"Oh, I was hoping p'raps you liked her,” Jonathon said with the awful candor of youth. “She is really a very nice girl, you know. Not at all like Lady Crieff. She is afraid you have entirely the wrong opinion of her, from seeing her here, with her nice hair all twisted up in corkscrews, and wearing those trollopish gowns. Moira says that, other than having to make up to old Stanby, of course, having to look such a quiz in front of everyone is the worst part of this charade."

Hartly was interested to hear Moira had spoken of him. “You may assure your sister I have the highest regard for her, despite the corkscrew curls and décolleté gowns."

"She is very pretty, don't you think? All the fellows at home are running mad for her."

"Is there any special one…?"

Jonathon shook his head. “No, she pays them no heed. Ever since Lionel March-that is what Stanby was calling himself when he married Mama-ever since he rifled our money, she has been obsessed with bringing him to justice. It is not just the money, though we are pretty hard-up without it. It is the principle of the thing, you see. She feels she owes it to Papa, and to Mama. Moira is strong on principles. She tells me March diddled you as well, Mr. Hartly. How did he cheat you?"

"He did not. It was my cousin, Robbie Sinclair, that he cheated at a rigged card game. Robbie was only eighteen. Robbie is Mott's younger brother."

"You mean Mott is not your valet?"

"He is my cousin, Lord Rudolph Sinclair. We were in the Peninsula together."

"By Jove!” Jonathon exclaimed, eyes open wide as a barn door. “Did you kill anyone?"

"More men than I like to remember, and Mott the same. He is a crack shot."

"Who would have thought it! About Mott, I mean. How, exactly, does your swindle work, Mr. Hartly?"

Hartly briefly outlined his scheme.

Jonathon said, “So that is why you were in the tunnel the night you struck Moira with that club."

"Just doing a reconnaissance mission. I had no idea it was you and your sister, or I would not have struck out. I had to know something about your cousin's operation to convince Stanby the deal was legitimate. I have regretted it, that it was your sister I struck."

"How did you know Marchbank is the chief?"

Hartly had not known Marchbank was actually the chief until that moment. “I realized he must be high up in the organization, as none of the Gentlemen are ever convicted. Surely he is not the Black Ghost?"

"No, that is Cousin Peter, from Romney. He is just used to frighten the Potters. You ought to have spoken to Cousin Marchbank. He would have been happy to help diddle Stanby, for what the bounder did to me and Moira."

"Yes, I regret not knowing from the beginning how matters really stood, but it is too late now. You go on in. I shall wait for five minutes, then go to your room to meet your sister."

Jonathon was enjoying himself so much, he was not eager to leave. “It is something like being at war, ain't it, Mr. Hartly? What was your rank? Were you a colonel?"

"Only a major, I am afraid. The title has acquired unhappy connotations since I met Stanby."

"What is your real name? Moira said you told her you ain't really Mr. Hartly."

"My name is Daniel. You had best run along now and ‘cut’ your finger."

"I shall make it my right hand. In that way, I shan't be able to write out my Latin verbs."

He bounced happily into the inn. Hartly stood, looking after him. He seemed a nice lad. He was happy Moira had had someone to bear her company during her hard years.

After five minutes, he went into the inn. Jonathon was just running downstairs, wearing a handkerchief soaked in red ink around his hand. It looked so horrible that Hartly was afraid Moira might faint. He followed Jonathon into the Great Room. Moira turned pale when she saw the ink-soaked cloth.

"Jonathon!” she gasped, jumping up from the settee.

Hearing her use her brother's real name, Hartly spoke up loudly to cover it. “Good Lord, what has happened?” he asked, rushing forward. A quick glance to Stanby told him he had not noticed Moira's slip.

"I was sharpening my quill when my knife slipped,” Jonathon said. He wore an agonizing frown. “Could you come up and help me put a plaster on it, Lady Crieff?"

"I shall come at once,” she said, and led Jonathon upstairs.

