The next day, late in the afternoon, Clarice sat in the drawing-room of The Laurels¹, waiting for the arrival of several people. It was a very wet day, and the rain beat drowsily² against the windows. Through the streaming panes³ she could see the dull grey skies, the leafless gardens, and the soaking lawns, dismal⁴ and depressing. With a sigh, the girl thought how the hopeless weather resembled her life at the present moment. Her brother was in danger of arrest, and even if he were not arrested, how could she have anything to do with him again, when he was practically a murderer? Even now, and in spite of Zara's evidence, as reported by Osip, the girl could not bring herself to believe that Ferdy had actually struck the blow. But only from his own lips could she hear the truth--that is if he could be induced to speak it, and she was anxiously waiting for him to be brought over from Gattlinsands by Ackworth. Until Clarice accused him herself, she and Anthony had arranged that Ferdy should be left in ignorance that the secrets of his life had been discovered. Also a telegram had been sent to Sir Daniel Jerce, asking him to come down on especial business, and he likewise was ignorant of the true significance of the message. Finally, Mr. Clarke was expected.  
These meetings had been arranged by Clarice, who could see no other way to clear up the many mysteries which seemed to environ the death of Henry Horran. It was necessary to take some steps, to come to some decision, and as speedily as possible, for it was likely that Osip, out of revenge for the trick Clarice had played him, would inform Scotland Yard of Ferdy's guilt⁶. So Clarice, clothed in her mourning for the dead man, waited in silence and in sorrow.
 
Never would she forget the return journey on the previous night. After being revived by a glass of brandy, Anthony had taken her at once in a cab to Liverpool Street Station, and there they had been fortunate enough to catch a late train to the Junction⁷. Ackworth had telegraphed for a closed brougham, and in this he drove with Clarice to Crumel, some miles distant. Then, after he had seen her safely in the hands of Mrs. Rebson, he had departed in the fly for Gattlinsands, promising⁸ to bring over Ferdy on the afternoon of the ensuing day. All that could be done had been done, and now Clarice waited with a sick heart for the coming interviews with Ferdy and Jerce. Both promised to be stormy ones.
 
Exactly as the clock struck four, Ferdy's voice, gay and bright, was heard in the hall. Clarice shuddered⁹ as she heard him. It was extraordinary to her that Ferdy could laugh at all, seeing what he had on his conscience. But he entered quite gaily¹⁰, smiling and brisk, with Anthony at his heels, looking grave. When the boy had kissed his sister, he commented on Ackworth's low spirits, gaily.
 
"I can't make out what's up with Anthony," said he, taking a seat by the fire and poking¹¹ the coals into a blaze. "He came back late last night, looking like an owl¹². I was playing snooker with Flanigan, and he didn't even take an interest in the game, although I made some ripping shots. What's the matter with him?"
 
"You are--" said Clarice, indignantly.
 
Ferdy dropped the poker¹³ with a clatter¹⁴. "I am?" he echoed. "Why, what do you mean?"--he glanced at Ackworth. "I say, old chap, what's the joke? Have I been doing anything wrong?"
 
Ackworth shrugged¹⁵ his shoulders and walked to the window. Then he glanced at his watch, and mentally noted¹⁶ that Jerce's train was almost due. If Ferdy was to be disposed of, before the doctor arrived it would be necessary to make him confess at once. Ferdy eyed Anthony in astonishment¹⁷, but no reason for this pointed¹⁸ silence occurred to his shallow brain. He turned to his sister. "I say, Clarry!--"
 
"Sit down!" she commanded, harshly.
 
"What do you mean?" he flushed up. "Don't speak to me in that way."
 
Anthony crossed the room rapidly, and, taking Ferdy by the shoulders, made him sit down. "You must not speak to your sister in that manner, while I am by," he declared, sternly. "You are about to be spoken to, in a way you won't like."
 
