diff options
Diffstat (limited to '10057-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | 10057-h/10057-h.htm | 7349 |
1 files changed, 7349 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/10057-h/10057-h.htm b/10057-h/10057-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..36004d8 --- /dev/null +++ b/10057-h/10057-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7349 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta content="pg2html (binary v0.17)" name="linkgenerator" /> + <title> + The Secret of the Tower, by Anthony Hope + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} + .x-small {font-size: 75%;} + .small {font-size: 85%;} + .large {font-size: 115%;} + .x-large {font-size: 130%;} + .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} + .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} + .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} + .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} + .indent25 { margin-left: 25%;} + .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} + .indent35 { margin-left: 35%;} + .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; + font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; + text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; + border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} + .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} + span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} +</style> + </head> + <body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10057 ***</div> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE SECRET OF THE TOWER + </h1> + <h2> + By Anthony Hope + </h2> + <h3> + 1919 + </h3> + <h4> + Author Of “The Prisoner Of Zenda,” “Rupert Of Hentzau,” + Etc. <br /> <br /> + </h4> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. — DOCTOR MARY’S PAYING + GUEST </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. — THE GENERAL REMEMBERS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. — MR. SAFFRON AT HOME </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. — PROFESSIONAL ETIQUETTE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. — A FAMILIAR IMPLEMENT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. — ODD STORY OF CAPTAIN DUGGLE + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. — A GENTLEMANLY STRANGER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. — CAPTAIN ALEC RAISES HIS + VOICE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. — DOCTOR MARY’S ULTIMATUM + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. — THE MAGICAL WORD MOROCCO! </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. — THE CAR BEHIND THE TREES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. — THE SECRET OF THE TOWER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. — RIGHT OF CONQUEST </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. — THE SCEPTER IN THE GRAVE + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. — A NORMAL CASE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. — DEAD MAJESTY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. — THE CHIEF MOURNERS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. — THE GOLD AND THE TREASURE + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> THE END. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. — DOCTOR MARY’S PAYING GUEST + </h2> + <p> + “Just in time, wasn’t it?” asked Mary Arkroyd. + </p> + <p> + “Two days before the—the ceremony! Mercifully it had all been + kept very quiet, because it was only three months since poor Gilly was + killed. I forget whether you ever met Gilly? My half-brother, you know?” + </p> + <p> + “Only once—in Collingham Gardens. He had an <i>exeat</i>, and + dashed in one Saturday morning when we were just finishing our work. Don’t + you remember?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think I do. But since my engagement I’d gone into + colors. Oh, of course I’ve gone back into mourning now! And + everything was ready—settlements and so on, you know. And rooms + taken at Bournemouth. And then it all came out!” + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Eustace—Captain Cranster, I mean. Oh, I think he really + must have had shell-shock, as he said, even though the doctor seemed to + doubt it! He gave the Colonel as a reference in some shop, and—and + the bank wouldn’t pay the check. Other checks turned up, too, and in + the end the police went through his papers, and found letters from—well, + from her, you know. From Bogota. South America, isn’t it? He’d + lived there ten years, you know, growing something—beans, or coffee, + or coffee-beans, or something—I don’t know what. He tried to + say the marriage wasn’t binding, but the Colonel—wasn’t + it providential that the Colonel was home on leave? Mamma could never have + grappled with it! The Colonel was sure it was, and so were the lawyers.” + </p> + <p> + “What happened then?” + </p> + <p> + “The great thing was to keep it quiet. Now, wasn’t it? And + there was the shell-shock—or so Eustace—Captain Cranster, I + mean—said, anyhow. So, on the Colonel’s advice, Mamma squared + the check business and—and they gave him twenty-four hours to clear + out. Papa—I call the Colonel Papa, you know, though he’s + really my stepfather—used a little influence, I think. Anyhow it was + managed. I never saw him again, Mary.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor dear! Was it very bad?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes! But—suppose we had been married! Mary, where should I + have been?” + </p> + <p> + Mary Arkroyd left that problem alone. “Were you very fond of him?” + she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Awfully!” Cynthia turned up to her friend pretty blue eyes + suffused in tears. “It was the end of the world to me. That there + could be such men! I went to bed. Mamma could do nothing with me. Oh, + well, she wrote to you about all that.” + </p> + <p> + “She told me you were in a pretty bad way.” + </p> + <p> + “I was just desperate! Then one day—in bed—the thought + of you came. It seemed an absolute inspiration. I remembered the card you + sent on my last birthday—you’ve never forgotten my birthdays, + though it’s years since we met—with your new address here—and + your ‘Doctor,’ and all the letters after your name! I thought + it rather funny.” A faint smile, the first since Miss Walford’s + arrival at Inkston, probably the first since Captain Eustace Cranster’s + shell-shock had wrought catastrophe—appeared on her lips. “How + I waited for your answer! You don’t mind having me, do you, dear? + Mamma insisted on suggesting the P.G. arrangement. I was afraid you’d + shy at it.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit! I should have liked to have you anyhow, but I can make + you much more comfortable with the P.G. money. And your maid too—she + looks as if she was accustomed to the best! By the way, need she be quite + so tearful? She’s more tearful than you are yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Jeanne’s very, very fond of me,” Cynthia murmured + reproachfully. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well get her out of that,” said Mary briskly. “The + tears, I mean, not the fondness. I’m very fond of you myself. Six + years ago you were a charming kitten, and I used to enjoy being your + ‘visiting governess’—to say nothing of finding the + guineas very handy while I was waiting to qualify. You’re rather + like a kitten still, one of those blue-eyed ones—Siamese, aren’t + they?—with close fur and a wondering look. But you mustn’t mew + down here, and you must have lots of milk and cream. Even if rations go + on, I can certify all the extras for you. That’s the good of being a + doctor!” She laughed cheerfully as she took a cigarette from the + mantelpiece and lit it. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia, on the other hand, began to sob prettily and not in a noisy + fashion, yet evidently heading towards a bout of grief. Moreover, no + sooner had the first sound of lamentation escaped from her lips, than the + door was opened smartly and a buxom girl, in lady’s maid uniform, + rushed in, darted across the room, and knelt by Cynthia, sobbing also and + exclaiming, “Oh, my poor Mees Cynthia!” + </p> + <p> + Mary smiled in a humorous contempt. + </p> + <p> + “Stop this!” she commanded rather brusquely. “You’ve + not been deceived too, have you, Jeanne?” + </p> + <p> + “Me, madame? No. My poor Mees—” + </p> + <p> + “Leave your poor Mees to me.” She took a paper bag from the + mantelpiece. “Go and eat chocolates.” + </p> + <p> + Fixed with a firm and decidedly professional glance, Jeanne stopped + sobbing and rose slowly to her feet. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t listen outside the door. You must have been listening. + Wait till you’re rung for. Miss Cynthia will be all right with me. + We’re going for a walk. Take her upstairs and put her hat on her, + and a thick coat; it’s cold and going to rain, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “A walk, Mary?” Cynthia’s sobs stopped, to make way for + this protest. The description of the weather did not sound attractive. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes. Now off with both of you! Here, take the chocolates, + Jeanne, and try to remember that it might have been worse.” + </p> + <p> + Jeanne’s brown eyes were eloquent of reproach. + </p> + <p> + “Captain Cranster might have been found out too late—after the + wedding,” Mary explained with a smile. “Try to look at it like + that. Five minutes to get ready, Cynthia!” She was ready for the + weather herself, in the stout coat and skirt and weather-proof hat in + which she had driven the two-seater on her round that morning. + </p> + <p> + The disconsolate pair drifted ruefully from the room, though Jeanne did + recollect to take the chocolates. Doctor Mary stood looking down at the + fire, her lips still shaped in that firm, wise, and philosophical smile + with which doctors and nurses—and indeed, sometimes, anybody who + happens to be feeling pretty well himself—console, or exasperate, + suffering humanity. “A very good thing the poor silly child did come + to me!” That was the form her thoughts took. For although Dr. Mary + Arkroyd was, and knew herself to be, no dazzling genius at her profession—in + moments of candor she would speak of having “scraped through” + her qualifying examinations—she had a high opinion of her own common + sense and her power of guiding weaker mortals. + </p> + <p> + For all that Jeanne’s cheek bulged with a chocolate, there was open + resentment on her full, pouting lips, and a hint of the same feeling in + Cynthia’s still liquid eyes, when mistress and maid came downstairs + again. Without heeding these signs, Mary drew on her gauntlets, took her + walking-stick, and flung the hall door open. A rush of cold wind filled + the little hall. Jeanne shivered ostentatiously; Cynthia sighed and + muffled herself deeper in her fur collar. “A good walking day!” + said Mary decisively. + </p> + <p> + Up to now, Inkston had not impressed Cynthia Walford very favorably. It + was indeed a mixed kind of a place. Like many villages which lie near to + London and have been made, by modern developments, more accessible than + once they were, it showed chronological strata in its buildings. Down by + the station all was new, red, suburban. Mounting the tarred road, the + wayfarer bore slightly to the right along the original village street; + bating the aggressive “fronts” of one or two commercial + innovators, this was old, calm, serene, gray in tone and restful, + ornamented by three or four good class Georgian houses, one quite fine, + with well wrought iron gates (this was Dr. Irechester’s); turning to + the right again, but more sharply, the wayfarer found himself once more in + villadom, but a villadom more ornate, more costly, with gardens to be + measured in acres—or nearly. This was Hinton Avenue (Hinton because + it was the maiden name of the builder’s wife; Avenue because avenue + is genteel). Here Mary dwelt, but by good luck her predecessor, Dr. + Christian Evans, had seized upon a surviving old cottage at the end of the + avenue, and, indeed, of Inkston village itself. Beyond it stretched + meadows, while the road, turning again, ran across an open heath, and + pursued its way to Sprotsfield, four miles distant, a place of greater + size where all amenities could be found. + </p> + <p> + It was along this road that the friends now walked, Mary setting a brisk + pace. “When once you’ve turned your back on the Avenue, it’s + heaps better,” she said. “Might be real country, looking this + way, mightn’t it? Except the Naylors’ place—Oh, and + Tower Cottage—there are no houses between this and Sprotsfield.” + </p> + <p> + The wind blew shrewdly, with an occasional spatter of rain; the withered + bracken lay like a vast carpet of dull copper-color under the cloudy sky; + scattered fir-trees made fantastic shapes in the early gloom of a December + day. A somber scene, yet wanting only sunshine to make it flash in a + richness of color; even to-day its quiet and spaciousness, its melancholy + and monotony, seemed to bid a sympathetic and soothing welcome to aching + and fretted hearts. + </p> + <p> + “It really is rather nice out here,” Cynthia admitted. + </p> + <p> + “I come almost every afternoon. Oh, I’ve plenty of time! My + round in the morning generally sees me through—except for + emergencies, births and deaths, and so on. You see, my predecessor, poor + Christian Evans, never had more than the leavings, and that’s all I’ve + got. I believe the real doctor, the old-established one, Dr. Irechester, + was angry at first with Dr. Evans for coming; he didn’t want a + rival. But Christian was such a meek, mild, simple little Welshman, not + the least pushing or ambitious; and very soon Dr. Irechester, who’s + quite well off, was glad to leave him the dirty work, I mean (she + explained, smiling) the cottages, and the panel work, National Insurance, + you know, and so on. Well, as you know, I came down as <i>locum</i> for + Christian, he was a fellow-student of mine, and when the dear little man + was killed in France, Dr. Irechester himself suggested that I should stay + on. He was rather nice. He said, ‘We all started to laugh at you, at + first, but we don’t laugh now, anyhow, only my wife does! So, if you + stay on, I don’t doubt we shall work very well together, my dear + colleague,’ Wasn’t that rather nice of him, Cynthia?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear,” said Cynthia, in a voice that sounded a good many + miles away. + </p> + <p> + Mary laughed. “I’m bound to be interested in you, but I + suppose you’re not bound to be interested in me,” she observed + resignedly. “All the same, I made a sensation at Inkston just at + first. And they were even more astonished when it turned out that I could + dance and play lawn tennis.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s a funny little place,” said Cynthia, pointing to + the left side of the road. + </p> + <p> + “Tower Cottage, that’s called.” + </p> + <p> + “But what a funny place!” Cynthia insisted. “A round + tower, like a Martello tower, only smaller, of course; and what looks just + like an ordinary cottage or small farm-house joined on to it. What could + the tower have been for?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure I don’t know. Origin lost in the mists of + antiquity! An old gentleman named Saffron lives there now.” + </p> + <p> + “A patient of yours, Mary?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no! He’s well off, rich, I believe. So he belongs to Dr. + Irechester. But I often meet him along the road. Lately there’s + always been a younger man with him, a companion, or secretary, or + something of that sort, I hear he is.” + </p> + <p> + “There are two men coming along the road now.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that’s them, the old man, and his friend. He’s + rather striking to look at.” + </p> + <p> + “Which of them?” + </p> + <p> + “The old man, of course. I haven’t looked at the secretary. + Cynthia, I believe you’re beginning to feel a little better!