffers so terribly, and will not allow his son's name to be mentioned. that miserable frank--and yet i remember him a handsome, bright young man."

"he was a bad lot," said ackworth, emphatically. "i scarcely blame a man for striking a blow in hot blood, but to murder in such cold-blooded ways as those adopted by the purple fern gang is too terrible to think of. and now that we know frank clarke was an assassin, it would seem as if the instinct to murder was hereditary."

"no," said clarice, quickly. "you must not think so badly of the vicar, anthony. he is innocent." and she related to her lover all that mr. clarke had explained to her.

"humph!" said ackworth, when she ended, "that's a very plausible tale, but we have only the vicar's word for its truth. and it is to his interest to exonerate himself. his son was connected with osip, so clarke himself, through frank, may be connected also with that blackguard. i wish he could be found--osip, i mean. i wonder with such a personality he has not been spotted."

"i saw him," said clarice, unexpectedly.

"you?" anthony rose, with a startled gesture.

"yes," she said, faintly, "at the mascot music hall."

the young man looked at her anxiously. "clarice," he said, taking her cold hand, "you look pale. mrs. rebson said something about your having influenza; yet you were all right when i saw you last."

clarice nodded. "i might say that i caught cold, as you were afraid i should do, when we were in the porch. but i can't say that, because it is not true. i am quite well."

"you don't look it."

"i have not the influenza, i mean," she corrected; "i pretended to be ill, so that i might carry out my scheme."

"what scheme?"

"the one i had in my mind, when i asked you to trust me. anthony, i want you to tell me. do you trust me still?"

"of course i do." he laid his hand caressingly on her head, "don't be afraid that i'll blame you in any--why, clarice!"

he might well utter her name in an astonished tone, for the hair, so lightly pinned on her head, came off, and the plaits remained in his hand. there she sat, with her head cropped like a man's, and a pale smile on her face. "i intended to tell you," said she, quietly, "but it is just as well that you have found out in this way."

"found out what? why have you cut off your beautiful hair?"

"don't you think that i look rather like ferdy?"

"very. but i don't want you to look like ferdy. i prefer you as you are, my dear."

"my dear," she echoed, "does that mean forgiveness?"

"for what?" anthony looked more puzzled than ever.

"for my masquerade. i cut off my hair. i dressed in a suit of ferdy's clothes. i went to london as ferdy, and stopped at his favourite hotel. also i went to the mascot music hall as ferdy, and to zara dumps' flat as ferdy, and learned a great deal."

anthony stared at her open-mouthed. "do you mean to say that you dressed as a man?" he asked, aghast.

"yes. it was necessary to learn ferdy's secrets, so i utilised my resemblance to him to find out what i wanted. no one discovered that i was clarice baird, save zara."

"oh, lord!" anthony clutched his head. "she will tell everyone."

"no, i have made that right. i know too much about zara for her to betray me. i am quite safe. only zara knows, and mrs. rebson knows, and now you know. i am absolutely safe."

"but what made you do such a mad thing?"

"i have told you--to save ferdy."

"but i could have gone up, and----"

"no," interrupted clarice, imperiously. "zara would have laughed at you. i did what i did, with a full knowledge of what i was doing. you must forgive me, anthony, and i think you will, when you learn what terrible things i have discovered."

"of course, i am somewhat annoyed," said ackworth, slowly, "at least, i would be, were you an ordinary woman. but you are so clever, and so well able to look after yourself, that i forgive you this time. but i must ask you not to masquerade again as ferdy."

"i promise that," she said, with a sigh. "ferdy is in such danger that you must help me."

"ferdy in danger? what sort of danger?"

"let me begin at the beginning, and go on to the end. don't interrupt, anthony." and then she related her adventures. ackworth held his peace until she detailed her recognition of osip, when he jumped with a muttered oath.

"why did you not have him arrested?" he cried; "everything would then have been discovered."

"yes--even to the fact that ferdy is implicated in these terrible crimes," said clarice, sarcastically.

ackworth jumped again. her revelations were getting on his nerves. "what do you mean?" he asked, irritably.

"let me go on from where i saw osip," said clarice, and continued her recital up to the point when she fainted in ferdy's bedroom with the stamp in her hand. "now, what do you say?" she asked, breathlessly.

"i don't know what to say," muttered ackworth, much agitated. "it looks as though ferdy knew something. yet if he was locked in his room, he could not have murdered horran."

"oh, i don't for one moment believe that he did. but, having the stamp, he might have impressed the purple fern on----"

"nonsense," interrupted the soldier, violently.

"he was drunk and incapable--he was locked in."

clarice looked down. "anthony," she said, in a pained voice, "i have tried to fight against my doubts of ferdy, but they will come. he is so weak, so tricky, so deceitful, and so carried away by his own selfish impulses, that he is capable of all things."

"save murder. ferdy is a fool, i grant you. but a murderer--no."

"i never accused him of murder," said the girl, faintly, "but he may be an accomplice."

"that's just as bad."

"not when we know that ferdy is so weak a man. osip is strong-willed and may have coerced ferdy into stamping uncle henry's forehead, after the death."

"of which osip is guilty?"