"Then I'll go," raged Ferdy, evading¹⁹ Ackworth's grip, and making for the door. "How dare you lay hands on me--how dare you?"
 
"If you leave the room, Ferdy," said Clarice, in a quiet and level voice, "you will run straight into the hands of the police."
 
The young man's face changed immediately to a chalky white, and he fell nervelessly into a chair near the door. "The police?" he whispered.
 
"Yes," said Clarice, pitilessly, for his unmanly terror disgusted her; "you will probably spend your night in gaol²⁰."
 
"Clarice!" Ferdy staggered to his feet, violently trembling. "I--I--I--don't know what you mean."
 
Ackworth gave a low laugh of scorn, and strolled to the hearth-rug to take up his position before the fire. "You had better confess," he said, in his sharp, military way.
 
"Confess what?"
 
"Oh!" Clarice clenched²¹ her hands and her eyes shot fire. "Why will you keep up this pretence²²? You know well enough what you have to confess. Will you do so here, or in the dock?"
 
"In the dock?" Ferdy flung forward half-way across the room. "I don't--I never did--what is it?--oh, Clarry, you are making a mistake."
 
"Is this a mistake?" asked his sister, and showed him the stamp.
 
Ferdy was drawn²³ towards it like the ship to the fabled²⁴ magnetic rocks in the Arabian tale. "Where--where did you get it?" he whispered.
 
"In your room--hidden away."
 
"And who put it--who hid it--who--oh--" he caught his breath--"this is a conspiracy²⁵ to ruin me."
 
"Zara will ruin you--"
 
"Zara!"
 
"Jerce will ruin you--"
 
"Jerce!"
 
"Osip will ruin you."
 
"Osip! Osip! Osip!"
 
"Only Anthony and I can save you. Tell the truth--the whole truth."
 
"Clarry!"--Ferdy collapsed²⁶ into a chair--"I--I never killed him."
 
"Zara declares that you did. She saw you through the window."
 
"She saw me--yes--she told me she saw me--but I was marking the forehead of Uncle Henry with that"--he pointed to the stamp. "He was dead when I entered the room; I swear that he was."
 
"Then you WERE in Uncle Henry's room on that night?" cried Clarice, springing to her feet with horror-filled eyes. "You DID stamp his poor flesh with that accursed Purple Fern. Oh, Anthony, Anthony," she rushed towards her lover and caught at him with both hands, "how can I bear it--how can I bear it? Disgrace--shame--murder--"
 
Ferdy slipped on to the floor, and clutched at her dress. He was terrified at seeing Clarice desert him in this way, and whimpered like a child that had been left alone in the dark. "Not murder. No! no! I swear not murder. But--but--but--" he broke down crying, and hid his shameful²⁷ face in his hands, sobbing²⁸ bitterly.
 
A silence ensued. Clarice concealed²⁹ her face in Anthony's breast, and he held her tightly to him, feeling absolutely helpless under the strain of the moment, and feeling also that he was unable to console her in any way. The door creaked and swung inward gently under a scratching paw, and old Jane hobbled into the room, on the look-out for afternoon tea. Seeing Ferdy on the ground, she went up to him and licked the hands which concealed his face. In a mechanical manner he smoothed her head, and in the stillness the clock on the mantelpiece could be heard ticking steadily³⁰ in the pauses of the beating rain. Anthony was the first to recover his composure. "We must come to some arrangement before Jerce arrives," he said.
 
"Jerce!" Ferdy leaped to his feet so unexpectedly that Jane ran under the sofa with a howl of dismay. "Jerce?"
 
"He is coming down--he will be here in a few minutes. Clarice, dear"--he led her to an armchair--"sit down and compose yourself."
 
"I am all right now," said Clarice, in a suffocating³¹ voice, and calmed her unruly nerves with a violent effort. "Now then, Ferdy," she said, in an ominously³² quiet voice, "we are waiting for your story."
 