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, I’m not! I’m afraid I’m not, really!” + But there had been a cheerfully roguish little smile on her face. It + vanished very promptly when observed. + </p> + <p> + The two men approached them, on their way, no doubt, to Tower Cottage. The + old man was not above middle height, indeed, scarcely reached it; but he + made the most of his inches carrying himself very upright, with an air of + high dignity. Close-cut white hair showed under an old-fashioned peaked + cap; he wore a plaid shawl swathed round him, his left arm being enveloped + in its folds; his right rested in the arm of his companion, who was taller + than he, lean and loose-built, clad in an almost white (and very + unseasonable looking) suit of some homespun material. He wore no covering + on his head, a thick crop of curly hair (of a color indistinguishable in + the dim light) presumably affording such protection as he needed. His face + was turned down towards the old man, who was looking up at him and + apparently talking to him, though in so low a tone that no sound reached + Mary and Cynthia as they passed by. Neither man gave any sign of noticing + their presence. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Saffron, you said? Rather a queer name, but he looks a nice old + man; patriarchal, you know. What’s the name of the other one?” + </p> + <p> + “I did hear; somebody mentioned him at the Naylors’—somebody + who had heard something about him in France. What was the name? It was + something queer too, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “They’ve got queer names, and they live in a queer house!” + Cynthia actually gave a little laugh. “But are you going to walk all + night, Mary dear?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, poor thing! I forgot you! You’re tired? We’ll turn + back.” + </p> + <p> + They retraced their steps, again passing Tower Cottage, into which its + occupants must have gone, for they were no longer to be seen. + </p> + <p> + “That name’s on the tip of my tongue,” said Mary in + amused vexation. “I shall get it in a moment!” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia had relapsed into gloom. “It doesn’t matter in the + least,” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + “It’s Beaumaroy!” said Mary in triumph. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t wonder you couldn’t remember that!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. — THE GENERAL REMEMBERS + </h2> + <p> + Amongst other various, and no doubt useful, functions, Miss Delia Wall + performed that of gossip and news agent-general to the village of Inkston. + A hard-featured, swarthy spinster of forty, with a roving, inquisitive, + yet not unkindly eye, she perambulated—or rather percycled—the + district, taking stock of every incident. Not a cat could kitten or a dog + have the mange without her privity; critics of her mental activity went + near to insinuating connivance. Naturally, therefore, she was well + acquainted with the new development at Tower Cottage, although the + isolated position of that dwelling made thorough observation piquantly + difficult. She laid her information before an attentive, if not very + respectful, audience gathered round the tea-table at Old Place, the + Naylors’ handsome house on the outskirts of Sprotsfield and on the + far side of the heath from Inkston. She was enjoying herself, although she + was, as usual, a trifle distrustful of the quality of Mr. Naylor’s + smile; it smacked of the satiric. “He looks at you as if you were a + specimen,” she had once been heard to complain; and, when she said + “specimen,” it was obviously beetles that she had in mind. + </p> + <p> + “Everybody knows old Mr. Saffron—by sight, I mean—and + the woman who does for him,” she said. “There’s never + been anything remarkable about <i>them</i>. He took his walk as regular as + clockwork every afternoon, and she bought just the same things every week; + her books must have tallied almost to a penny every month, Mrs. Naylor! I + know it! And it was a very rare thing indeed for Mr. Saffron to go to + London—though I have known him to be away once or twice. But very, + very rarely!” She paused and added dramatically, “Until the + armistice!” + </p> + <p> + “Full of ramifications, that event, Miss Wall. It affects even my + business.” Mr. Naylor, though now withdrawn from an active share in + its conduct, was still interested in the large shipping firm from which he + had drawn his comfortable fortune. + </p> + <p> + She looked at him suspiciously, as he put the ends of the slender white + fingers of his two hands together, and leant forward to listen with that + smile of his and eyes faintly twinkling. But the problem was seething in + her brain; she had to go on. + </p> + <p> + “A week after the armistice Mr. Saffron went to London by the 9.50. + He traveled first, Anna.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he, dear?” Mrs. Naylor, a stout and placid dame, was not + yet stirred to excitement. + </p> + <p> + “He came down by the 4.11, and those two men with him. And they’ve + been there ever since!” + </p> + <p> + “Two men, Delia! I’ve only seen one.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, there’s another! Sergeant Hooper they call him; a + short thickset man with a black mustache. He buys two bottles of rum every + week at the <i>Green Man</i>. And—one minute, please, Mr. Naylor—” + </p> + <p> + “I was only going to say that it looks to me as if this man Hooper + were, or had been, a soldier. What do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, Papa! Go on, Miss Wall. I’m interested.” + This encouragement came from Gertie Naylor, a pretty girl of seventeen who + was consuming much tea, bread, and honey. + </p> + <p> + “And since then the old gentleman and this Mr. Beaumaroy go to town + regularly every week on Wednesdays! Now who are they, how did Mr. Saffron + get hold of them, and what are they doing here? I’m at a loss, Anna.” + </p> + <p> + Apparently an <i>impasse</i>! And Mr. Naylor did not seem to assist + matters by asking whether Miss Wall had kept a constant eye on the Agony + Column. Mrs. Naylor took up her knitting and switched off to another + topic. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Arkroyd’s friend, Delia dear! What a charming girl she + looks!” + </p> + <p> + “Friend, Anna? I didn’t know that! A patient, I understand, + anyhow. She’s taking Valentine’s beef juice. Of course they <i>do</i> + give that in drink cases, but I should be sorry to think—” + </p> + <p> + “Drugs, more likely,” Mr. Naylor suavely interposed. Then he + rose from his chair and began to pace slowly up and down the long room, + looking at his beautiful pictures, his beautiful china, his beautiful + chairs, all the beautiful things that were his. His family took no notice + of this roving up and down; it was a habit, and was tacitly accepted as + meaning that he had, for the moment, had enough of the company, and even + of his own sallies at its expense. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve asked Dr. Arkroyd to bring her over, Miss Walford, I + mean, the first day it’s fine enough for tennis,” Mrs. Naylor + pursued. There was a hard court at Old Place, so that winter did not stop + the game entirely. + </p> + <p> + “What a name, too!” + </p> + <p> + “Walford? It’s quite a good name, Delia.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, Anna! Beaumaroy, of course.” Miss Wall was back at + the larger problem. + </p> + <p> + “There’s Alec’s voice. He and the General are back from + their golf. Ring for another teapot, Gertie dear!” + </p> + <p> + The door opened, not Alec, but the General came in, and closed the door + carefully behind him; it was obviously an act of precaution and not merely + a normal exercise of good manners. Then he walked up to his hostess and + said, “It’s not my fault, Anna. Alec would do it, though I + shook my head at him, behind the fellow’s back.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, General?” cried the hostess. Mr. Naylor, + for his part, stopped roving. + </p> + <p> + The door again! “Come in, Mr. Beaumaroy—here’s tea.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Beaumaroy obediently entered, in the wake of Captain Alec Naylor, who + duly presented him to Mrs. Naylor, adding that Beaumaroy had been kind + enough to make the fourth in a game with the General, the Rector of + Sprotsfield, and himself. “And he and the parson were too tough a + nut for us, weren’t they, sir?” he added to the General. + </p> + <p> + Besides being an excellent officer and a capital fellow, Alec Naylor was + also reputed to be one of the handsomest men in the Service; six foot + three, very straight, very fair, with features as regular as any romantic + hero of them all, and eyes as blue. The honorable limp that at present + marked his movements would, it was hoped, pass away. Even his own family + were often surprised into a new admiration of his physical perfections, + remarking, one to the other, how Alec took the shine out of every other + man in the room. + </p> + <p> + There was no shine, no external obvious shine, to take out of Mr. + Beaumaroy, Miss Wall’s puzzling, unaccounted-for Mr. Beaumaroy. The + light showed him now more clearly than when Mary Arkroyd met him on the + heath road, but perhaps thereby did him no service. His features, though + irregular, were not ugly or insignificant, but he wore a rather battered + aspect; there were deep lines running from the corners of his mouth, and + crowsfeet had started under the gray eyes which, in their turn, looked + more skeptical than ardent, rather mocking than eager. Yet when he smiled, + his face became not merely pleasant, but confidentially pleasant; he + seemed to smile especially to and for the person to whom he was talking; + and his voice was notably agreeable, soft and clear—the voice of a + high-bred man, but not exactly of a high-bred Englishman. There was no + accent definite enough to be called foreign, certainly not to be assigned + to any particular race, but there was an exotic touch about his manner of + speech suggesting that, even if not that of a foreigner, it was shaped and + colored by the inflexions of foreign tongues. The hue of his plentiful and + curly hair, indistinguishable to Mary and Cynthia, now stood revealed as + neither black, nor red, nor auburn, nor brown, nor golden, but just, and + rather surprisingly, a plain yellow, the color of a cowslip or + thereabouts. Altogether rather a rum-looking fellow! This had been Alec + Naylor’s first remark when the Rector of Sprotsfield pointed him + out, as a possible fourth, at the golf club, and the rough justice of the + description could not be denied. He, like Alec, bore his scars; the little + finger of his right hand was amputated down to the knuckle. + </p> + <p> + Yet, after all this description, in particularity if not otherwise worthy + of a classic novelist, the thing yet remains that most struck observers. + Mr. Hector Beaumaroy had an adorable candor of manner. He answered + questions with innocent readiness and pellucid sincerity. It would be + impossible to think him guilty of a lie; ungenerous to suspect so much as + a suppression of the truth. Even Mr. Naylor, hardened by five-and-thirty + years’ experience of what sailors will blandly swear to in collision + cases, was struck with the open candor of his bearing. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said. “Yes, Miss Wall, that’s right, we + go to town every Wednesday. No particular reason why it should be + Wednesday, but old gentlemen somehow do better—don’t you think + so?—with method and regular habits.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure you know what’s best for Mr. Saffron,” + said Delia. “You’ve known him a long time, haven’t you?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Naylor drew a little nearer and listened. The General had put himself + into the corner, a remote corner of the room, and sat there with an uneasy + and rather glowering aspect. + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, no!” answered Beaumaroy. “A matter of weeks + only. But the dear old fellow seemed to take to me—a friend put us + in touch originally. I seem to be able to do just what he wants.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope your friend is not really ill, not seriously?” This + time the question was Mrs. Naylor’s, not Miss Delia’s. + </p> + <p> + “His health is really not so bad, but,” he gave a glance round + the company, as though inviting their understanding, “he insists + that he’s not the man he was.” + </p> + <p> + “Absurd!” smiled Naylor. “Not much older than I am, is + he?” + </p> + <p> + “Only just turned seventy, I believe. But the idea’s very + persistent.” + </p> + <p> + “Hypochondria!” snapped Miss Delia. + </p> + <p> + “Not altogether. I’m afraid there is a little real heart + trouble. Dr. Irechester—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, with Dr. Irechester, dear Mr. Beaumaroy, you’re all + right!” + </p> + <p> + Again Beaumaroy’s glance—that glance of innocent appeal—ranged + over the company (except the General, out of its reach). He seemed + troubled and embarrassed. + </p> + <p> + “A most accomplished man, evidently, and a friend of yours, of + course. But, well, there it is, a mere fancy, of course, but unhappily my + old friend doesn’t take to him. He, he thinks that he’s rather + inquisitorial. A doctor’s duty, I suppose—” + </p> + <p> + “Irechester’s a sound man, a very sound man,” said Mr. + Naylor. “And, after all one can ask almost any question if one does + it tactfully, can’t one, Miss Wall?” + </p> + <p> + “As a matter of fact, he’s only seen Mr. Saffron twice—he + had a little chill. But his manner, unfortunately, rather, er—alarmed—” + </p> + <p> + Gertie Naylor, with the directness of youth, propounded a solution of the + difficulty. “If you don’t like Dr. Irechester—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s not I who—” + </p> + <p> + “Why not have Mary?” Gertie made her suggestion eagerly. She + was very fond of Mary, who, from the height of age, wisdom and + professional dignity, had stooped to offer her an equal friendship. + </p> + <p> + “She means Dr. Mary Arkroyd,” Mrs. Naylor explained. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know, Mrs. Naylor, I know about Dr. Arkroyd. In fact, I know + her by sight. But—” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you don’t believe in women doctors?” Alec + suggested. + </p> + <p> + “It’s not that. I’ve no prejudices. But the + responsibility is on me, and I know very little of her; and, well to + change one’s doctor, it’s rather invidious—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, as to that, Irechester’s a sensible man; he’s got + as much work as he wants, and as much money too. He won’t resent an + old man’s fancy.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’d never thought of a change, but if you all suggest + it—” Somehow it did seem as if they all, and not merely + youthful Gertie had suggested it. “But I should rather like to know + Dr. Arkroyd first.” + </p> + <p> + “Come and meet her here; that’s very simple. She often comes + to tennis and tea. We’ll let you know the first time she’s + coming.” + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy most cordially accepted the idea and the invitation. “Any + afternoon I shall be delighted, except Wednesdays. Wednesdays are sacred, + aren’t they, Miss Wall? London on Wednesdays for Mr. Saffron and me, + and the old brown bag!” He laughed in a quiet merriment. “That + old bag’s been in a lot of places with me and has carried some queer + cargoes. Now it just goes to and fro, between here and town, with Mudie + books. Must have books, living so much alone as we do!” He had risen + as he spoke, and approached Mrs. Naylor to take leave. + </p> + <p> + She gave him her hand very cordially. “I don’t suppose Mr. + Saffron cares to meet people; but any spare time you have, Mr. Beaumaroy, + we shall be delighted to see you.” + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy bowed as he thanked her, adding, “And I’m promised a + chance of meeting Dr. Arkroyd before long?” + </p> + <p> + The promise was renewed and the visitor took his leave, declining Alec’s + offer to “run him home” in the car. “The car might + startle my old friend,” he pleaded. Alec saw him off, and returned + to find the General, who had contrived to avoid more than a distant bow of + farewell to Beaumaroy, standing on the hearthrug apparently in a state of + some agitation. + </p> + <p> + The envious years had refused to Major-General Punnit, C.B.