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Chapter Twenty One
Harry Looks the Fact in the Face

Harry Vane checked his headlong pace as soon as he was out of the lane, and walked swiftly along by the harbour till he reached the sea. Here, in the shelter of a rock, he stooped down and lit a cigar, before throwing himself on a patch of shingle, and holding his temples with his hands, as he tried to quell the tumult in his brain and to think calmly.

But it was in vain. He felt half mad, and as if the best way out of his difficulty was to go and leap into the sea.

“Curse Pradelle!” he groaned. “I wish I had never seen him – coward, thief, cheat! Oh, what am I talking about? Why didn’t I face it, and tell Van Heldre the honest truth? I was innocent. No, no; I was as bad as Pradelle, and he shall disgorge. Every penny shall go back. If he says no, come what may, I’ll out with the whole truth.”

“I couldn’t help it,” he groaned after a pause. “I’d give anything to have frankly told the truth.”

He walked quickly home, and assuming a calmness he did not feel, entered the drawing-room, where Louise was seated reading.

“Your company gone?” he said roughly.

“Yes, dear. Papa has walked home with Madelaine.”

Harry turned sharply round, for he mentally pictured in one agonising thought the scene at Van Heldre’s home.

“Is anything the matter?” asked Louise.

“Matter? No. It’s very dark outside, and the light makes one’s eyes ache. Seen Pradelle?”

“No, dear,” said Louise gravely. “I thought he went out with you.”

“Yes, of course, but he likes to go wandering about the town. I wanted a quiet smoke by the water-side. I’m tired. I think I shall go to bed.”

“Do, dear. I’ll wait till papa comes.”

“Good night.”

“Good night, Harry dear,” she said rising, and, putting her arms around his neck, she laid her cheek to his. “Good night, dear. Harry darling, don’t worry about the work. Do it like a brave, true man; it will make father so happy.”

There was a sudden catching sob in Harry Vine’s throat, as like a flash, the memory of old happy boy and girl days came back. He caught his sister to his breast, and held her tightly there as he kissed her passionately again and again.

“My darling brother!” cried Louise as she tightened her grasp about his neck. “And you will try for all our sakes.”

“Yes, yes,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

“Never mind what poor aunt says. Be a man – a frank, honourable man, Harry. It is the order of the true haute noblesse after all. You will try?”

“Please God, yes, Lou – so hard – ah, so hard.”

“That’s like my dear brother once again,” she cried, fondling him. “There, darling, I’m speaking to you like our mother would. Let me be your mother to you as well as sister. You will begin again?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” he whispered hoarsely; “from this moment, Lou, I will.”

“May I say more?” she said gently, as her hand played about his brow.

“Yes, anything, Lou; anything. I’ve been a fool, but that’s all over now.”

“Then about Mr Pradelle?”

“Curse Mr Pradelle,” he cried passionately. “I wish I had never brought him here.”

“Don’t curse, dear,” said Louise, with a sigh of relief. “Yes, there has been an ugly cloud over this house, but it is lifting fast, Harry dear, and we are all going to be very happy once again. Good night.”

He could not speak; something seemed to choke him; but he strained her to his heart, and ran out of the room.

“Oh!” ejaculated Louise; and throwing herself into a chair, she burst into a passion of weeping; but her tears were those of joy, and a relief to her overburdened heart.

“Is it too late?” said Harry to himself, as a cold chilly hand seemed to grasp his heart. “No; I can keep my own secret, and I will turn over a new leaf now, and old Crampton shall rule it for me. What an idiot I have been!”

He shuddered as he recalled the scene in Van Heldre’s office, and involuntarily held his hands close to the landing-lamp.

“Poor old fellow!” he said, as his hand involuntarily went towards his vest; “but he’ll soon get over that. He couldn’t have known me in the dark. I – My locket!”

He turned like ice as he gazed down to see that the gold locket he wore at his watch-chain had been torn off.

“No, no; I lost it when I threw myself down on the shingle,” he muttered, as he fingered the broken link. “I could not have lost it there.”

Just then he started, for there was a faint cough on his left.

“Then he has come back,” he cried hastily; and going a few steps along the passage he tapped sharply, and entered Pradelle’s room.