"How much do you know of it?" asked the miserable³³ young man.
 
"As much as Zara could tell me," said his sister, in a sad voice, "as much as Osip knew."
 
"You have seen Osip?"
 
"Yes. I need not tell you how I came to meet him. But he accuses you of the murder of Uncle Henry, and for all I know, he may already have given notice to the police."
 
"What?" asked Ferdy, in a grating voice, "when he is wanted himself, and for that crime?"
 
"Osip is innocent of this particular crime," interposed Ackworth.
 
"Then if he did not kill Uncle Henry, I don't know who did," declared Ferdy, his face becoming sullen³⁴.
 
"You WILL tell lies," said Clarice, between her teeth.
 
"It is the truth; I swear it is the truth."
 
"Tell your story and let us judge," said Ackworth, imperiously, "and remember, that your life is at stake."
 
"Would you betray me?"
 
"We would save you, and only by knowing the absolute truth can we save you. Come, Baird, out with it."
 
Ferdy stared at the ground, and felt that he was being very hardly treated by the two before him. He stole a look at their set faces, and saw that he would have to lay bare the secrets of his shallow, false life. A bolder man would have braved the matter out; a weaker man would have fainted in the extremity³⁵ of his terror. But Ferdy Baird, half fool, half knave³⁶, acted up to his double character--that is, he told all that could place him in a pleasant light, and suppressed what he could. But by questioning and browbeating³⁷ the lovers got the truth out of him at last. In substance his story came to this, but he told it in a somewhat different way:--
 
"Since you must know all," he said, sullenly³⁸, and with his eyes on the carpet, "Jerce is the one to blame for the whole trouble; and Uncle Henry is also--"
 
"Not a word against him," said Clarice, sternly, and placed her hand in that of Ackworth's, for she felt that she needed what solace³⁹ she could obtain in this hour of sorrow and disgrace.
 
"Uncle Henry should have allowed me more money," said Ferdy, doggedly⁴⁰, "and then I should not have got into trouble with Jerce. I thought that I would be able to get what I wanted, since I was heir to two thousand a year, and when I went to London I had a good time."
 
"A mad time--a reckless time--a wicked time," said Clarice.
 
"That depends upon the way you look at it," said the young man. "I had a ripping time, I say, but it cost money. Jerce lent me some, because he wanted to marry you, Clarry, and wished me to use my influence to bring about the marriage."
 
"You never had any influence," said Clarice, while Anthony looked at his future brother-in-law with the air of a man who wished to kick him out of the house.
 
"Jerce thought I had, and lent me money. But I got into debt. I was in love with Zara a year ago, and she made me spend no end of cash on motor-drives and flowers and jewels, and all the rest of it."
 
"But you told me of two thousand pounds, Ferdy. Was there more?"
 
"Much more. I gambled, you see, and lost heavily on bridge. But it's no use saying what I did, or how I spent the money, as I was simply desperate. I did not dare to go to Uncle Henry, so I asked Jerce again. He refused to help me, so I--I--" here Ferdy kicked a mat with his feet and blurted⁴¹ out the shameful truth unwillingly⁴², "I forged his cheque for two hundred pounds."
 
"What!" Clarice nearly fainted.
 
"You young scoundrel!" gasped⁴³ Ackworth, his face growing red.
 
"That's right. Preach away and kick a chap when he's down. I didn't exactly forge the name, but I altered the figures of a cheque for twenty pounds given me by Jerce, to one for two hundred. So you see I am not quite a forger⁴⁴," ended Ferdy, cheerfully.
 
"Go on," commanded Anthony, curtly⁴⁵, and soothed⁴⁶ the girl, who was weeping bitterly. "Hush⁴⁷, Clarice, darling. We have heard the worst now; nothing more shameful can be revealed."
 
"A forger and a murderer," cried Clarice, in agony--"my own brother."
 
"I am neither the one nor the other," said Fer............