Hartly remained below a moment to share in the general consternation. When the talk turned to politics, he went quietly upstairs.

Jonathon had the sitting-room door open and beckoned him forward. “It worked pretty well, eh?"

Moira looked frazzled from worry. “You did not have to use the entire bottle of ink,” she scolded. “I had best use a big plaster to lend credibility to this charade."

She got out her bandages and proceeded to cut off a large strip. “I want to thank you for leaping in to save me belowstairs, Mr. Hartly. I got such a fright when I saw all the red ink that I forgot myself. Do you think Stanby noticed?"

"I am sure he did not."

"You should have warned me what you were about, Jon.” She continued patting the plaster in place. “I might have ruined the whole thing. What did you wish to discuss, Mr. Hartly?"

With a sly look, Jonathon went into his own room and closed the door behind him.

Hartly said, “My scheme is going forth tonight. Stanby has got his share of the money with him. I believe he also has the money to buy the Crieff collection. I suggest you rush your scheme forward as well. He will be in no mood to take any more chances by morning. At the very least, he will insist on having the jewelry assessed by a competent jeweler before turning over such a large sum."

"How can I rush it forward?” she asked. “It will look odd if I try to strong-arm him. He speaks of buying the jewels tomorrow morning and continuing on to London in the afternoon."

"With you?"

"Yes, that is what he thinks,” she said, blushing. “I intend to flee out the window the minute I get my hands on the money."

"That is a harebrained scheme. He would not be ten minutes behind you. As soon as he got a good look at the collection, he would know your game."

"I only have to get to Cove House. Cousin Vera will say she has not seen me. Cousin John will hide the carriage and team at a neighbor's house until Stanby leaves the area. We have it all arranged. You are spoiling everything-all my years of saving and work.” Her voice was edged with despair. It was mirrored in her stormy eyes. “Can you not hold off until tomorrow night, Mr. Hartly?"

"I fear that is impossible,” he said reluctantly. “We have everything arranged for tonight. I am not alone in this, Moira. I have to consider my partners."

A little thrill raced along her veins to hear him call her by her own name. “Perhaps I can talk him into giving me the money tonight,” she said doubtfully

"No, that will only alert him to mischief. Let your plans rest as they are."

"But I may lose out entirely. You said yourself he would be doubly suspicious after being duped once."

"I shall handle it."

"How?"

"Did he put the money in Bullion's safe?"

"Yes."

"Then I know how to get hold of it. Pack your trunk and be ready to flee when I come for you."

"I must know what you plan to do, Mr. Hartly."

A reckless grin flashed. “I plan to shear a sheep. A black sheep. And now you must return below and simper and smirk at your fiancé. But you need not let him hold your hand."

"He is not my fiancé! I did not say I would marry him. I would as lief marry a rat."

"Your maidenly modesty forbids a quick capitulation. I assure you the major considers you his own. And I, for one, wish him every success."

On this strange speech, he lifted her hand to his lips and placed a warm kiss on her fingers.

"I assure you I have no intention of marrying Stanby!"

"You misunderstand me, Moira. I did not mean that major!"

He gave her a strange smile, then left. The door to Jonathon's room opened with a suspicious alacrity the moment he was gone, and Jonafhon stepped into the sitting room.

"I could not help overhearing what Hartly said. It looks as if our troubles are over, Moira. I shall begin packing. Cheer up, old girl. This is the last time you must endure March's company."

Moira stared at him as if in a daze. Her fingers tingled where Mr. Hartly had placed his lips on them. Should she try to get the money from Stanby tonight? It seemed an impossible thing to suggest. What would she do with such a sum, except leave it in the safe, where it already sat? Stanby would be bound to suspect if she kept it in her room. Could she trust Mr. Hartly, who was not Mr. Hartly at all but a total stranger? Did she have any option?

"You had best stay up here, Jonathon. You have got red ink smeared on your other hand as well. It looks nothing like blood."

Moira returned belowstairs, but she was so nervous that she soon claimed a headache and went back upstairs, to continue her worrying there.

