“He will not, for his fears will soon be over. His apprehensions will sink out of sight, he will go down to his property and be a happy man.”
“If, Luke, I can quiet all Sir Richard Pelham’s suspicions, will you delay the evil moment?”
“I don’t understand what you are talking about.”
“Nor can I explain; but I think I shall succeed. Now go on—what will happen after Sir Richard has been before the magistrate?”
“He will be remanded, in order that the Home Secretary may give an order for the exhumation of the child’s body.”
Clara turned whiter than ever. She trembled all over.
“What is the matter with you?” said her husband. “You are not the woman you were a few months ago. If I had known that I was really about to unite myself to such a vacillating, poor, weak—what is wrong?”
“Nothing. I trembled because I suddenly thought of the ace of trumps.”
“The ace of trumps! Good heavens! Are you mad?”
“No, Luke, I am sane—quite sane. I only remembered that I hold the ace of trumps in my hand, and therefore I have no real cause for fear. You will be obliged to do what I wish. You must not have Sir Richard arrested next week—not for a month or two months.”
“Let it be a bargain, then,” said Tarbot. “Provided Pelham does not go to extremities, provided his present suspicions are lulled to rest, I am willing to let the matter lie over until Christmas. Will that content you?”
“It is better than nothing,” said Clara very slowly.
“But remember the condition. His suspicions about me must die out, or at least they must not be acted upon.”
“Well, it is a bargain then. I am going to analyze the medicine now. Good night.”
Tarbot rose, and a moment later left the room. Clara stood where he had left her. One of her thin hands drummed on the little table near which she was standing. Her thoughts were very busy. After a time she rose and went to her secretary. She took out a sheet of headed notepaper and envelope, and sitting down wrote a note. This note was to Barbara Pelham.
“DEAR LADY PELHAM,—The advice I gave you to-day I want to enforce by a letter. I have thought much of you since your visit. Your husband is in a highly nervous condition, but he has no cause whatever for his fears. Why should he not set them completely at rest by doing as I suggest, and asking the opinions of Dr. Williamson and Sir Richard Spears? He might also go to the chemist and get a copy of the prescription of the last medicine given to the child. Would you suggest this to him without bringing my name into the matter? After receiving the information which he will doubtless get from the two great specialists and from the chemist, if his fears still remain, please communicate with me, for I can give him a treatment which will assuredly put him into a healthier frame of mind. I would rather not use this last remedy unless essential.