Chapter Twenty Two
The Punishment Begins

Pradelle was seated in a low chair with his head resting on his hand. He looked up curiously at Harry as the young man hastily closed and locked the door.

“You’ve come at last, then,” said Pradelle sourly, as he winced from the pain he was in.

“Yes, I’ve come at last,” replied Harry. “Now, Pradelle, no nonsense! There has been enough of this. Where is the money?”

“Where’s what?”

“The money – those notes?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Then I’ll tell you plainly. I want five hundred pounds in Bank of England notes, stolen by you from Mr Van Heldre’s safe.”

Pradelle sank back in his chair.

“I like that,” he said, with a low, sneering laugh.

“No nonsense. Give me those notes.”

“You mean you want to give me the notes.”

“I mean what I say,” cried Harry, in a low, angry voice.

“Why, you went and got them, as we agreed.”

“I did not go and get them as we agreed.”

“Yes, you did, for I saw you.”

“How dare you, you lying cur!” cried Harry, seizing him by the throat and holding him back against the chair. “Give me the notes.”

“Don’t! don’t! You’ve hurt me enough once to-night. Look! my head’s bleeding now.”

Harry loosed his grasp, for the fact was patent.

“I – I hurt you?”

“Yes, with that ruler. What made you hit me like that? Take me for old Van Heldre?”

Harry’s jaw dropped, and he stared wildly at his companion.

“I – I hit you!” he faltered, as he struggled with his memory and asked himself whether he had stricken Pradelle down and not the old merchant.

“Well, I’ve got a cut two inches long and my head all swollen up. What made you do it?”

“I – do it! Here, what do you mean?”

“Mean? Why, that you were so long getting the loan – ”

“Say stealing the notes. It would be more like the truth,” said Harry shortly.

“I won’t. I say you were so long getting the loan that I came to see what you were about, and you flew at me and knocked me down with the big ruler. Took me for a watchman, I suppose.”

“But when? – where?” cried Harry excitedly.

“Where? By the safe; inner office. What a fool you were!”

“Impossible!” thought Harry, as his confusion wore off. “Look here,” he cried aloud, “this is a mean, contemptible lie. You have the money; give it me, I say.”

“Supposing I had it,” snarled Pradelle, “what for?”

“To restore it to its owner.”

“Well, seeing that I haven’t got the money I say you shall not give it back. If I had got it I’d say the same.”

“You have got it. Come, no excuses.”

“I tell you I haven’t got a penny. You struck me down after you had taken it from the safe.”

“It’s a lie!” cried Harry fiercely. “I was not going to do the accursed work, and I did not strike you down.”

“Then look here,” cried Pradelle, pointing to his injured head.

“I know nothing about that. You have the money, and I’ll have it before I leave this room.”

“You’ll be clever then,” sneered Pradelle.

“Will you give it me?”

“No. How can I?”

“Don’t make me wild, Pradelle, for I’m desperate enough without that. Give me those notes, or, by all that’s holy, I’ll go straight to the police and charge you with the theft.”

“Do,” said Pradelle, “if you dare.”

The man’s coolness staggered Harry for the moment.

“If I’d got the money do you think I should be fool enough to make all this fuss? What do you mean? What game are you playing? Come, honour among – I mean, be square with me. You’ve got the notes.”

“Ah!” ejaculated Harry, with a look of disgust. “I tell you I have not.”

“Harry! Harry!”

It was his sister’s voice, and he heard her knocking sharply at his door.

“Look here, Pradelle, you’ve got those notes, and I tell you once more, you have to give them up or it’s a case of police.”

He had been moving towards the door, which he unfastened and threw open.

“I’m here, Louy,” he said.

“Quick, dear! A message from papa. We are to go on to Mr Van Heldre’s at once.”

“Van Heldre’s?” faltered Harry, whose legs seemed to give way beneath him.

“Yes, dear; a policeman brought the message.”

“A policeman?”

“Something is wrong. No, no, don’t turn like that. It is not father, but Mr Van Heldre, so the man said. I think it is a fall.”

Harry Vine’s breath came thick and short. What should he do? Fly at once? No; that meant being taken and brought ignominiously back.