—he was a + distant cousin of Mrs. Naylor’s—the privilege of serving his + country in the Great War. His career had lain mainly in India and was + mostly behind him even at the date of the South African War, in which, + however, he had done valuable work in one of the supply services. He as + short, stout, honest, brave, shrewd, obstinate, and as full of prejudices, + religious, political and personal as an egg is of meat. And all this time + he had been slowly and painfully recalling what his young friend Colonel + Merman (the Colonel was young only relatively to the General) had told him + about Hector Beaumaroy. The name had struck on his memory the moment the + Rector pronounced it, but it had taken him a long while to “place it” + accurately. However, now he had it pat; the conversation in the club came + back. He retailed it now to the company at Old Place. + </p> + <p> + A pleasant fellow, Beaumaroy; socially a very agreeable fellow. And as for + courage, as brave as you like. Indeed he might have had letters after his + name save for the fact that he—the Colonel—would never + recommend a man unless his discipline was as good as his leading, and his + conduct at the base as praiseworthy as at the front. (Alec Naylor nodded + his handsome head in grave approval; his father looked a little + discontented, as though he were swallowing unpalatable, though wholesome, + food). His whole idea—Beaumaroy’s, that is—was to shield + offenders, to prevent the punishment fitting the crime, even to console + and countenance the wrongdoer. No sense of discipline, no moral sense, the + Colonel had gone as far as that. Impossible to promote or to recommend for + reward, almost impossible to keep. Of course, if he had been caught young + and put through the mill, it might have been different. “It <i>might</i>” + the Colonel heavily underlined the possibility, but he came from Heaven + knew where, after a life spent Heaven knew how. “And he seemed to + know it himself,” the Colonel had said, thoughtfully rolling his + port round in the glass. “Whenever I wigged him, he offered to go; + said he’d chuck his commission and enlist; said he’d be + happier in the ranks. But I was weak, I couldn’t bear to do it.” + After thus quoting his friend, the General added: “He was weak, + damned weak, and I told him so.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course he ought to have got rid of him,” said Alec. + “Still, sir, there’s nothing, er, disgraceful.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems hardly to have come to that,” the General admitted + reluctantly. + </p> + <p> + “It all rather makes me like him,” Gertie affirmed + courageously. + </p> + <p> + “I think that, on the whole, we may venture to know him in times of + peace,” Mr. Naylor summed up. + </p> + <p> + “That’s your look out,” remarked the General. “I’ve + warned you. You can do as you like.” + </p> + <p> + Delia Wall had sat silent through the story. Now she spoke up, and got + back to the real point: + </p> + <p> + “There’s nothing in all that to show how he comes to be at Mr. + Saffron’s.” + </p> + <p> + The General shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, Saffron be hanged! He’s + not the British Army,” he said. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. — MR. SAFFRON AT HOME + </h2> + <p> + To put it plainly, Sergeant Hooper—he had been a Sergeant for a + brief and precarious three weeks, but he used the title in civil life + whenever he safely could, and he could at Inkston—Sergeant Hooper + was a villainous-looking dog. Beaumaroy, fresh from the comely presences + of Old Place, unconscious of how the General had ripped up his character + and record, pleasantly nursing a little project concerning Dr. Mary + Arkroyd, had never been more forcibly struck with his protege’s + ill-favoredness than when he arrived home on this same evening, and the + Sergeant met him at the door. + </p> + <p> + “By gad, Sergeant,” he observed pleasantly, “I don’t + think anybody could be such a rascal as you look. It’s that faith + that carries me through.” + </p> + <p> + The Sergeant helped him off with his coat. “It’s some people’s + stock-in-trade,” he remarked, “not to look a rascal like they + really are, sir.” The “sir” stuck out of pure habit; it + carried no real implication of respect. + </p> + <p> + “Meaning me!” laughed Beaumaroy. “How’s the old + man to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “Quiet enough. He’s in the Tower there—been there an + hour or more.” + </p> + <p> + The cottage door opened on to a narrow passage, with a staircase on one + side, and on the other a door leading to a small square parlor, cheerfully + if cheaply furnished, and well lit by an oil lamp. A fire blazed on the + hearth, and Beaumaroy sank into a “saddle-bag” armchair beside + it, with a sigh of comfort. The Sergeant had jerked his head towards + another door, on the right of the fireplace; it led to the Tower. + Beaumaroy’s eyes settled on it. + </p> + <p> + “An hour or more, has he? Have you heard anything?” + </p> + <p> + “He was making a speech a little while back, that’s all.” + </p> + <p> + “No more complaints and palpitations, or anything of that sort?” + </p> + <p> + “Not as I’ve heard. But he never says much to me. Mrs. Wiles + gets the benefit of his symptoms mostly.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re not sympathetic, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + During the talk Hooper had been to a cupboard and mixed a glass of whisky + and soda. He brought it to Beaumaroy and put it on a small table by him. + Beaumaroy regarded his squat paunchy figure, red face, small eyes (a + squint in one of them), and bulbous nose with a patient and benign + toleration. + </p> + <p> + “Since you can’t expect, Sergeant, to prepossess the judge and + jury in your favor, the instant you make your appearance in the box—” + </p> + <p> + “Here, what are you on to, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s the more important for you to have it clearly in your + mind that we are laboring in the cause of humanity, freedom, and justice. + Exactly like the Allies in the late war, you know, Sergeant. Keep that in + your mind, clinch it! He hasn’t wanted you to do anything particular + to-night, or asked for me?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir. He’s happy with—with what you call his + playthings.” + </p> + <p> + “What are they but playthings?” asked Beaumaroy, tilting his + glass to his lips with a smile perhaps a little wry. + </p> + <p> + “Only I wish as you wouldn’t talk about judges and juries,” + the Sergeant complained. + </p> + <p> + “I really don’t know whether it’s a civil or a criminal + matter, or both, or neither,” Beaumaroy admitted candidly. “But + what we do know, Sergeant, is that it provides us with excellent billets + and rations. Moreover, a thing that you certainly will not appreciate, it + gratifies my taste for the mysterious.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope there’s a bit more coming from it than that,” + said the Sergeant. “That is, if we stick together faithful, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we shall! One thing puzzles me about you, Sergeant. I don’t + think I’ve mentioned it before. Sometimes you speak almost like an + educated man; at others your speech is, well, illiterate.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, it’s a sort of mixture of my mother; she was + class, the blighter who come after my father, and the Board School—” + </p> + <p> + “Of course! What they call the educational ladder! That explains it. + By the way, I’m thinking of changing our doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “Good job, too. I ‘ate that Irechester. Stares at you, that + chap does.” + </p> + <p> + “Does he stare at your eyes?’” asked Beaumaroy + thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know that he does at my eyes particularly. Nothing + wrong with ‘em, is there?” The Sergeant sounded rather truculent. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind that; but I fancied he stared at Mr. Saffron’s. + And I’ve read somewhere, in some book or other, that doctors can + tell, or guess, by the eyes. Well, that’s only an idea. How does a + lady doctor appeal to you, Sergeant?” + </p> + <p> + “I should be shy,” said the Sergeant, grinning. + </p> + <p> + “Vulgar! vulgar!” Beaumaroy murmured. + </p> + <p> + “That Dr. Mary Arkroyd?” + </p> + <p> + “I had thought of her.” + </p> + <p> + “She ought to be fair easy to kid. You ‘ave notions sometimes, + sir.” + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy stretched out his legs, debonnair, well-rounded legs, to the + seducing blaze of oak logs. + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t really a care in the world,” he said. + </p> + <p> + The Sergeant’s reply, or comment, had a disconcerting ring. “And + you’re sure of ‘Eaven? That’s what the bloke always says + to the ‘angman.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve no intention of being a murderer, Sergeant.” + Beaumaroy’s eyebrows were raised in gentle protest. + </p> + <p> + “Once you’re in with a job, you never know,” his + retainer observed darkly. + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy laughed. “Oh, go to the devil! and mix me another whisky.” + Yet a vague uneasiness showed itself on his face; he looked across the + room at the evil-shaped man handling the bottles in the cupboard. He made + one queer, restless movement of his arms, as though to free himself. Then, + in a moment, he sprang from his chair, a glad kindly smile illuminating + his face; he bowed in a very courtly fashion, exclaiming, “Ah! here + you are, sir? And all well, I hope?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Saffron had entered from the door leading to the Tower, carefully + closing it after him. Hooper’s hand went up to his forehead in the + ghost of a military salute, but a sneering smile persisted on his lips. + The only notice Mr. Saffron took of him was a jerk of the head towards the + passage, an abrupt and ungracious dismissal, which, however, the Sergeant + silently accepted and stumped out. The greeting reserved for Beaumaroy was + vastly different. Beaumaroy’s own cordiality was more than + reciprocated. It seemed impossible to doubt that a genuine affection + existed between the elder and the younger man, though the latter had not + thought fit to mention the fact to Sergeant Hooper. + </p> + <p> + “A tiring day, my dear Hector, very tiring. I’ve transacted a + lot of business. But never mind that, it will keep. What of your doings?” + </p> + <p> + Having sat the old man in the big chair by the fire, Beaumaroy sauntered + across to the door of the Tower, locked it, and put the key in his pocket. + Then he returned to the fire and, standing in front of it, gave a lively + and detailed account of his visit to Old Place. + </p> + <p> + “They appear to be pleasant people, very pleasant. I should like to + know them, if it was not desirable for me to live an entirely secluded + life.” Mr. Saffron’s speech was very distinct and clean cut, + rather rapid, high in tone but not disagreeable. “You make pure fun + of this Miss Wall, as you do of so many things, Hector, but—” + he smiled up at Beaumaroy—“inquisitiveness is not our favorite + sin just now!” + </p> + <p> + “She’s so indiscriminately inquisitive that it’s a + thousand to one against her really finding out anything of importance, + sir.” Beaumaroy sometimes addressed his employer as “Mr. + Saffron,” but much more commonly he used the respectful “sir.” + “I think I’m equal to putting Miss Delia Wall off.” + </p> + <p> + “Still she noticed our weekly journeys!” + </p> + <p> + “Half Inkston goes to town every day, sir, and the rest three times, + twice, or once a week. I called her particular attention to the bag, and + told her it was for books from Mudie’s!” + </p> + <p> + “Positive statements like that are a mistake.” Mr. Saffron + spoke with a sudden sharpness, in pointed rebuke. “If I form a right + idea of that woman, she’s quite capable of going to Mudie’s to + ask about us.” + </p> + <p> + “By Jove, you’re right, sir, and I was wrong. We’d + better go and take out a subscription tomorrow; she’ll hardly go so + far as to ask the date we started it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, let that be done. And, remember, no unnecessary talk.” + His tone grew milder, as though he were mollified by Beaumaroy’s + ready submission to his reproof. “We have some places to call at + to-morrow, have we?” + </p> + <p> + “They said they’d have some useful addresses ready for us, + sir. I’m afraid, though, that we’re exhausting the most + obvious resources.” + </p> + <p> + “Still, I hope for a few more good consignments. I suppose you + remain confident that the Sergeant has no suspicions as regards that + particular aspect of the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure of it, up to the present. Of course there might be + an accident, but with him and Mrs. Wiles both off the premises at night, + it’s hardly likely; and I never let the bag out of my sight while it’s + in the room with them, hardly out of my hand.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to trust him, but it’s hardly fair to put such + a strain on his loyalty.” + </p> + <p> + “Much safer not, sir, as long as we’re not driven to it. After + all though, I believe the fellow is out to redeem his character, his isn’t + an unblemished record.” + </p> + <p> + “But the work, the physical labor, entailed on you, Hector!” + </p> + <p> + “Make yourself easy about that, sir. I’m as strong as a horse. + The work’s good for me. Remember I’ve had four years’ + service.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Saffron smiled pensively. “It would have been funny if we’d + met over there! You and I!” + </p> + <p> + “It would, sir,” laughed Beaumaroy. “But that could + hardly have happened without some very curious accident.” + </p> + <p> + The old man harked back. “Yes, a few more good consignments, and we + can think in earnest of your start.” He was warming his hands, thin + yellowish hands, at the fire now, and his gaze was directed into it. + Looking down on him, Beaumaroy allowed a smile to appear on his lips, a + queer smile, which seemed to be compounded of affection, pity, and + amusement. + </p> + <p> + “The difficulties there remain considerable for the present,” + he remarked. + </p> + <p> + “They must be overcome.” Once again the old man’s voice + became sharp and even dictatorial. + </p> + <p> + “They shall be, sir, depend on it.” Beaumaroy’s air was + suddenly confident, almost braggart. Mr. Saffron nodded approvingly. + “But, anyhow, I can’t very well start till favorable news + comes from—” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” There was a knock on the door. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Wiles, to lay the table, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes! Come in!” He added hastily to Beaumaroy, in an + undertone. “Yes, we must wait for that.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Wiles entered as he spoke. She was a colorless, negative kind of a + woman, fair, fat, flabby, and forty or thereabouts. She had been the + ill-used slave of a local carpenter, now deceased by reason of + over-drinking; her nature was to be the slave of the nearest male + creature, not from affection (her affections were anemic) but rather, as + it seemed, from an instinctive desire to shuffle off from herself any + responsibility. But, at all events, she was entirely free from Miss Delia + Wall’s proclivity. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Saffron rose. “I’ll go and wash my hands. We’ll dine + just as we are, Hector.” Beaumaroy opened the door for him; he + acknowledged the attention with a little nod, and passed out to the + staircase in the narrow passage. Beaumaroy appeared to consider himself + absolved from any preparation, for he returned to the big chair and, + sinking into it, lit another cigarette. Meanwhile Mrs. Wiles laid the + table, and presently Sergeant Hooper appeared with a bottle of + golden-tinted wine. + </p> + <p> + “That, at least, is the real stuff,” thought Beaumaroy as he + eyed it in pleasurable anticipation. “Where the dear old man got it, + I don’t know; but in itself it’s almost worth all the racket.” + </p> + <p> + And really, in its present stages, so far as its present developments + went, the “racket” pleased him. It amused his active brain, + besides (as he had said to Mr. Saffron) exercising his active body, though + certainly in a rather grotesque and bizarre fashion. The attraction of it + went deeper than that. It appealed to some of those tendencies and + impulses of his character which had earned such heavy censure from + Major-General Punnit and had produced so grave an expression on Captain + Alec’s handsome face without, however, being, even in that officer’s + exacting judgment, disgraceful. And, finally, there was the lure of + unexplored possibilities, not only material and external, but + psychological not only touching what others might do or what might happen + to them, but raising also speculation as to what he might do, or what + might happen to him at his own hands; for example, how far he would flout + authority, defy the usual, and deny the accepted. The love of rebellion, + of making foolish the wisdom of the wise, of hampering the orderly and + inexorable treatment of people just as, according to the best modern + lights, they ought to be treated, this lawless love was strong in + Beaumaroy. Not as a principle; it was the stronger for being an instinct, + a wayward instinct that might carry him, he scarce knew where. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Saffron came back, greeted again by Beaumaroy’s courtly bow and + Hooper’s vaguely reminiscent but slovenly military salute. The pair + sat down to a homely beefsteak; but the golden tinted wine gurgled into + their glasses. But, before they fell to, there was a little incident. A + sudden, but fierce, anger seized old Mr. Saffron. In his harshest tones he + rapped out at the Sergeant, “My knife! You careless scoundrel, you + haven’t given me my knife!” + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy sprang to his feet with a muttered exclamation: “It’s + all my fault, sir. I forgot to give it to Hooper. I always lock it up when + I go out.” He went to a little oak sideboard and unlocked a drawer, + then came back to Mr. Saffron’s side. “Here it is, and I + humbly apologize.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good! very good!” said the old man testily, as he took + the implement. + </p> + <p> + “Ain’t anybody going to apologize to me?” asked Hooper, + scowling. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, get out, Sergeant!” said Beaumaroy good-naturedly. + “We can’t bother about your finer feelings.” He glanced + anxiously at Mr. Saffron. “All right now, aren’t you, sir?” + he inquired. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Saffron drank his glass of wine. “I am perhaps too sensitive to + any kind of inattention; but it’s not wholly unnatural in my + position, Hector.” + </p> + <p> + “We both desire to be attentive and respectful, sir. Don’t we, + Hooper?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh my, yes!” grinned the Sergeant, showing his very ugly + teeth. “It’s only owing that we ‘aven’t quite been + brought up in royal palaces.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. — PROFESSIONAL ETIQUETTE + </h2> + <p> + Dr. Irechester was a man of considerable attainments and an active, though + not very persevering, intellect. He was widely read both in professional + and general literature, but had shrunk from the arduous path of + specialization. And he shrank even more from the drudgery of his calling. + He had private means, inherited in middle life; his wife had a respectable + portion; there was, then, nothing in his circumstances to thwart his + tastes and tendencies. He had soon come to see in the late Dr. Evans a + means of relief rather than a threat of rivalry; even more easily he + slipped into the same way of regarding Mary Arkroyd, helped thereto by a + lingering feeling that, after all and in spite of all, when it came to + really serious cases, a woman could not, at best, play more than second + fiddle. So, as has been seen, he patronized and encouraged Mary; he told + himself that, when she had thoroughly proved her capacity—within the + limits which he ascribed to it—to take her into partnership would + not be a bad arrangement. True, he could pretty well choose his patients + now; but as senior partner he would be able to do it completely. It was + well-nigh inconceivable that, for example, the Naylors—great friends—should + ever leave him; but he would like to be quite secure of the pick of new + patients, some of whom might, through ignorance or whim, call in Mary. + There was old Saffron, for instance. He was, in Irechester’s private + opinion, or, perhaps it should be said in his private suspicions, an + interesting case; yet, just for that reason, unreliable, and evidently + ready to take offense. It was because of cases of that kind that he + contemplated offering partnership to Mary; he would both be sure of + keeping them and able to devote himself to them. + </p> + <p> + But his wife laughed at Mary, or at that development of the feminist + movement which had produced her and so many other more startling + phenomena. The Doctor was fond of his wife, a sprightly, would-be + fashionable, still very pretty woman. But her laughter, and the opinion it + represented, were to him the merest crackling of thorns under a pot. + </p> + <p> + The fine afternoon had come, a few days before Christmas, and he sat, side + by side with Mr. Naylor, both warmly wrapped in coats and rugs, watching + the lawn tennis at Old Place. Doctor Mary and Beaumaroy were playing + together, the latter accustoming himself to a finger short in gripping his + racquet, against Cynthia and Captain Alec. The Captain could not yet cover + the court in his old fashion, but his height and reach made him formidable + at the net, and Cynthia was very active. Ten days of Inkston air had made + a vast difference to Cynthia. And something else was helping. It required + no common loyalty to lost causes and ruined ideals—it is surely not + harsh to indicate Captain Cranster by these terms?—to resist Alec + Naylor. In fact he had almost taken Cynthia’s breath away at their + first meeting; she thought that she had never seen anything quite so + magnificent, or—all round and from all points of view, so romantic; + his stature, handsomeness, limp, renown. Who can be surprised at it? + Moreover, he was modest and simple, and no fool within the bounds of his + experience. + </p> + <p> + “She seems a nice little girl, that, and uncommon pretty,” + Naylor remarked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but he’s a queer fish, I fancy,” the Doctor + answered, also rather absently. Their minds were not running on parallel + lines. + </p> + <p> + “My boy a queer fish?” Naylor expostulated humorously. + </p> + <p> + Irechester smiled; his lips shut close and tight, his smile was quick but + narrow. “You’re matchmaking. I was diagnosing,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Naylor apologized. “I’ve a desperate instinct to fit all these + young fellows up with mates as soon as possible. Isn’t it only fair?” + </p> + <p> + “And also extremely expedient. But it’s the sort of thing you + can leave to them, can’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “As to Beaumaroy—I suppose you meant him, not Alec—I + think you must have been talking to old Tom Punnit—or, rather, + hearing him talk.” + </p> + <p> + “Punnit’s general view is sound enough, I think, as to the man’s + characteristics; but he doesn’t appreciate his cunning.” + </p> + <p> + “Cunning?” Naylor was openly astonished. “He doesn’t + strike me as a cunning man, not in the least.” + </p> + <p> + “Possibly, possibly, I say—not in his ends, but in his means + and expedients. That’s my view. I just put it on record, Naylor. I + never like talking too much about my cases.” + </p> + <p> + “Beaumaroy’s not your patient, is he?” + </p> + <p> + “His employer, I suppose he’s his employer, Saffron is. Well, + I thought it advisable to see Saffron alone. I tried to. Saffron was + reluctant, this man here openly against it. Next time I shall insist. + Because I think, mind you, at present I no more than think, that there’s + more in Saffron’s case than meets the eye.” + </p> + <p> + Naylor glanced at him, smiling. “You fellows are always starting + hares,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Game and set!” cried Captain Alec, and—to his partner—“Thank + you very much for carrying a cripple.” + </p> + <p> + But Irechester’s attention remained fixed on Beaumaroy, and + consequently on Doctor Mary, for the partners did not separate at the end + of their game, but, after putting on their coats, began to walk up and + down together on the other side of the court, in animated conversation, + though Beaumaroy did most of the talking, Mary listening in her usual + grave and composed manner. Now and then a word or two reached Irechester’s + ears, old Naylor seemed to have fallen into a reverie over his cigar, and + it must be confessed that he took no pains not to overhear. Once at least + he plainly heard “Saffron” from Beaumaroy; he thought that the + same lips spoke his own name, and he was sure that Doctor Mary’s + did. Beaumaroy was speaking rather urgently, and making gestures with his + hands; it seemed as though he were appealing to his companion in some + difficulty or perplexity. Irechester’s mouth was severely compressed + and his glance suspicious as he watched. + </p> + <p> + The scene was ended by Gertie Naylor calling these laggards in to tea, to + which meal the rest of the company had already betaken itself. + </p> + <p> + At the tea table they found General Punnit discoursing on war, and giving + “idealists” what idealists usually get. The General believed + in war; he pressed the biological argument, did not flinch when Mr. Naylor + dubbed him the “British Bernhardi,” and invoked the support of + “these medical gentleman” (this with a smile at Doctor Mary’s + expense) for his point of view. War tested, proved, braced, hardened; it + was nature’s crucible; it was the antidote to softness and + sentimentality; it was the vindication of the strong, the elimination of + the weak. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose there’s a lot in all that, sir,” said Alec + Naylor, “but I don’t think the effect on one’s character + is always what you say. I think I’ve come out of this awful business + a good deal softer than I went in.” He laughed in an apologetic way. + “More, more sentimental, if you like, with more feeling, don’t + you know, for human life, and suffering, and so on. I’ve seen a + great many men killed, but the sight hasn’t made me any more ready + to kill men. In fact, quite the reverse.” He smiled again. “Really + sometimes, for a row of pins, I’d have turned conscientious + objector.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Naylor looked apprehensively at the General: would he explode? No, he + took it quite quietly. “You’re a man who can afford to say it, + Alec,” he remarked, with a nod that was almost approving. + </p> + <p> + Naylor looked affectionately at his son and turned to Beaumaroy. “And + what’s the war done to you?” he asked. And this question did + draw from the General, if not an explosion, at least a rather contemptuous + smile: Beaumaroy had earned no right to express opinions! + </p> + <p> + But express one he did, and with his habitual air of candor. “I + believe it’s destroyed every, scruple I ever had!” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Beaumaroy!” exclaimed his hostess, scandalized; while the + two girls, Cynthia and Gertie, laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I mean it. Can you see human life treated as dirt, absolutely as + cheap as dirt, for three years, and come out thinking it worth anything? + Can you fight for your own hand, right or wrong? Oh, yes, right or wrong, + in the end, and it’s no good blinking it. Can you do that for three + years in war, and then hesitate to fight for your own hand, right or + wrong, in peace? Who really cares for right or wrong, anyhow?” + </p> + <p> + A pause ensued—rather an uncomfortable pause. There was a raw + sincerity in Beaumaroy’s utterance that made it a challenge. + </p> + <p> + “I honestly think we did care about the rights and wrongs—we + in England,” said Naylor. + </p> + <p> + “That was certainly so at the beginning,” Irechester agreed. + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy took him up smartly. “Aye, at the beginning. But what + about when our blood got up? What then? Would we, in our hearts, rather + have been right and got a licking, or wrong and given one?” + </p> + <p> + “A searching question!” mused old Naylor. “What say you, + Tom Punnit?” + </p> + <p> + “It never occurred to me to put the question,” the General + answered brusquely. + </p> + <p> + “May I ask why not, sir?” said Beaumaroy respectfully. + </p> + <p> + “Because I believed in God. I knew that we were right, and I knew + that we should win.” + </p> + <p> + “Are we in theology now, or still in biology?” asked + Irechester, rather acidly. + </p> + <p> + “You’re getting out of my ‘depth anyhow,” smiled + Mrs. Naylor. “And I’m sure the girls must be bewildered.” + </p> + <p> + “Mamma, I’ve done biology!” + </p> + <p> + “And many people think they’ve done theology!” chuckled + Naylor. “Done it completely!” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve raised a pretty argument!” said Beaumaroy, + smiling. “I’m sorry! I only meant to answer your question + about the effect the whole thing has had on myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Even your answer to that was pretty startling, Mr. Beaumaroy,” + said Doctor Mary, smiling too. “You gave us to understand that it + had obliterated for you all distinctions of right and wrong, didn’t + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Did I go as far as that?” he laughed. “Then I’m + open to the remark that they can’t have been very strong at first.” + </p> + <p> + “Now don’t destroy the general interest of your thesis,” + Naylor implored. “It’s quite likely that yours is a case as + common as Alec’s, or even commoner. ‘A brutal and licentious + soldiery,’ isn’t that a classic phrase in our histories? All + the same, I fancy Mr. Beaumaroy does himself less than justice.” He + laughed. “We shall be able to judge of that when we know him better.” + </p> + <p> + “At all events, Miss Gertie, look out that I don’t fake the + score at tennis!” said Beaumaroy. + </p> + <p> + “A man might be capable of murder, but not capable of that,” + said Alec. + </p> + <p> + “A truly British sentiment!” cried his father. “Tom, we + have got back to the national ideals.” + </p> + <p> + The discussion ended in laughter, and the talk turned to lighter matters; + but, as Mary Arkroyd drove Cynthia home across the heath, her thoughts + returned to it. The two men, the two soldiers, seemed to have given an + authentic account of what their experience had done to them. Both, as she + saw the case, had been moved to pity, horror, and indignation that such + things should be done, or should have to be done, in the world. After that + point came the divergence. The higher nature had been raised, the lower + debased; Alec Naylor’s sympathies had been sharpened and sensitized; + Beaumaroy’s blunted. Where the one had found ideals and incentives, + the other found despair—a despair that issued in excuses and denied + high standards. And the finer mind belonged to the finer soldier; that she + knew, for Gertie had told her General Punnit’s story, and, however + much she might discount it as the tale of an elderly martinet, yet it + stood for something, for something that could never be attributed to Alec + Naylor. + </p> + <p> + And yet, for her mind traveled back to her earlier talk by the tennis + court, Beaumaroy had a conscience, had feelings. He was fond of old Mr. + Saffron; he felt a responsibility for him, felt it, indeed, keenly. Or was + he, under all that seeming openness, a consummate hypocrite? Did he value + Mr. Saffron only as a milk cow, the doting giver of a large salary? Was + his only desire to humor him, keep him in good health and temper, and use + him to his own profit? A puzzling man, but, at all events, cutting a poor + figure beside Alec Naylor, about whom there could circle no clouds of + doubt. Doctor Mary’s learning and gravity