CHAPTER XVIII. LAWRENCE IS MYSTERIOUS.

Despite his vast wealth and the manner in which he was courted and flattered by society, Mr. Isaac Isidore had contrived to remain single. He had only one passion, and that was the making of money by ingenious schemes; in fact, had he not been a capitalist he would have made a wonderfully good novelist, as Lawrence often said. Mystery and intrigue were the very air he breathed, and for recreation he asked for nothing better than a romance by Gaboriau or Du Boisgobey.

He was breakfasting rather later, but quite modestly, in his chambers when Lawrence called on him the next morning. There were a good many points in common between the two men despite their different dispositions.

"Funny thing over those notes last night," said the man of money. "I suppose that is what you came to talk to me about."

"What a luminous mind yours is," Lawrence replied. "That's just why I did come. As you know, I am deeply interested in clearing up the Corner House mystery. I've got nearer to it than anybody imagines. Do you happen to have any idea who came with those particular notes last night?"

"Not the ghost of one," Isidore admitted. "I can read men and minds, but motives are sometimes beyond an amateur like me. Do you know?"

"Yes," said Lawrence, "I do."

"Which means that you are not going to tell me?"

"Not for the present, my boy. Without boasting, I do know, but I could not prove it yet; at least, not to the legal mind. Have you got those notes?"

Isidore intimated that they were in his safe. He took out the whole roll, and asked Lawrence to sort out the particular ones for himself.

"I only want one," Lawrence explained, "and this one will do admirably. I am going to take it away, if you don't mind. You will be able to recognise it by this queer yellow stain. Why didn't you decline to take them last night?"

"Why should I?" Isidore asked coolly. "They came to me through a third party for value received, so that they are quite good. When these notes are presented the bank is bound to cash them. I'd give sixpence to know what is behind that queer, clever, ingenious brain of yours."

Lawrence laughed and departed with the assurance that Isidore should know soon enough. He spent the rest of the morning at the club, and after luncheon took his way gaily in the direction of Lytton Avenue.

The Countess was at home, and glad to see her visitor. The back drawing-room was cool and secluded and opened on to the garden. Leona Lalage lounged back in a deep chair and indicated the cigarettes on a table.

"I have told Saunders not to admit any more visitors," she said. "Positively I shall break down if I don't get a rest soon. Does Mamie make too much noise for you! If so, call to Miss Lawrence."

Mamie and Hetty were playing together in the garden. The child was shouting merrily. Fond of children, Lawrence disclaimed any feeling of annoyance.

"Children and dogs never bore me," he said. "I wish I had a garden like yours. Pleasant perfumes always stimulate the imagination. Did you ever notice how the smell of certain flowers recalls vivid recollections?"

A sudden pallor came over the listener's face, it was gone in an instant, and a deep carmine flush succeeded it.

"Sometimes horrible recollections," she said in a low voice. "A certain flower you love gets mixed up with a tragedy, and you never care for it afterwards."

"Of course, I've noticed that," said Lawrence thoughtfully. "For instance, I once was exceedingly fond of the smell of tuberose, but----"

A little ornament fell from the table by Countess Lalage's side and a cry escaped her. Lawrence looked up in mild surprise.

"Nothing the matter, I hope?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing," came the reply. "Only I was so silly as to place the wrong end of my cigarette in my mouth and burnt my lips. What's tuberose?"

Lawrence gave the necessary information. He was a little surprised to hear that his hostess had never heard of the tuberose. Nor, fond of flowers as she seemed, did she appear in the least interested.

"That child's noise makes my head ache," she said.

Lawrence stepped into the garden, Mamie welcomed him eagerly. No books of hers were half so popular as the novelist's impromptu stories.

"Tell me a tale," she demanded, imperiously.

Lawrence complied with resignation. It was all about a beautiful bad woman who guarded a precious treasure locked away in a box covered with paintings of exquisite flowers. Mamie clapped her hands with delight.

"Like mother's Antoinette cabinet in the drawing-room," she said.

"That's it," Lawrence said gravely, but with a glance at Hetty that caused her to flush a little. "And the key is like this one. We'll give it to Hetty, and some time when the wicked woman is out of the way she may get the tiny little phial that is in the cabinet so that we can do all kinds of wonderful things with it."

"Perhaps we could get it now." Hetty smiled.

Mamie clapped her hands again. A significant look passed between the two conspirators. A small key changed hands. Before the story proper was finished Countess Lalage came down the steps into the garden. Admiration was necessary to her, and the idea of a man's preferring Mamie's conversation to hers was absurd.

"How you spoil that child," she said. "Hetty, take her away."

But Lawrence would not hear of anything of the kind. He would like to have his tea out in the garden if Hetty would fetch it for him. Hetty came back presently, and handed the tea to her uncle. He hardly dared to look at her, but a smile on her lips told him she had succeeded. As he left the house presently Hetty followed him out. She nodded significantly.

"What does it all mean?" she asked.

"That you shall know all in good time," Lawrence replied. "It's a pleasure to have you to do anything for one, Hetty. How quickly you took in my parable. It was rather paltry to talk over a child's head like that, but if ever there was a case when the end justifies the means this is one. Of course, you got it?"

"Of course I did. A tiny glass bottle with a tiny glass stopper."

She took it from her pocket and held it out. There were a few drops of amber-hued liquid inside. Hetty would have removed the stopper, but Lawrence grabbed it.

"Don't touch it," he exclaimed, "keep as far from it as possible. There is real danger here if you only knew it. And whatever you do, don't you go near a soul in the house till you have washed your hands with Sanitas or some pungent disinfectant of that kind. You must be very careful about this."

Hetty promised, wondering.

"Where did you get that key from?" she asked.

"Well, I borrowed the original and had a copy made," Lawrence confessed. "You see I was bound to have a copy, as I am going to return the little bottle as soon as I have more or less verified its history. Now I want you to get away after dinner and come as far as my chambers to meet Bruce."

Hetty promised, and went her way homeward. She was sorely puzzled, but on the whole she felt wonderfully bright and happy. The mystery was still as dark as ever, but she had faith in Lawrence. But there was much to be done before one good man's name was cleared.