“Don’t hesitate, dear,” said Louise; “Pray come quickly.”

“Yes,” said Harry huskily. “Of course, I’ll come on. Will you – you go first?”

“Harry, what are you thinking, dear? Why do you look so shocked? Indeed I am not deceiving you.”

“Deceiving me?”

“No, dear; I am sure it is not papa who is hurt. There come along, and see – for Madelaine’s sake.”

She said these last words very softly, almost in a whisper; but the only effect they had upon him was to make him shudder.

What should he do – face the danger or go? He must face it; he knew he must. It was his only hope, and already his sister was hurrying him to the door – his sister, perhaps unconsciously to hand him over to the police.

“No,” he said to himself, with an attempt to be firm, “he could not have seen me; but was it after all Pradelle I struck down?”

A chill shot through him.

The locket torn from his watch-chain?

“Why, Harry dear, you seem quite upset.”

“Upset – I – yes, it is so sudden. I am a bit – there, I’m all right now.”

“Poor Madelaine! she must be in sad trouble.”

Greater than the speaker realised.

She was in the dining-room with the elder Vine, and hung for a few moments on Louise’s neck to sob forth her troubles when she entered. Then, without a word or look at Harry, she hurried up-stairs.

“Why did you not speak to her, Harry?” whispered Louise.

He made no reply, but sat listening to his father, his eyes dilated and throat dry.

“And – and do they suspect any one?” whispered the young man in a voice he did not know for his own.

“No; the police have been away since, and they think they have a clue – two pedlars who have been about the place lately.”

“And Mr Van Heldre – is – is he badly hurt?”

“Very badly. It is doubtful whether he can recover.”

The young man’s breath came and went in a strange labouring way as he sat rigidly upon his seat, while his father went on telling him fact after fact that the son knew only too well.

“Poor Van Heldre! First the ship, then this terrible calamity. Crampton tells me that there was a sum of money deposited in the safe – five hundred pounds in notes, and all gone – every penny – all gone. Poor old Crampton! he almost worshipped Van Heldre. He is nearly wild with grief. One minute he scowled at me savagely; the next minute he was apologetic. It’s a terrible business, children. I thought you had better both come on, for, of course, I could not leave now.”

Just then Mrs Van Heldre came down, looking red-eyed and pale, to take Louise to her breast.

“Thank you, my dear, thank you,” she sobbed; “it was like you to come. And you too, Harry Vine.” She took and pressed the young man’s hand which was dank and cold. Then, in a quick access of gratitude, she laid her hands upon his shoulders, and kissed him.

“Thank you, my dear,” she said in a voice broken with sobs. “You seem always to have been like Maddy’s brother. I might have known that you would come.”

If ever man suffered agony, that man was Harry Vine as he listened to the poor simple-hearted woman’s thanks. His punishment had commenced, and every time the door opened he gave a guilty start, and turned white as ash.

“Don’t take it like that, Harry,” said Louise tenderly. “There is always hope, dear.”

She looked lovingly in his eyes, and pressed his hand, as their father went on talking in a low voice, and giving utterance to his thoughts.

“The scoundrels, as far as I can make out, Harry, my boy, seem to have got in by the back. The door was unfastened, and they must have known a good deal about the place – by watching I suppose, for they knew where to find the keys, and how to open the safe.”

Harry’s breath came in a spasmodic way, as he sat there chained, as it were, to his place.

“Five hundred pounds. A very heavy sum. I must not blame him, poor fellow, but I should have thought it a mistake to have so large a sum in the house.”

At last the doctor descended looking very grave.

“Ah, Knatchbull,” said Vine in an excited whisper as he rose and caught the doctor’s hand; “how is he?”

The doctor shook his head.

“Has he recovered his senses?”

“No.”

“Nor said a word about who his assailants were?”

“No, sir, nor is he likely to for some time to come.”

Harry Vine sat with his eyes closed, not daring to look; and as the doctor’s words came a terrible weight of dread seemed to be lifted from his brain.

“I may go up now, may I not?”

“No, sir, certainly not,” said the doctor.

“But we are such old friends; we were boys together, Knatchbull.”