"yes, i firmly believe, from the warning sent, that osip is guilty."

"then you mean to say that osip went upstairs after killing horran, released ferdy, and brought him down to----"

"no! no! osip would not know where ferdy's room was, and he would not know that he was drunk and locked up. but ferdy himself might have feigned drunkenness so as to induce me to lock him up."

"had you ever done so before?"

"oh, yes. i punished ferdy in that way. besides, i was afraid that, in his drunken mood, he might wander about the house, and perhaps set the place on fire. ferdy always resented my locking him up. but in this instance, if he was likely to be implicated in a crime, and forced to be an accomplice by the stronger will of osip, the locked door would provide a convenient alibi. ferdy might have pretended drunkenness, and then have released himself with another key, and have--done what i said."

anthony did not immediately reply. he stood before clarice, biting his nails and thinking. "when i went up to town this morning," he said, slowly, "ferdy asked me to get him any letters that might be waiting for him at sir daniel jerce's place in harley street."

"yes. ferdy lives with him. well?"

"jerce was away, and had been for some time. down in whitechapel, i think the servant said. it was just as well."

"why?" asked clarice, rising, as ackworth took three letters from his pocket.

"because he might have seen this especial letter addressed to ferdy--this letter stamped with the purple fern."

clarice took the square envelope he held out. it was addressed to her brother at jerce's house, and on the flap of the envelope, in purple wax, was stamped a small fern. few people, unless they looked very closely, would have noticed the fern, and certainly nine people out of ten would not have connected the stamp with the crimes, unless the murders were in their minds. apparently, the tenth and more observant person was anthony. "i intend to take that letter to ferdy, and make him open it in my presence," said ackworth, "and--oh, clarice, what are you doing?"

"i am opening the letter," said the girl, calmly. "i take all responsibility for doing so, and will tell ferdy."

"still, it is not quite right to open----"

"not quite right!" repeated clarice, fiercely, "do you think i care for that when ferdy's neck may be at stake. i do this"--she opened the letter--"in a most deliberate way, and well knowing what i am doing. now i shall read it."

anthony could not but admit that clarice was right, and secretly thought that it would be better for her to read the letter than for the police to scan its contents. she read quietly enough, and then passed it to her lover. "there's a masked ball at the shah's rooms to-night," she said, irrelevantly.

"is there?" said anthony, puzzled, "but why----"

"read the letter." ackworth did so. it contained only a few lines, saying that the writer wanted to meet mr. ferdinand baird at the shah's rooms on that evening on particular business. "after last night," wrote the anonymous correspondent, for there was no name appended to the note, "you can scarcely wonder that i insist upon a meeting, and you can guess who i am. wear a red domino with a white favour, and i will wear a purple domino with golden stars. meet me at ten o'clock under the omar khayyám palm in the desert."

anthony read this twice. "i wonder who wrote it?" he said.

"osip," replied clarice, promptly; "and what's more----excuse me." she hastily left the room, much to the amazement of anthony. but he had plenty to think about until she returned, which she did almost immediately, with an open letter in her hand. "this is the anonymous note sent to you," said clarice, handing it to him, and looking over his shoulder. "see, the writings are distinctly similar. it was osip who tried to stop our marriage by threatening ferdy, and now osip, thinking that ferdy saw him at the mascot music hall last night, wants to arrange a meeting."

"and why?" asked ackworth, recognising that the handwritings were indeed similar.

"i can't tell you that, until i see osip."

"clarice! how can you see osip this evening? it is now five."

"i can catch the seven train up, and i can see him as i saw him last night. he won't tell clarice baird anything, but he may tell ferdy baird a lot."

"do you want to disguise yourself again?" said ackworth, looking angry.

"i must--i must," she said, eagerly, "if i am to save my brother."

"but to go to those rooms--they aren't respectable."

"oh, what does that matter?" said clarice, impatiently. "i go as a young man--no one will recognise me. and ferdy stops to-night at gattlinsands."

"but you promised----"

"you must release me from my promise," she declared, obstinately.

ackworth bit his lip. "i don't like it," he said, decidedly.

"then you are not the man i took you for," retorted the girl. "i should have thought you were above all this conventional rubbish, anthony. i am to be your wife, and you must trust me in every way."

"i do. i am sure that i have proved my trust in you."

"ah, you did not know what i was about to do," said clarice, rather unjustly. "and now that you do know, you refuse to trust me."

"no, i don't, only i don't wish you to go alone to the shah's rooms."

"i'll be quite safe. no one will know me."

"this osip is a murderer," said ackworth, "and he may kill you,----"

"why should he kill me?" she interpolated.

"thinking you are ferdy baird who recognised him at the mascot music hall. i dare say that he believes that you have told the police, and now seeks revenge."

"i'll risk that."

"clarice, you are a brave girl. but i won't let you go alone. i'll come up with you to-night."

"but ferdy. he must be kept away."

"flanigan will attend to him. i'll cut over to gattlinsands, and arrange that. there i can catch the train which will meet, at the junction, the seven o'clock you come by. we'll go together."

"but you won't tell the police about osip?"

"not until you learn--as ferdy--the exact relations between that silly brother of yours and this blackguard."