did not prevent her from + drawing a very heroic and rather romantic figure of Captain Alec—notwithstanding + that she sometimes found him rather hard to talk to. + </p> + <p> + She felt Cynthia’s arm steal around her waist, and Cynthia said + softly, “I did enjoy my afternoon. Can we go again soon, Mary?” + </p> + <p> + Mary glanced at her. Cynthia laughed and blushed. “Isn’t he + splendid?” Cynthia murmured. “But I don’t like Mr. + Beaumaroy, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “I say yes to the first question, but I’m not quite ready to + answer the second,” said Mary with a laugh. + </p> + <p> + Three days later, on Christmas Eve, one whom Jeanne, who caught sight of + him in the hall, described as being all there was possible of ugliness, + delivered (with a request for an immediate answer) the following note for + Mary Arkroyd: + </p> + <h3> + DEAR DR. ARKROYD: + </h3> + <p> + Mr. Saffron is unwell, and I have insisted that he must see a doctor. So + much he has yielded, after a fight! But nothing will induce him to see Dr. + Irechester again. On this point I tried to reason with him, but in vain. + He is obstinate and resolved. I am afraid that I am putting you in a + difficult and disagreeable position, but it seems to me that I have no + alternative but to ask you to call on him professionally. I hope that Dr. + Irechester will not be hurt by a whim which is, no doubt, itself merely a + symptom of disordered nerves, for Dr. Irechester has been most attentive + and very successful hitherto in dealing with the dear old gentleman. But + my first duty is to Mr. Saffron. If it will ease matters at all, pray hold + yourself at liberty to show this note to Dr. Irechester. May I beg you to + be kind enough to call at your earliest convenience, though it is, alas, a + rough evening to ask you to come out? + </p> + <p> + Yours very faithfully, + </p> + <h3> + HECTOR BEAUMAROY. + </h3> + <p> + “How very awkward!” exclaimed Mary. She had prided herself on + a rigorous abstention from “poaching”; she fancied that men + were very ready to accuse women of not “playing the game” and + had been resolved to give no color to such an accusation. “Mr. + Saffron has sent for me—professionally. He’s ill, it seems,” + she said to Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn’t he?” + </p> + <p> + “Because he is a patient of Dr. Irechester, not a patient of mine.” + </p> + <p> + “But people often change their doctors, don’t they? He thinks + you’re cleverer, I suppose, and I expect you are really.” + </p> + <p> + There was no use in expounding professional etiquette to Cynthia. Mary had + to decide the point for herself, and quickly; the old man might be + seriously ill. Beaumaroy had said at the Naylors’ that his attacks + were sometimes alarming. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly she recollected that he had also seemed to hint that they were + more alarming than Irechester appeared to appreciate; she had not taken + much notice of that hint at the time, but now it recurred to her very + distinctly. There was no suggestion of the sort in Beaumaroy’s + letter. Beaumaroy had written a letter that could be shown to Irechester! + Was that dishonesty, or only a pardonable diplomacy? + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I must go, and explain to Dr. Irechester afterwards.” + She rang the bell, to recall the maid, and gave her answer. “Say I + will be round as soon as possible. Is the messenger walking?” + </p> + <p> + “He’s got a bicycle, Miss.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. I shall be there almost as soon as he is.” + </p> + <p> + She seemed to have no alternative, just as Beaumaroy had none. Yet while + she put on her mackintosh, it was very wet and misty, got out her car, and + lit her lamps, her face was still fretful and her mind disturbed. For now, + as she looked back on it, Beaumaroy’s conversation with her at Old + Place seemed just a prelude to this summons, and meant to prepare her for + it. Perhaps that too was pardonable diplomacy, and no reference to it + could be expected in a letter which she was at liberty to show to Dr. + Irechester. She wondered, uncomfortably, how Irechester would take it. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. — A FAMILIAR IMPLEMENT + </h2> + <p> + As Mary brought her car to a stand at the gate of the little front garden + of Tower Cottage, she saw, through the mist, Beaumaroy’s corrugated + face; he was standing in the doorway, and the light in the passage + revealed it. It seemed to her to wear a triumphant impish look, but this + vanished as he advanced to meet her, relieved her of the neat black + handbag which she always carried with her on her visits, and suggested + gravely that she should at once go upstairs and see her patient. + </p> + <p> + “He’s quieter now,” he said. “The mere news that + you were coming had a soothing effect. Let me show you the way.” He + led her upstairs and into a small room on the first floor, nakedly + furnished with necessities, but with a cheery fire blazing in the grate. + </p> + <p> + Old Mr. Saffron lay in bed, propped up by pillows. His silver hair strayed + from under a nightcap; he wore a light blue bedroom jacket; its color + matched that of his restless eyes; his arms were under the clothes from + the elbows down. He was rather flushed, but did not look seriously ill, + and greeted Doctor Mary with dignified composure. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll see Dr. Arkroyd alone, Hector.” Beaumaroy gave the + slightest little jerk of his head, and the old man added quickly, “I + am sure of myself, quite sure.” + </p> + <p> + The phrase sounded rather an odd one to Mary, but Beaumaroy accepted the + assurance with a nod: “All right, I’ll wait downstairs, sir. I + hope you’ll bring me a good account of him, Doctor.” So he + left Mary to make her examination; going downstairs, he shook his head + once, pursed up his lips, and then smiled doubtfully, as a man may do when + he has made up his mind to take a chance. + </p> + <p> + When Mary rejoined him, she asked for pen and paper, wrote a prescription, + and requested that Beaumaroy’s man should take it to the chemist’s. + He went out, to give it to the Sergeant, and, when he came back, found her + seated in the big chair by the fire. + </p> + <p> + “The present little attack is nothing, Mr. Beaumaroy,” she + said. “Stomachic—with a little fever; if he takes what I’ve + prescribed, he ought to be all right in the morning. But I suppose you + know that there is valvular disease—quite definite? Didn’t Dr. + Irechester tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but he said there was no particular—no immediate danger.” + </p> + <p> + “If he’s kept quiet and free from worry. Didn’t he + advise that?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Beaumaroy admitted, “he did. That’s the + only thing you find wrong with him, Doctor?” + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy was standing on the far side of the table, his finger-tips + resting lightly on it. He looked across at Mary with eyes candidly + inquiring. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve found nothing else so far. I suppose he’s got + nothing to worry him?” + </p> + <p> + “Not really, I think. He fusses a bit about his affairs.” He + smiled. “We go to London every week to fuss about his affairs; he’s + always changing his investments, taking his money out of one thing and + putting it in another, you know. Old people get like that sometimes, don’t + they? I’m a novice at that kind of thing, never having had any money + to play with; but I’m bound to say that he seems to know very well + what he’s about.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know anything of his history or his people? Has he any + relations?” + </p> + <p> + “I know very little. I don’t think he has any, any real + relations, so to speak. There are, I believe, some cousins, distant + cousins, whom he hates. In fact, a lonely old bachelor, Dr. Arkroyd.” + </p> + <p> + Mary gave a little laugh and became less professional. “He’s + rather an old dear! He uses funny stately phrases. He said I might speak + quite openly to you, as you were closely attached to his person!” + </p> + <p> + “Sounds rather like a newspaper, doesn’t it? He does talk like + that sometimes.” Beaumaroy moved round the table, came close to the + fire, and stood there, smiling down at Mary. + </p> + <p> + “He’s very fond of you, I think,” she went on. + </p> + <p> + “He reposes entire confidence in me,” said Beaumaroy, with a + touch of assumed pompousness. + </p> + <p> + “Those were his very words!” cried Mary, laughing again. + “And he said it just in that way! How clever of you to guess!” + </p> + <p> + “Not so very. He says it to me six times a week.” + </p> + <p> + Mary had risen, about to take her leave, but to her surprise Beaumaroy + went on quickly, with one of his confidential smiles, “And now I’m + going to show you that I have the utmost confidence in you. Please sit + down again, Dr. Arkroyd. The matter concerns your patient just as much as + myself, or I wouldn’t trouble you with it, at any rate I shouldn’t + venture to so early in our acquaintance. I want you to consider yourself + as Mr. Saffron’s medical adviser, and, also, to try to imagine + yourself my friend.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve every inclination to be your friend, but I hardly know + you, Mr. Beaumaroy.” + </p> + <p> + “And feel a few doubts about me? From what you’ve heard from + myself, and perhaps from others?” + </p> + <p> + The wind swished outside; save for that, the little room seemed very + still. The professional character of the interview did not save it, for + Mary Arkroyd, from a sudden and rather unwelcome sense of intimacy, of an + intimacy thrust upon her, though not so much by her companion as by + circumstances. She answered rather stiffly, “Perhaps I have some + doubts.” + </p> + <p> + “You detect, very acutely, that I have a great influence over Mr. + Saffron. You ask, very properly, whether he has relations. I think you + threw out a feeler about his money affairs, whether he had anything to + worry about was your phrase, wasn’t it? Am I misinterpreting what + was in your mind?” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke, he offered her a cigarette from a box on the mantelpiece. She + took one and lit it at the top of the lamp-chimney; then she sat down + again in the big chair; she had not accepted his earlier invitation to + resume her seat. + </p> + <p> + “It was proper for me to put those questions, Mr. Beaumaroy. Mr. + Saffron is not a sound man, and he’s old. In normal conditions his + relations should at least be warned of the position.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” Beaumaroy assented with an appearance of eagerness. + “But he hates them. Any suggestion that they have any sort of claim + on him raises strong resentment in him. I’ve known old men, old + moneyed men, like that before, and no doubt you have. Well now, you’ll + begin to see the difficulty of my position. I’ll put the case to you + quite bluntly. Suppose Mr. Saffron, having this liking for me, this + confidence in me, living here with me alone, except for servants; being, + as one might say, exposed to my influence; suppose he took it into his + head to make a will in my favor, to leave me all his money. It’s + quite a considerable sum, so far as our Wednesday doings enable me to + judge. Suppose that happened, how should I stand in your opinion, Dr. + Arkroyd? But wait a moment still. Suppose that my career has not been + very, well, resplendent; that my army record is only so-so; that I’ve + devoted myself to him with remarkable assiduity, as in fact I have; that I + might be called, quite plausibly, an adventurer. Well, propounding that + will, how should I stand before the world and, if necessary (he shrugged + his shoulders), the Court?” + </p> + <p> + Mary sat silent for a moment or two. Beaumaroy knelt down by the fire, + rearranged the logs of wood which were smouldering there, and put on a + couple more. From that position, looking into the grate, he added, “And + the change of doctors? It was he, of course, who insisted on it, but I can + see a clever lawyer using that against me too. Can’t you, Dr. + Arkroyd?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure I wish you hadn’t had to make the change!” + exclaimed Mary. + </p> + <p> + “So do I; though, mind you, I’m not pretending that Irechester + is a favorite of mine, any more than he is of my old friend’s. + Still, there it is. I’ve no right, perhaps, to press my question, + but your opinion would be of real value to me.” + </p> + <p> + “I see no reason to think that he’s not quite competent to + make a will,” said Doctor Mary. “And no real reason why he + shouldn’t prefer you to distant relations whom he dislikes.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, no real reason; that’s what you say! You mean that people + would impute—” + </p> + <p> + Mary Arkroyd had her limitations—of experience, of knowledge, of + intuition. But she did not lack courage. + </p> + <p> + “I have given you my professional opinion. It is that, so far as I + see, Mr. Saffron is of perfectly sound understanding, and capable of + making a valid will. You did me the honor—” + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” he interrupted in a low but rather strangely + vehement protest. “I begged the favor—” + </p> + <p> + “As you like! The favor then, of asking me to give you my opinion as + your friend, as well as my view as Mr. Saffron’s doctor.” + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy did not rise from his knees, but turned his face towards her; + the logs had blazed up, and his eyes looked curiously bright in the glare, + themselves, as it were, afire. + </p> + <p> + “In my opinion a man of sensitive honor would prefer that that will + should not be made, Mr. Beaumaroy,” said Mary steadily. + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy appeared to consider. “I’m a bit posed by that point + of view, Dr. Arkroyd,” he said at last, “Either the old man’s + sane—<i>compos mentis,</i> don’t you call it?—or he isn’t. + If he is—” + </p> + <p> + “I know. But I feel that way about it.” + </p> + <p> + “You’d have to give evidence for me!” He raised his + brows and smiled at her. + </p> + <p> + “There can be undue influence without actual want of mental + competence, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know whether my influence is undue. I believe I’m + the only creature alive who cares twopence for the poor old gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “I know! I know! Mr. Beaumaroy, your position is very difficult. I + see that. It really is. But, would you take the money for yourself? Aren’t + you—well, rather in the position of a trustee?” + </p> + <p> + “Who for? The hated cousins? What’s the reason in that?” + </p> + <p> + “They may be very good people really. Old men take fancies, as you + said yourself. And they may have built on—” + </p> + <p> + “Stepping into a dead man’s shoes? I dare say. Why mayn’t + I build on it too? Why not my hand against the other fellow’s?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s what you learnt from the war! You said so—at Old + Place. Captain Naylor said something different.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose Alec Naylor and I, a hero and a damaged article,” he + smiled at Mary, and she smiled back with a sudden enjoyment of the + humorous yet bitter tang in his voice, “loved the same woman, and I + had a chance of her. Am I to give it up?” + </p> + <p> + “Really we’re getting a long way from medicine, Mr. Beaumaroy!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you’re a general practitioner! Wise on all subjects under + heaven! Conceive yourself hesitating between him and me—” + </p> + <p> + Mary laughed frankly. “How absurd you are! If you must go on + talking, talk seriously.” + </p> + <p> + “But why am I absurd?” + </p> + <p> + “Because, if I were a marrying woman, which I’m not, I shouldn’t + hesitate between you and Captain Naylor, not for a minute.” + </p> + <p> + “You’d jump at me?” + </p> + <p> + Laughing again, his eyes had now a schoolboy merriment in them, Mary rose + from the big chair. “At him, if I’m not being impolite, Mr. + Beaumaroy.” + </p> + <p> + They stood face to face. For the first time for several years—Mary’s + girlhood had not been altogether empty of sentimental episodes—she + blushed under a man’s glance, because it was a man’s. At this + event, of which she was acutely conscious and at which she was intensely + irritated, she drew herself up, with an attempt to return to her strictly + professional manner. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t find you the least impolite, Dr. Arkroyd,” said + Beaumaroy. + </p> + <p> + It was impudent, yet gay, dexterous, and elusive enough to avoid reproof. + With no more than a little shake of her head and a light yet embarrassed + laugh, Mary moved toward the door, her way lying between the table and an + old oak sideboard, which stood against the wall. Some plates, knives, and + other articles of the table lay strewn, none too tidily, about it. + Beaumaroy followed her, smiling complacently, his hands in his pockets. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Mary came to a stop and pointed with her finger at the sideboard, + turning her face towards her companion. At the same instant Beaumaroy’s + right hand shot out from his pocket towards the sideboard, as though to + snatch up something from it. Then he drew the hand as swiftly back again; + but his eyes watched Mary’s with an alert and suspicious gaze. That + was for a second only; then his face resumed its amused and nonchalant + expression. But the movement of the hand and the look of the eyes had not + escaped Mary’s attention; her voice betrayed some surprise as she + said: + </p> + <p> + “It’s only that I just happened to notice that combination + knife-and-fork lying there, and I wondered who—” + </p> + <p> + The article in question lay among some half-dozen ordinary knives and + forks. It was of a kind quite familiar to Doctor Mary from her hospital + experience, a fork on one side, a knife-blade on the other; an implement + made for people who could command the use of only one hand. + </p> + <p> + “Surely you’ve noticed my hand?” He drew his right hand + again from the pocket to which he had so quickly returned it. “I + used to use that in hospital, when I was bandaged up. But that’s a + long while ago now, and I can’t think why Hooper’s left it + lying there.” + </p> + <p> + The account was plausible, and entirely the same might now be said of his + face and manner. But Mary had seen the dart of his hand and the sudden + alertness in his eyes. Her own rested on him for a moment with inquiry, + for the first time with a hint of distrust. “I see!” she + murmured vaguely, and, turning away from him, pursued her way to the door. + Beaumaroy followed her with a queer smile on his lips; he shrugged his + shoulders once, very slightly. + </p> + <p> + A constraint had fallen on Mary. She allowed herself to be escorted to the + car and helped into it in silence. Beaumaroy made no effort to force the + talk, possibly by reason of the presence of Sergeant Hooper, who had + arrived back from the chemist’s with the medicine for Mr. Saffron + just as Mary and Beaumaroy came out of the hall door. He stood by his + bicycle, drawing just a little aside to let them pass, but not far enough + to prevent the light from the passage showing up his ill-favored + countenance. + </p> + <p> + “Well, good-bye, Dr. Arkroyd. I’ll see how he is to-morrow, + and ask you to be kind enough to call again, if it seems advisable. And a + thousand thanks.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, Mr. Beaumaroy.” + </p> + <p> + She started the car. Beaumaroy walked back to the hall door. Mary glanced + behind her once, and saw him standing by it, again framed by the light + behind him, as she had seen him on her arrival. But, this time, within the + four corners of the same frame was included the forbidding visage of + Sergeant Hooper. + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy returned to the fire in the parlor; Hooper, leaving his bicycle + in the passage, followed him into the room and put the medicine bottle on + the table. Smiling at him, Beaumaroy pointed at the combination + knife-and-fork. + </p> + <p> + “Is it your fault or mine that that damned thing’s lying + there?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yours,” answered the Sergeant without hesitation and with his + habitual surliness. “I cleaned it and put it out for you to lock + away, as usual. Suppose you went and forgot it, sir!” + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy shook his head in self-condemnation and a humorous dismay. + “That’s it! I went and forgot it, Sergeant. And I think, I + rather think, that Doctor Mary smells a rat, though she is, at present, + far from guessing the color of the animal!” + </p> + <p> + The words sounded scornful; they were spoken for the Sergeant as well as + for himself. He was looking amused and kindly, even rather tenderly + amused; as though liking and pity were the emotions which most actively + survived his first private conversation with Doctor Mary, in spite of that + mishap of the combination knife-and-fork. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. — ODD STORY OF CAPTAIN DUGGLE + </h2> + <p> + Christmas Day of 1918 was a merry feast, and nowhere merrier than at Old + Place. There was a house-party and, for dinner on the day itself, a local + contingent as well: Miss Wall, the Irechesters, Mr. Penrose, and Doctor + Mary. Mr. Beaumaroy also had been invited by Mrs. Naylor; she considered + him an interesting man and felt pity for the obvious <i>ennui</i> of his + situation; but he had not felt able to leave his old friend. Doctor Mary’s + Paying Guest was of the house-party, not merely a dinner guest. She was + asked over to spend three days and went, accompanied by Jeanne, who by + this time was crying much less; crying was no longer the cue; her + mistress, and not merely stern Doctor Mary, had plainly shown her that. + Gertie Naylor had invited Cynthia to help her in entertaining the + subalterns, though Gertie was really quite equal to that task herself; + there were only three of them, and if a pretty girl is not equal to three + subalterns, well, what are we coming to in England? And, as it turned out, + Miss Gertie had to deal with them all, sometimes collectively, sometimes + one by one, practically unassisted. Cynthia was otherwise engaged. Gertie + complained neither of the cause nor of its consequence. + </p> + <p> + The drink, or drugs, hypothesis was exploded, and Miss Wall’s + speculations set at rest, with a quite comforting solatium of romantic and + unhappy interest, “a nice tit-bit for the old cat,” as Mr. + Naylor unkindly put it. Cynthia had told her story; she wanted a richer + sympathy than Doctor Mary’s common-sense afforded; out of this need + the revelation came to Gertie in innocent confidence, and, with the + narrator’s tacit approval, ran through the family and its intimate + friends. If Cynthia had been as calculating as she was guileless, she + could not have done better for herself. Mrs. Naylor’s motherliness, + old Naylor’s courtliness, Gertie’s breathless concern and avid + appetite for the fullest detail, everybody’s desire to console and + cheer, all these were at her service, all enlisted in the effort to make + her forget, and live and laugh again. Her heart responded; she found + herself becoming happy at a rate which made her positively ashamed. No + wonder tactful Jeanne discovered that the cue was changed! + </p> + <p> + Fastidious old Naylor regarded his wife with the affection of habit and + with a little disdain for the ordinariness of her virtues—not to say + of the mind which they adorned. His daughter was to him a precious toy, on + which he tried jokes, played tricks, and lavished gifts, for the joy of + seeing the prettiness of her reactions to his treatment. It never occurred + to him to think that his toy might be broken; fond as he was, his feeling + for her lacked the apprehensiveness of the deepest love. But he idolized + his son, and in this case neither without fear nor without understanding. + For four years now he had feared for him bitterly: for his body, for his + life. At every waking hour his inner cry had been even as David’s, + “Would God I had died for thee, my son, my son!” For at every + moment of those four years it might be that his son was even then dead. + That terror, endured under a cool and almost off-hand demeanor, was past; + but he feared for his son still. Of all who went to the war as Crusaders, + none had the temperament more ardently than Alec. As he went, so, + obviously, he had come back, not disillusioned, nay, with all his + illusions, or delusions, about this wicked world and its possibilities, + about the people who dwell in it and their lamentable limitations, + stronger in his mind than ever. How could he get through life without + being too sorely hurt and wounded, without being cut to the very quick by + his inevitable discoveries? Old Naylor did not see how it was to be done, + or even hoped for; but the right kind of wife was unquestionably the best + chance. + </p> + <p> + He had cast a speculative eye on Cynthia Walford, Irechester had caught + him at it, but, as he observed her more, she did not altogether satisfy + him. Alec needed someone more stable, stronger, someone in a sense + protective; somebody more like Mary Arkroyd; that idea passed through his + thoughts; if only Mary would take the trouble to dress herself, remember + that she was, or might be made, an attractive young woman; and, yes, throw + her mortar and pestle out of the window without, however, discarding with + them the sturdy, sane, balanced qualities of mind which enabled her to + handle them with such admirable competence. But he soon had to put this + idea from him. His son’s own impulse was to give, not to seek, + protection and support. + </p> + <p> + Of Cynthia’s woeful experience Alec had spoken to his father once + only: “It makes me mad to think the fellow who did that wore a + British uniform!” + </p> + <p> + How unreasonable! Since by all the laws of average, when millions of men + are wearing a uniform, there must be some rogues in it. But it was Alec’s + way to hold himself responsible for the whole of His Majesty’s + Forces. Their honor was his; for their misdeeds he must in his own person + make reparation. “That fellow Beaumaroy may have lost his + conscience, but my boy seems to have acquired five million,” the old + man grumbled to himself—a grumble full of pride. + </p> + <p> + The father might analyze; with Alec it was all impulse, the impulse to + soothe, to obliterate, to atone. The girl had been sorely hurt; with the + acuteness of sympathy he divined that she felt herself in a way soiled and + stained by contact with unworthiness and by a too easy acceptance of it. + All that must be swept out of her heart, out of her memory, if it could + be. + </p> + <p> + Doctor Mary saw what was happening, and with a little pang to which she + would not have liked to own. She had set love affairs, and all the notions + connected therewith, behind her; but she had idealized Alec Naylor a + little; and she thought Cynthia, in homely phrase, “hardly good + enough.” Was it not rather perverse that the very fact of having + been a little goose should help her to win so rare a swan? + </p> + <p> + “You’re taking my patient out of my hands, Captain Alec!” + she said to him jokingly. “And you’re devoting great attention + to the case.” + </p> + <p> + He flushed. “She seems to like to talk to me,” he answered + simply. “She seems to me to have rather a remarkable mind, Doctor + Mary.” (She was “Doctor Mary” to all the Old Place party + now, in affection, with a touch of chaff.) + </p> + <p> + <i>O sancta simplicitas</i>! Mary longed to say; that Cynthia was a very + ordinary child. Like to talk to him, indeed! Of course she did; and to use + her girl’s weapons on him; and to wonder, in an almost awestruck + delight, at their effect on this dazzling hero. Well, the guilelessness of + heroes! + </p> + <p> + So mused Mary, on the unprofessional side of her mind, as she watched, + that Christmastide, Captain Alec’s delicate, sensitively indirect, + and delayed approach toward the ripe fruit that hung so ready to his hand. + “Part of his chivalry to assume she can’t think of him yet!” + Mary was half-impatient, half-reluctantly admiring; not an uncommon + mixture of feeling for the extreme forms of virtue to produce. In the net + result, however, her marked image of Alec lost something of its heroic + proportions. + </p> + <p> + But professionally (the distinction must not be pushed too far, she was + not built in watertight compartments) Tower Cottage remained obstinately + in the center of her thoughts; and, connected with it, there arose a + puzzle over Dr. Irechester’s demeanor. She had taken advantage of + Beaumaroy’s permission, though rather doubtful whether she was doing + right, for she was still inexperienced in niceties of etiquette, and sent + on the letter, with a frank note explaining her own feelings and the + reason which had caused her to pay her visit to Mr. Saffron. But though + Irechester was quite friendly when they met at Old Place before dinner, + and talked freely to her during a rather prolonged period of waiting + (Captain Alec and Cynthia, Gertie and two subalterns were very late, + having apparently forgotten dinner in more refined delights), he made no + reference to the letters, nor to Tower Cottage or its inmates. Mary + herself was too shy to break the ice, but wondered at his silence, and the + more because the matter evidently had not gone out of his mind. For after + dinner, when the port had gone round once and the proper healths been + honored, he said across the table to Mr. Penrose: + </p> + <p> + “We were talking the other day of the Tower, on the heath, you know, + by old Saffron’s cottage, and none of us knew its history. You know + all about Inkston from time out o’ mind. Have you got any story + about it?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Penrose practiced as a solicitor in London, but lived in a little old + house near the Irechesters’ in the village street, and devoted his + leisure to the antiquities and topography of the neighborhood; his lore + was plentiful and curious, if not important. He was a small, neat old + fellow, with white whiskers of the antique cut, a thin voice, and a dry + cackling laugh. + </p> + <p> + “There was a story about it, and one quite fit for Christmas + evening, if you’re in the mood to hear it.” + </p> + <p> + The thin voice was penetrating. At the promise of a story silence fell on + the company, and Mr. Penrose told his tale, vouching as his authority an + erstwhile “oldest inhabitant,” now gathered to his fathers; + for the tale dated back some eighty years, to the date of the ancient’s + early manhood. + </p> + <p> + A seafaring man had suddenly appeared, out of space, as it were, at + Inkston, and taken the cottage. He carried with him a strong smell of rum + and tobacco, and gave it to be understood that his name was Captain + Duggle. He was no beauty, and his behavior was worse than his looks. To + that quiet village, in those quiet strait-laced times, he was a horror and + a portent. He not only drank prodigiously—that, being in character + and also a source of local profit, might have passed with mild censure—but + he swore and blasphemed horribly, spurning the parson, mocking at + Revelation, even at the Deity Himself. The Devil was his friend, he said. + A most terrible fellow, this Captain Duggle. Inkston’s hair stood on + end, and no wonder! + </p> + <p> + “No doubt they shivered with delight over it all,” commented + Mr. Naylor. + </p> + <p> + Captain Duggle lived all by himself—well, what God-fearing + Christian, male or female, would be found to live with him—came and + went mysteriously and capriciously, always full of money, and at least + equally full of drink! What he did with himself nobody knew, but evil + legends gathered about him. Terrified wayfarers, passing the cottage by + night, took oath that they had heard more than one voice! + </p> + <p> + “This is proper Christmas!” a subaltern interjected into + Gertie’s ear. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Penrose, with an air of gratification, continued his narrative. + </p> + <p> + “The story goes on to tell,” he said, “of a final + interview with the village clergyman, in which that reverend man, as in + duty bound, solemnly told Captain Duggle that however much he might curse, + and blaspheme, and drink, and, er, do all the other things that the + Captain did (obviously here Mr. Penrose felt hampered by the presence of + ladies), yet Death, Judgment, and Churchyard wait for him at last. + Whereupon the Captain, emitting an inconceivably terrific imprecation, + which no one ever dared to repeat and which consequently is lost to + tradition, declared that the first he’d never feared, the second was + parson’s gabble, and as to the third, never should his dead toes be + nearer any church than for the last forty years his living feet had been! + If so be as he wasn’t drowned at sea, he’d make a grave for + himself!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Penrose paused, sipped port wine, and resumed. + </p> + <p> + “And so, no doubt, he did, building the Tower for that purpose. By + bribes and threats he got two men to work for him. One was the uncle of my + informant. But though he built that Tower, and inside it dug his grave, he + never lay there, being, as things turned out, carried off by the Devil. + Oh, yes, there was no doubt! He went home one night, a Saturday, very + drunk, as usual. On the Sunday night a belated wayfarer, possibly also + drunk, heard wild shrieks and saw a strange red glow through the window of + the Tower, now, by the way, boarded up. And no doubt he’d have smelt + brimstone if the wind hadn’t set the wrong way! Anyhow Captain + Duggle was never seen again by mortal eyes, at Inkston, at all events. + After a time the landlord of the cottage screwed up his courage to resume + possession; the Captain had only a lease of it, though he built the Tower + at his own charges, and, I believe, without any permission, the landlord + being much too frightened to interfere with him. He found everything in a + sad mess in the house, while in the Tower itself every blessed stick had + been burnt up. So the story looks pretty plausible.” + </p> + <p> + “And the grave?” This question came eagerly from at least + three of the company. + </p> + <p> + “In front of the fireplace there was a big oblong hole—six + feet by three, by four—planks at the bottom, the sides roughly lined + with brick. Captain Duggle’s grave; but he wasn’t in it!” + </p> + <p> + “But what really became of him, Mr. Penrose?” cried Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “The Rising Generation is very skeptical,” said old Naylor. + “You, of course, Penrose, believe the story?” + </p> + <p> + “I do,” said Mr. Penrose composedly. “I believe that a + devil carried him off, and that its name was <i>delirium tremens</i>. We + can guess, can’t we, Irechester, why he smashed or burnt everything, + and fled in mad terror into the darkness? Where to? Was he drowned at sea, + or did he take his life, or did he rot to death in some filthy hole? + Nobody knows. But the grave he dug is there in the Tower, unless it’s + been filled up since old Saffron has lived there.” + </p> + <p> + “Why in the world wasn’t it filled up before?” asked + Alec Naylor with a laugh. “People lived in the cottage, didn’t + they?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve visited the cottage often,” Irechester interposed, + “when various people had it, but I never saw any signs of the Tower + being used.” + </p> + <p> + “It never was, I’m sure; and as for the grave, well, Alec, in + country parts, to this day, you’d be thought a bold man if you + filled up a grave that your neighbor had dug for himself, and such a + neighbor as Captain Duggle! He might take it into his head some night to + visit it, and if he found it filled up there’d be trouble, nasty + trouble!” His laugh cackled out rather uncomfortably. Gertie + shivered, and one of the subalterns gulped down his port. + </p> + <p> + “Old Saffron’s a man of education, I believe. No doubt he pays + no heed to such nonsense, and has had the thing covered up,” said + Naylor. + </p> + <p> + “As to that I don’t know. Perhaps you do, Irechester? He’s + your patient, isn’t he?” + </p> + <p> + Dr. Irechester sat four places from Mary. Before he replied to the + question he cast a glance at her, smiling rather mockingly. “I’ve + attended him on one or two occasions, but I’ve never seen the inside + of the Tower. So I don’t know either.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but I’m curious! I shall ask Mr. Beaumaroy,” cried + Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + The ironical character of Irechester’s smile grew more pronounced, + and his voice was at its driest: “Certainly you can ask Beaumaroy, + Miss Walford. As far as asking goes, there’s no difficulty.” + </p> + <p> + A pause followed this pointed remark, on which nobody seemed disposed to + comment. Mrs. Naylor ended the session by rising from her chair. + </p> + <p> + But Mary Arkroyd was disquieted, worried as to how she stood with + Irechester, vaguely but insistently worried over the whole Tower Cottage + business. Well, the first point she could soon settle, or try to settle, + anyhow. + </p> + <p> + With the directness which marked her action when once her mind was made + up, she waylaid Irechester as he came into the drawing-room; her resolute + approach sufficed to detach Naylor from him; he found himself for the + moment isolated from everybody except Mary. + </p> + <p> + “You got my letter, Dr. Irechester? I—I rather expected an + answer.” + </p> + <p> + “Your conduct was so obviously and punctiliously correct,” he + replied suavely, “that I thought my answer could wait till I met you + here to-day, as I knew that I was to have the pleasure of doing.” He + looked her full in the eyes. “You were placed, my dear colleague, in + a position in which you had no alternative.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought so, Dr. Irechester, but—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, clearly! I’m far from making any complaint.” He + gave her a courteous little bow, but it was one which plainly closed the + subject. Indeed he passed by her and joined a group that had gathered on + the hearthrug, leaving her alone. + </p> + <p> + So she stood for a minute, oppressed by a growing uneasiness. Irechester + said nothing, but surely meant something of import? He mocked her, but not + idly or out of wantonness. He seemed almost to warn her. What could there + be to warn her about? He had laid an odd emphasis on the word “placed”; + he had repeated it. Who had “placed” her there? Mr. Saffron? + Or— + </p> + <p> + Alec Naylor broke in on her uneasy meditation. “It’s a + clinking night, Doctor Mary,” he observed. “Do you mind if I + walk Miss Walford home, instead of her going with you in your car, you + know? It’s only a couple of miles and—” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think your leg can stand it?” + </p> + <p> + He laughed. “I’ll cut the thing off, if it dares to make any + objection!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. — A GENTLEMANLY STRANGER + </h2> + <p> + On this same Christmas Day Sergeant Hooper was feeling morose and + discontented; not because he was alone in the world (a situation + comprising many advantages), nor on the score of his wages, which were + extremely liberal; nor on account of the “old blighter’s”—that + is, Mr. Saffron’s—occasional outbursts of temper, these being + in the nature of the case and within the terms of the contract; nor, + finally, by reason of Beaumaroy’s airy insolence, since from his + youth up the Sergeant was hardened to unfavorable comments on his personal + appearance, trifling vulgarities which a man of sense could afford to + ignore. + </p> + <p> + No; the winter of his discontent—a bitter winter—was due to + the conviction, which had been growing in his mind for some time, that he + was only in half the secret, and that not the more profitable half. He + knew that the old blighter had to be humored in certain small ways, as, + for example, in regard to the combination knife-and-fork—and the + reason for it. But, first, he did not know what happened inside the Tower; + he had never seen the inside of it; the door was always locked; he was + never invited to accompany his masters when they repaired thither by day, + and he was not on the premises by night. And, secondly, he did not + understand the Wednesday journeys to London, and he had never seen the + inside of Beaumaroy’s brown bag—that, like the Tower door, was + always locked. He had handled it once, just before the pair set out for + London one Wednesday. Beaumaroy, a careless man sometimes, in spite of the + cunning which Dr. Irechester attributed to him, had left it on the parlor + table while he helped Mr. Saffron on with his coat in the passage, and the + Sergeant had swiftly and surreptitiously lifted it up. It was very light, + obviously empty, or, at all events, holding only featherweight contents. + He had never got near it when it came back from town; then it always went + straight into the Tower and had the key turned on it forthwith. + </p> + <p> + But the Sergeant, although slow-witted as well as ugly, had had his + experiences; he had carried weights both in the army and in other + institutions which are officially described as His Majesty’s, and + had seen other men carry them too. From the set of Beaumaroy’s + figure as he arrived home on at least two occasions with the brown bag, + and from the way in which he handled it, the Sergeant confidently drew the + conclusion that it was of a considerable, almost a grievous, weight. What + was the heavy thing in it? What became of that thing after it was taken + into the Tower? To whose use or profit did it, or was it, to inure? + Certainly it was plain, even to the meanest capacity, that the contents of + the bag had a value in the eyes of the two men who went to London for them + and who shepherded them from London to the custody of the Tower. + </p> + <p> + These thoughts filled and racked his brain as he sat drinking rum and + water in the bar of the <i>Green Man</i> on Christmas evening; a solitary + man, mixing little with the people of the village, he sat apart at a small + table in the corner, musing within himself, yet idly watching the company—villagers, + a few friends from London and elsewhere, some soldiers and their ladies. + Besides these, a tall slim man stood leaning against the bar, at the far + end of it, talking to Bill Smithers, the landlord, and sipping + whisky-and-soda between pulls at his cigar. He wore a neat dark overcoat, + brown shoes, and a bowler hat rather on one side; his appearance was, in + fact, genteel, though his air was a trifle raffish. In age he seemed about + forty. The Sergeant had never seen him before, and therefore favored him + with a glance of special attention. + </p> + <p> + Oddly enough, the gentlemanly stranger seemed to reciprocate the Sergeant’s + interest; he gave him quite a long glance. Then he finished his + whisky-and-soda, spoke a word to Bill Smithers, and lounged across the + room to where the Sergeant sat. + </p> + <p> + “It’s poor work drinking alone on Christmas night,” he + observed. “May I join you? I’ve ordered a little something, + and, well, we needn’t bother about offering a gentleman a glass + tonight.” + </p> + <p> + The Sergeant eyed him with apparent disfavor—as, indeed, he did + everybody who approached him—but a nod of his head accorded the + desired permission. Smithers came across with a bottle of brandy and + glasses. “Good stuff!” said the stranger, as he sat down, + filled the glasses, and drank his off. “The best thing to top up + with, believe me!” + </p> + <p> + The Sergeant, in turn, drained his glass, maintaining, however, his + aloofness of demeanor. “What’s up?” he growled. + </p> + <p> + “What’s in the brown bag?” asked the stranger lightly + and urbanely. + </p> + <p> + The Sergeant did not start; he was too old a hand for that; but his small + gimlet eyes searched his new acquaintance’s face very keenly. + “You know a lot!” + </p> + <p> + “More than you do in some directions, less in others, perhaps. Shall + I begin? Because we’ve got to confide in one another, Sergeant. A + little story of what two gentlemen do in London on Wednesdays, and of what + they carry home in a brown leather bag? Would that interest you? Oh, that + stuff in the brown leather bag! Hard to come by now, isn’t it? But + they know where there’s still some, and so do I, to remark it + incidentally. There were actually some people, Sergeant Hooper, who + distrusted the righteousness of the British Cause, which is to say (the + stranger smiled cynically) the certainty of our licking the Germans, and + they hoarded it, the villains!” + </p> + <p> + Sergeant Hooper stretched out his hand towards the bottle. “Allow + me!” said the stranger politely. “I observe that your hand + trembles a little.” + </p> + <p> + It did. The Sergeant was excited. The stranger seemed to be touching on a + subject which always excited the Sergeant—to the point of hands + trembling, twitching, and itching. + </p> + <p> + “Have to pay for it, too! Thirty bob in curl-twisters for every + ruddy disc; that’s the figure now, or thereabouts. What do they want + to do it for? What’s your governor’s game? Who, in short, is + going to get off with it?” + </p> + <p> + “What is it they does, the old blighter and Boomery (thus he + pronounced the name Beaumaroy), in London?” + </p> + <p> + “First to the stockbroker’s, then to a bank or two, I’ve + known it three even; then a taxi down East, and a call at certain + addresses. The bag’s with ‘em, Sergeant, and at each call it + gets heavier. I’ve seen it swell, so to speak.” + </p> + <p> + “Who in hell are you?” the Sergeant grunted huskily. + </p> + <p> + “Names later—after the usual guarantees of good faith.” + </p> + <p> + The whole conversation, carried on in low tones, had passed under cover of + noisy mirth, snatches of song, banter, and gigglings; nobody paid heed to + the two men talking in a corner. Yet the stranger lowered his voice to a + whisper, as he added: + </p> + <p> + “From me to you fifty quid on account; from you to me just a sight + of the place where they put it.” + </p> + <p> + Sergeant Hooper drank, smoked, and pondered. The stranger showed the edge + of a roll of notes, protruding it from his breast-pocket. The Sergeant + nodded, he understood that part. But there was much that he did not + understand. “It fair beats me what the blazes they’re doing it + <i>for</i>,” he broke out. + </p> + <p> + “Whose money would it be?” + </p> + <p> + “The old blighter’s, o’ course. Boomery’s stony, + except for his screw.” He looked hard at the gentlemanly stranger, + and a slow smile came on his lips, “That’s your idea, is it, + mister?” + </p> + <p> + “Gentleman’s old, looks frail, might go off suddenly. What + then? Friends turn up, always do when you’re dead, you know. Well, + what of it? Less money in the funds than was reckoned; dear old gentleman + doesn’t cut up as well as they hoped! And meanwhile our friend B——! + Does it dawn on you at all, from our friend B——‘s point + of view, Sergeant? I may be wrong, but that’s my provisional + conjecture. The question remains how he’s got the old gent into the + game, doesn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + Precisely the point to which the Sergeant’s mind also had turned! + The knowledge which he possessed—that half of the secret—and + which his companion did not, might be very material to a solution of the + problem; the Sergeant did not mean to share it prematurely, without + necessity, or for nothing. But surely it had a bearing on the case? + Dull-witted as he was, the Sergeant seemed to catch a glimmer of light, + and mentally groped towards it. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we can’t sit here all night,” said the stranger + in good-humored impatience. “I’ve a train to catch.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s no train up from here to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “There is from Sprotsfield. I shall walk over.” + </p> + <p> + The Sergeant smiled. “Oh, if you’re walking to Sprotsfield, I’ll + put you on your way. If anybody was to see us, Boomery, for instance, he + couldn’t complain of my seeing an old pal on his way on Christmas + night. No ‘arm in that; no look of prowling, or spying, or such + like! And you are an old pal, ain’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly; your old pal—let me see—your old pal Percy + Bennett.” + </p> + <p> + “As it might he, or as it might not. What about the—” He + pointed to Percy Bennett’s breast-pocket. