“She can say nothing more than she has said,” remonstrated Random.

“I don’t believe that,” replied Hope, reaching for his overcoat.  “You may choose to believe that the letter was the outcome of bluff.  But I really and truly think that Mrs. Jasher is in the know.  What is more, I believe that Bolton got her those clothes, and that she was the woman who talked to him—­went there to see how the little scheme was progressing.”

“If I thought that,” said Random coldly, “I would not help Mrs. Jasher.”

“Oh, yes, you would.  The greater the sinner the more need she or he has of help, you know, my dear fellow.  But get your coat on, and let us toddle.  I don’t suppose we need pistols.”

Sir Frank laughed, as, aided by the artist, he struggled into his military greatcoat.

“I don’t suppose that Mrs. Jasher will be dangerous,” he remarked.  “We’ll get what we can out of her, and then arrange what is best to be done to recoup her fallen fortunes.  Then she can go where she chooses, and we can,—­as the French say—­ return to our muttons.”

“I think Donna Inez and Lucy would be annoyed to hear themselves called muttons,” laughed Archie, and the two men left the room.

The night was darker than ever, and a fine rain was falling incessantly.  When they left the dimly lighted archway of the fort through the smaller, gate set in the larger one they stepped into midnight blackness such as must have been spread over the land of Egypt.  In accordance with the primitive customs of Gartley inhabitants, one of them at least should have been furnished with a lantern, as it was no easy task to pick a clean way through the mud.—–­However, Archie, knowing the surroundings better even than Random, led the way, and they walked slowly through the iron gate on the hard high road which led to the Fort.  Immediately beyond this they turned towards the narrow cinder path which led through the marshes to Mrs. Jasher’s cottage, and toiled on cautiously through the misty rain, which fell continuously.  The fog was drifting up from the mouth of the river and was growing so thick that they could not see the somewhat feeble lights of the cottage.  However, Archie’s instincts led him aright, and they blundered finally upon the wooden gate.  Here they paused in shocked surprise, for a woman’s scream rang out wildly and suddenly.

“What, in heaven’s name, is that?” asked Hope, aghast.

“We must find out,” breathed Random, and raced through the white cotton-wool of the fog up the path.  As he reached the veranda the door opened and a woman came running out screaming.  But other screams inside the cottage still continued.

“What is the matter?” cried Random, seizing the woman.

She proved to be Jane.

“Oh, sir, my mistress is being murdered—­”

Hope plunged past her into the corridor, not waiting to hear more.  The cries had died down to a low moaning, and he dashed into the pink parlor to find it in smoky darkness.  Striking a match, he held it above his head.  It showed Mrs. Jasher prone on the floor, and a dark figure smashing its way through the flimsy window.  There was a snarl and the figure vanished as the match went out.