“If you were twin-brothers, sir, I should say the same. Why, do you know, sir, I’ve forbidden Mrs Van Heldre to go into the room. She could not control her feelings, and absolute silence is indispensable.”

“Then he is alone?”

“No, no; his daughter is with him. By George! Mr Vine, if I had been a married man instead of a surly old soured bachelor, I should be so proud and jealous of such a girl as Miss Van Heldre that I should have been ready to poison the first young fellow who dared to think about her.”

“We are all very proud of Madelaine,” said Vine slowly. “I love her as if she were my own child.”

“Humph! your sister is not,” said the doctor dryly.

“No, my sister is not,” said the old man slowly.

“Then, now, Mr Vine, if you please, I am going to ask you people to go.”

“Go?” said Vine, in angry remonstrance.

“Yes; you can do nothing. No change is likely to take place, perhaps for days, and with Miss Van Heldre for nurse and Crampton to act as my help if necessary, there will be plenty of assistance here. What I want most is quiet.”

“Harry, take Louise home,” said the old man quickly.

“And you will go with them, sir?”

“No,” said Vine quietly. “If I lay in my room stricken down, John Van Heldre would not leave me, Knatchbull, and I am not going to leave him. Good night, my children. Go at once.”

“But, Madelaine, father.”

“I shall tell her when she comes down that you were driven away, but I shall send for you to relieve her as soon as I may.”

Louise stifled a sob, and the old doctor took and patted her hand.

“You shall be sent for, my dear, as soon as you can be of use. You are helping me in going. There, good night.”

A minute later, hanging heavily on her brother’s arm, Louise Vine was walking slowly homeward through the silent night. Her heart was too full for words, and Harry uttered a low hoarse sigh from time to time, his lips never once parting to speak till they reached the house.

To the surprise of both, on entering they were confronted by Aunt Marguerite.

“What does all this mean?” she said angrily. “Why did every one go out without telling me a word?”

Louise gently explained to her what had befallen her father’s friend.

“Oh,” said Aunt Marguerite, with a slight shrug of the shoulders. “Well, it might have been worse. There, I am very tired. Take me up, child, to bed.”

“Good night, Harry; you will go and lie down,” whispered Louise. “Good night, dear.”

She clung to him as if the trouble had drawn them closer, and then went into the hall to light a candle.

“Good night, Henri,” said Aunt Marguerite, holding her cheek for the young man’s mechanical kiss. “This is very sad, of course, but it seems to me like emancipation for you. If it is, I shall not look upon it as a calamity, but as a blessing for us all. Good night.”

The door closed upon her, and Harry Vine sat alone in the dining-room with his hands clasped before him, gazing straight away into his future, and trying to see the road.

“If I had but thrown myself upon his mercy,” he groaned; but he knew that it was impossible all through his regret.

What to do now? Where to go? Money? Yes; he had a little, thanks to his regular work as Van Heldre’s clerk – his money that he had received, and he was about to use it to escape – where?

“God help me!” groaned the unhappy man at last; “what shall I do?”

He started up in horror for the door handle turned. Had they found out so soon? Was he to be arrested now?

“Harry – Harry!”

A quick husky whisper, but he could not speak.

“Harry, why don’t you answer? What are you staring at?”

“What do you want?”

“Look here, old fellow; I’ve been waiting for you to come up – all these hours. What have you found out? Van Heldre was robbed to-night of five hundred pounds in notes, and you have that money.”

“I haven’t, I tell you again, not a shilling of it. Look here, what about the police? Have they put it in their hands?”

“The police are trying to trace the money and the man who struck Van Heldre down. Where is that money? It must be restored.”

“Then you must restore it, for I swear I haven’t a single note. Hang it, man, have I ever played you false?”

Harry was silent. His old companion’s persistence staggered him.

“I tell you once more, I went to the office to see if you had got the loan, and was knocked down. Curse it all! is this true or is it not?”

He placed his head close to the light, and Harry shuddered.

“Don’t believe me unless you like. I wish I had never come near the place.”

“I wish so too,” said Harry, coldly.

“There, don’t talk like that, man. It has turned out a failure, unless you have got the coin – have you?”