Chapter Twenty

At a quarter to twelve, Jonathon tapped at Moira's door and entered, to find her sitting on the edge of her bed with her trunk packed. She and Jonathon had discussed the matter fully. Having little choice, she had decided to go along with Mr. Hartly's suggestion.

"I am going to follow them when they leave the inn,” Jonathon said. “They are meeting at the cove by Marchbank's place. I figure if there is any trouble with the Gentlemen, I can let Cousin John in on it, and he will help out."

"I have been thinking and thinking,” Moira said distractedly. “I have written to Cousin Vera, telling her of the change of plans, for she expects us tomorrow. Take her my note, Jon, and warn Lord Marchbank what is afoot. It was reckless of Mr. Hartly to use Marchbank's cove."

"It lends an air of authenticity to the thing, though."

"I am so nervous. Do you think we can trust Mr. Hartly?"

"He is a right one,” Jonathon said warmly. “With him and Mott at the helm, nothing will go wrong. They have seen stronger action than this in the Peninsula."

"What do you mean? You said nothing of the Peninsula. Was Mr. Hartly in the army?"

"Of course he was. He was a major. Did he not tell you?"

"No!” A major! “The major considers you his own.” “I did not mean that major!” Was it possible… Her cheeks felt warm.

"And Mott an officer as well. A crack shot. Whoever would have thought that man milliner would know how to use a gun? Well, I am off. Where is the letter?"

Moira handed him the letter. She considered going with Jonathon but felt someone ought to remain at the inn with the money and the jewelry, in case Stanby had some sly plan to return before the others and run off with the lot.

Jonathon rode to Cove House. It was a nice, scary ride, with the dark water shimmering on one side of the road and black trees whispering their menace on the other. Cove House was in total darkness, but he knew the back door was always left on the latch in case of an emergency with the Gentlemen. He entered and crept up to Lady Marchbank's chamber. She was a light sleeper. Her husband's career involved so many strange doings that she was not at all surprised to see Jonathon appear at her bedside at close to midnight. With a blink of her eyes she was wide-awake. She snatched her spectacles from the bedside table, read the note through, and said, “Marchbank ought to know about this."

"Yes, I want to speak to him."

They went together, Lady Marchbank wrapped in a faded woolen housecoat, with a cap tied under her chin.

Marchbank listened to what Jonathon had to say and read Moira's letter. “So that is what is afoot,” he said, nodding. “Moira ought to have told me."

"She did not want to lead Hartly to you. He could still report you, even if he ain't a Revenue inspector. Not that he would, but we did not know the whole until tonight."

"I have lost two nights’ work for no reason,” Marchbank said. “Speak to Jack Larkin, in the stable, Jonathon. He will see young Hartly is not disturbed. If any of the Gentlemen come at night, Jack deals with them. But they have been told to lie low until Hartly leaves. Not a Revenueman, eh? That is good news. I dislike to think London is taking an interest in me."

Jonathon went down to the stable, where he found Jack Larkin napping, fully dressed, mounted on a bay mare. Jonathon jostled him awake and gave him Marchbank's message. Larkin nodded and was soon asleep again. It was said of Larkin that he could sleep standing up and ride sound asleep.

By the time Jonathon reached the cove, the Black Ghost had already arrived. Jon was sorry he had missed the arrival. The cluster of men-Stanby, Ponsonby, Hartly, and his batman, posing as the Black Ghost in a black hat, mask, and domino, stood in a circle with their heads bent. They were limned in charcoal against the silver sky, with a dog-starred moon high above and the rippling ocean below. The sight gave the strange illusion of some medieval ritual. Jonathon could not hear their words, but he could hear the light clink of gold as the bags were handed to the Black Ghost, who shook hands with them all in turn before leaping astride a huge black stallion. The horse reared on its hind legs, whinnying. The Black Ghost emitted one eerie laugh, raised his arm in farewell, and disappeared into the black shadows of night, leaving only the ghostly echo of horse beats behind.