It can thus be seen why Clarice had asked Anthony to invite her brother to Gattlinsands on that evening, and to detain him, if possible, for the next night. She did not want to run the risk of meeting Ferdy at the Mascot Music Hall, or to have--as it were--two Richmonds in the field. On this one night she hoped to learn sufficient to force Ferdy into open confession, and when she knew all, she might be able to save him. But failing success on this night, she trusted to be more successful on the ensuing evening. But in any case, she felt that she must be successful if Ferdy was to be saved from the tricksters who were around him and from his own weak self. Of course, her experiment was a daring one, and Anthony certainly would not approve of it. But too much was at stake to hesitate, so Clarice went up to her room about five o'clock to get ready for her masquerade. On the stroke of the hour, Mrs. Rebson appeared with a telegram, which proved to be from Anthony. He wired that Ferdy had accepted his invitation, and was on his way to Gattlinsands.
"That's all right," said Clarice, putting the wire carefully away.
"What's all right, deary?" asked Mrs. Rebson, who was smoothing her nursling's bed.
"Nanny, come here," said the girl, and led Mrs. Rebson to a chair. "I dare say you remember what you said about disgrace?"
"The Domestic Prophet," replied Mrs. Rebson, smoothing her apron; "yes, and disgrace will come, say what you like."
Mrs. Rebson clapped her gnarled old hands. "I've brought you to your senses," she cried, in her cracked voice, and with great triumph; "you will never doubt the Domestic Prophet again."
"Oh, no," answered Clarice, artfully. "Disgrace is coming, I fear, Nanny, and to Ferdy."
Mrs. Rebson's hands fell by her side, and she began to shake. "Disgrace, and to my darling boy," she whimpered. "Oh, Miss Clarice, what is it? What have you been doing?"
"It's not what I have been doing, but what I am about to do," said Miss Baird, resolutely. "Now, Nanny, if you want to save Ferdy from disgrace, from imprisonment, and perhaps from worse, you must hold your tongue about what I am going to tell you."
"I swear it on the Bible," whimpered Mrs. Rebson again. "Oh, my pretty boy--my sweet darling!" She began to cry in a senile manner.