“Have I?” said Harry with utter loathing in his voice, “No!”

“You can believe me or not, as you like, but I always was your friend, and always will be, come what may. Now, look here; we are safe to get the credit of this. If you didn’t fell me, some one else did. Van Heldre, I suppose; and now some one must have knocked him down. Of course you’ll say it wasn’t you.”

“No,” said Harry coldly. “I shall not say it. I was by the safe, and he caught hold of me. In my horror I hit at him. I wish he had struck me dead instead.”

“Don’t talk like a fool. Now look here; the game’s up and the world’s wide. We can start at once, and get to Saint Dree’s station in time to catch the up train; let’s go, and start afresh somewhere. You and I are safe to get on. Come.”

Harry made no reply.

“I’ve packed up my bag, and I’m ready. Get a few things together, and let’s go at once.”

“Go – with you?”

“Yes. Look sharp. Every minute now is worth an hour.”

Go with Pradelle! the man who had been his evil genius ever since they had first met. A feeling of revulsion, such as he had never felt before, came over Harry Vine, and with a voice full of repressed rage he cried: —

“I’d sooner give myself up to the police.”

“Don’t be a fool. I tell you to come at once. It’s now half-past two. Plenty of time.”

“Then in heaven’s name go!” said Harry; “and never let me see your face again.”

“You’ll talk differently to-morrow. Will you; once more?”

“No.”

“Then I’m off. What do you mean to do?”

“Wait.”

“Wait?”

“Yes. I shall not try to escape. If they suspect me, let them take me. I shall face it all.”

“You’ll soon alter your tune. Look here; I’ve been true to you; now you be true to me. Don’t set the police on to me. No, you will not do that. You’ll come after me; and mind this, you will always hear of me at the old lodgings. Great Ormond Street.”

Harry stood gazing straight at him, believing, in spite of his doubts, that Pradelle had not taken the money.

The idea was strengthened.

“Look here; I’ve only three half-crowns. I can’t go with that. How much have you?”

“Thirty shillings.”

“Then come, and we’ll share.”

“No.”

“Lend me half then. I’ll manage with that.”

For answer Harry thrust his hand into his pocket and took out all he had.

“What, all?” said Pradelle, as he took the money.

There was no reply.

“Once more. Will you come?”

Silence!

“Then I’m off.”

Harry Vine stood gazing at vacancy; and once more tried to see his own path in the future, but all was dark.

One thing he did know, and that was that his path did not run side by side with Victor Pradelle’s. His sister’s words still rang in his ears; her kisses seemed yet to be clinging to his lips.

“No,” he said at last, moodily; “I’ll face what there is to come alone. No,” he groaned, “I could not face it, I dare not.”

He started guiltily and scared, for there was the sound of a door closing softly.

He listened, and there was a step, but it was not inside the house, it was on the shingle path; and as he darted to the old bay window, he could see a shadowy figure hurrying down the path.

“Gone!” he said in a low voice, “gone! Yes, I’ll keep my word – if I can.”

He opened the casement window, and stood there leaning against the heavy stone mullion, listening to the low soft beating of the waves far below. The cool air fanned his fevered cheek, and once more the power to think seemed to be coming back.

He had had no idea of the lapse of time, and a flash of broad sunlight came upon him like a shock, making him start away from the window, now lit up, with the old family shield and crest a blaze of brilliant colour.

“Roy et Foy,” he read silently; and the words seemed to mock him.

Henri Comte des Vignes, the plotter in a robbery of the man who had been his benefactor, perhaps his murderer.

“Comte des Vignes!” he said, with a curious laugh. “Boy! vain, weak, empty-headed boy! What have I done – what have I done?”

“Harry!”

He started round with a cry to face his sister.

“Not been to bed?”

“No,” he said wearily. “I could not sleep.”

She laid her hands upon his shoulders and kissed him.

“Neither could I,” she said, “for thinking of it all. Harry, if he should die!”

He looked down into the eyes gazing so questioningly into his, but his lips framed no answer.

He was listening to the echoing of his sister’s words, which seemed to go on and on thrilling through the mazes of his brain, an infinitesimally keen and piercing sound at last, but still so plain and clear —

“If he should die!”