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll give it you outside. You don’t want me to be seen + handing it over in here, do you?” + </p> + <p> + The Sergeant had one more question to ask. “About ‘ow much d’ye + reckon there might be by now?” + </p> + <p> + “How often have they been to London? Because they don’t come + to see my friends every time, I fancy.” + </p> + <p> + “Must ‘ave been six or seven times by now. The game began soon + after Boomery and I came ‘ere.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, quite roughly, quite a shot, from what I know of the deals we—my + friends, I mean—did with them, and reasoning from that, there might + be a matter of seven or eight thousand pounds.” + </p> + <p> + The Sergeant whistled softly, rose, and led the way to the door. The + gentlemanly stranger paused at the bar to pay for the brandy, and after + bidding the landlord a civil good-evening, with the compliments of the + season, followed the Sergeant into the village street. + </p> + <p> + Fifteen minutes’ brisk walk brought them to Hinton Avenue. At the + end of it they passed Doctor Mary’s house; the drawing-room curtains + were not drawn; on the blind they saw reflected the shadows of a man and a + girl, standing side by side. “Mistletoe, eh?” remarked the + stranger. The Sergeant spat on the road; they resumed their way, pursuing + the road across the heath. + </p> + <p> + It was fine, but overclouded and decidedly dark. Every now and then + Bennett, to call the stranger by what was almost confessedly a <i>nom-de-guerre,</i> + flashed a powerful electric torch on the roadway. “Don’t want + to walk into a gorse-bush,” he explained with a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Put it away, you darned fool! We’re nearly there.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger obeyed. In another seven or eight minutes there loomed up, on + the left hand, the dim outline of Mr. Saffron’s abode—the + square cottage with the odd round tower annexed. + </p> + <p> + “There you are!” The Sergeant’s voice instinctively kept + to a whisper. “That’s what you want to see.” + </p> + <p> + “But I can’t see it—not so as to get any clear idea.” + </p> + <p> + No lights showed from the cottage, nor, of course, from the Tower; its + only window had been, as Mr. Penrose said, boarded up. The wind—there + was generally a wind on the heath—stirred the fir-trees and the + bushes into a soft movement and a faint murmur of sound. A very acute and + alert ear might perhaps have caught another sound—footfalls on the + road, a good long way behind them. The two spies, or scouts, did not hear + them; their attention was elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + “Probably they’re both in bed; it’s quite safe to make + our examination,” said the stranger. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I s’pose it is. But look to be ready to douse your glim. + Boomery’s a nailer at turning up unexpected.” The Sergeant + seemed rather nervous. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bennett was not. He took out his torch, and guided by its light + (which, however, he took care not to throw towards the cottage windows) he + advanced to the garden gate, the Sergeant following, and took a survey of + the premises. It was remarkable that, as the light of the torch beamed + out, the faint sound of footfalls on the road behind died away. + </p> + <p> + “Keep an eye on the windows, and touch my elbow if any light shows. + Don’t speak.” The stranger was at business—his business—now, + and his voice became correspondingly businesslike. “We won’t + risk going inside the gate. I can see from here.” Indeed he very + well could; Tower Cottage stood back no more than twelve or fifteen feet + from the road, and the torch was powerful. + </p> + <p> + For four or five minutes the stranger made his examination. Then he turned + off his torch. “Looks easy,” he remarked, “but of course + there’s the garrison.” Once more he turned on his light, to + look at his watch. “Can’t stop now, or I shall miss the train, + and I don’t want to have to get a bed at Sprotsfield. A strayed + reveler on Christmas night might be too well remembered. Got an address?” + </p> + <p> + “Care of Mrs. Willnough, Laundress, Inkston.” + </p> + <p> + “Right. Good-night.” With a quick turn he was off along the + road to Sprotsfield. The Sergeant saw the gleam of his torch once or + twice, receding at quite a surprising pace into the distance. Feeling the + wad of notes in his pocket—perhaps to make sure that the whole + episode had not been a dream—the Sergeant turned back towards + Inkston. + </p> + <p> + After a couple of minutes, a tall figure emerged from the shelter of a + high and thick gorse bush just opposite Tower Cottage, on the other side + of the road. Captain Alec Naylor had seen the light of the stranger’s + torch, and, after four years in France, he was well skilled in the art of + noiseless approach. But he felt that, for the moment at least, his brain + was less agile than his feet. He had been suddenly wrenched out of one set + of thoughts into another profoundly different. It was his shadow, together + with Cynthia Walford’s, that the Sergeant and the stranger had seen + on Doctor Mary’s blind. After “walking her home,” he had—well, + just not proposed to Cynthia, restrained more by those scruples of his + than by any ungraciousness on the part of the lady. Even his modesty could + not blind him to this fact. He was full of pity, of love, of a man’s + joyous sense of triumph, half wishing that he had made his proposal, half + glad that he had not, just because it, and its radiant promise, could + still be dangled in the bright vision of the future. He was in the seventh + heaven of romance, and his heaven was higher than that which most men + reach; it was built on loftier foundations. + </p> + <p> + Then came the flash of the torch; the high spirits born of one experience + sought an outlet in another. “By Jove, I’ll track ‘em—like + old times!” he murmured, with a low light laugh. And, just for fun, + he did it, taking to the heath beside the road, twisting his long body in + and out amongst gorse, heather, and bracken, very noiselessly, with + wonderful dexterity. The light of the lamp was continuous now; the + stranger was making his examination. By it Captain Alec guided his steps; + and he arrived behind the tall gorse bush opposite Tower Cottage just in + time to hear the Sergeant say “Mrs. Willnough, Laundress, Inkston,” + and to witness the parting of the two companions. + </p> + <p> + There was very little to go upon there. Why should not one friend give + another an address? But the examination? Beaumaroy should surely know of + that? It might be nothing, but, on the other hand, it might have a + meaning. But the men had gone, had obviously parted for the night. + Beaumaroy could be told to-morrow; now he himself could go back to his + visions—and so homeward, in happiness, to his bed. + </p> + <p> + Having reached this sensible conclusion, he was about to turn away from + the garden gate which he now stood facing, when he heard the house door + softly open and as softly shut. The practice of his profession had given + him keen eyes in the dark; he discovered Beaumaroy’s tall figure + stealing very cautiously down the narrow, flagged path. The next instant + the light of another torch flashed out, and this time not in the distance, + but full in his own face. + </p> + <p> + “By God, you, Naylor!” Beaumaroy exclaimed in a voice which + was low but full of surprise. “I—I—well, it’s + rather late—” + </p> + <p> + Alec Naylor was suddenly struck with the element of humor in the + situation. He had been playing detective; apparently he was now the + suspected! + </p> + <p> + “Give me time and I’ll explain all,” he said, smiling + under the dazzling rays of the torch. + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy glanced round at the house for a second, pursed up his lips into + one of the odd little contortions which he sometimes allowed himself, and + said: “Well, then, old chap, come in and have a drink, and do it. + For I’m hanged if I see why you should stand staring into this + garden in the middle of the night! With your opportunities I should be + better employed on Christmas evening.” + </p> + <p> + “You really want me to come in?” It was now Captain Alec’s + voice which expressed surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Why the devil not?” asked Beaumaroy in a tone of frank but + friendly impatience. + </p> + <p> + He turned and led the way into Tower Cottage. Somehow this invitation to + enter was the last thing that Captain Alec had expected. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. — CAPTAIN ALEC RAISES HIS VOICE + </h2> + <p> + Beaumaroy led the way into the parlor, Captain Alec following. “Well, + I thought your old friend didn’t care to see strangers,” he + said, continuing the conversation. + </p> + <p> + “He was tired and fretful to-night, so I got him to bed, and gave + him a soothing draught—one that our friend Dr. Arkroyd sent him. He + went off like a lamb, poor old boy. If we don’t talk too loud we sha’n’t + disturb him.” + </p> + <p> + “I can tell you what I have to tell in a few minutes.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t hurry.” Beaumaroy was bringing the refreshment he + had offered from the sideboard. “I’m feeling lonely to-night, + so I—” he smiled—“yielded to the impulse to ask + you to come in, Naylor. However, let’s have the story by all means.” + </p> + <p> + The surprise—it might almost have been taken for alarm—which + he had shown at the first sight of Alec seemed to have given place to a + gentle and amiable weariness, which persisted through the recital of the + Captain’s experiences—how his errand of courtesy, or + gallantry, had led to his being on the road across the heath so late at + night, and of what he had seen there. + </p> + <p> + “You copped them properly!” Beaumaroy remarked at the end, + with a lazy smile. “One does learn a trick or two in France. You + couldn’t see their faces, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “No; too dark. I didn’t dare show a light, though I had one. + Besides, their backs were towards me. One looked tall and thin, the other + short and stumpy. But I should never be able to swear to either.” + </p> + <p> + “And they went off in different directions, you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the tall one towards Sprotsfield, the short one back towards + Inkston.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the short stumpy one it was who turned back to Inkston?” + Beaumaroy had seated himself on a low three-legged stool, opposite to the + big chair where Alec sat, and was smoking his pipe, his hands clasped + round his knees. “It doesn’t seem to me to come to much, + though I’m much obliged to you all the same. The short one’s + probably a local, the other a stranger, and the local was probably seeing + his friend part of the way home, and incidentally showing him one of the + sights of the neighborhood. There are stories about this old den, you know—ancient + traditions. It’s said to be haunted, and what not.” + </p> + <p> + “Funnily enough, we had the story to-night at dinner, at our house.” + </p> + <p> + “Had you now?” Beaumaroy looked up quickly. “What, all + about—” + </p> + <p> + “Captain Duggle, and the Devil, and the grave, and all that.” + </p> + <p> + “Who told you the story?” + </p> + <p> + “Old Mr. Penrose. Do you know him? Lives in High Street, near the + Irechesters.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I know him by sight. So he entertained you with that old + yarn, did he? And that same old yarn probably accounts for the nocturnal + examination which you saw going on. It was a little excitement for you, to + reward you for your politeness to Miss Walford!” + </p> + <p> + Alec flushed, but answered frankly: “I needed no reward for that.” + His feelings got the better of him; he was very full of feelings that + night, and wanted to be sympathized with. “Beaumaroy, do you know + that girl’s story?” Beaumaroy shook his head, and listened to + it. Captain Alec ended on his old note: “To think of the scoundrel + using the King’s uniform like that!” + </p> + <p> + “Rotten! But, er, don’t raise your voice.” He pointed to + the ceiling, smiling, and went on without further comment on Cynthia’s + ill-usage. “I suppose you intend to stick to the army, Naylor?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, certainly I do.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m discharged. After I came out of hospital they gave me + sick leave, and constantly renewed it; and when the armistice came they + gave me my discharge. They put it down to my wound, of course, but—well, + I gathered the impression that I was considered no great loss.” He + had finished his pipe, and was now smiling reflectively. + </p> + <p> + Captain Alec did not smile. Indeed he looked rather pained; he was + remembering General Punnit’s story: military inefficiency, even + military imperfection, was for him no smiling matter. Beaumaroy did not + appear to notice his disapproving gravity. + </p> + <p> + “So I was at a loose end. I had sold up my business in Spain; I was + there six or seven years, just as Captain—Captain—? Oh, + Cranster, yes!—was in Bogota—when I joined up, and had no + particular reason for going back there—and, incidentally, no money + to go back with. So I took on this job, which came to me quite + accidentally. I went into a Piccadilly bar one evening, and found my old + man there, rather excited and declaiming a good deal of rot; seemed to + have the war a bit on his brain. They started in to guy him, and I think + one or two meant to hustle him, and perhaps take his money off him. I took + his part, and there was a bit of a shindy. In the end I saw him home to + his lodgings—he had a room in London for the night—and, to cut + a long story short, we palled up, and he asked me to come and live with + him. So here I am, and with me my Sancho Panza, the worthy ex-Sergeant + Hooper. Perhaps I may be forgiven for impliedly comparing myself to Don + Quixote, since that gentleman, besides his other characteristics, is + generally agreed to have been mad.” + </p> + <p> + “Your Sancho Panza’s no beauty,” remarked the Captain + drily. + </p> + <p> + “And no saint either. Kicked out of the Service, and done time. That + between ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why the devil do you have the fellow about?” + </p> + <p> + “Beggars mustn’t be choosers. Besides, I’ve a <i>penchant</i> + for failures.” + </p> + <p> + That was what General Punnit had said! Alec Naylor grew impatient. “That’s + the very spirit we have to fight against!” he exclaimed, rather + hotly. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me, but, please, don’t raise your voice.” + </p> + <p> + Alec lowered his voice, for a moment anyhow, but the central article of + his creed was assailed, and he grew vehement. “It’s fatal; it’s + at the root of all our troubles. Allow for failures in individuals, and + you produce failure all round. It’s tenderness to defaulters that + wrecks discipline. I would have strict justice, but no mercy, not a shadow + of it!” + </p> + <p> + “But you said that day at your place that the war had made you + tender-hearted.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I did, and it’s true. Is it hard-hearted to refuse to + let a slacker cost good men their lives? Much better take his, if it’s + got to be one or the other.” + </p> + <p> + “A cogent argument. But, my dear Naylor, I wish you wouldn’t + raise your voice.” + </p> + <p> + “Damn my voice!” said Alec, most vexatiously interrupted just + as he had got into his stride. “You say things that I can’t + and won’t let pass, and—” + </p> + <p> + “I really wouldn’t have asked you in, if I’d thought you’d + raise your voice.” + </p> + <p> + Alec recollected himself. “My dear fellow, a thousand pardons! I + forgot! The old gentleman!” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly. But I’m afraid the mischief’s done. Listen!” + Again he pointed to the ceiling, but his eyes set on Captain Alec with a + queer, rueful, humorous expression. “I was an ass to ask you in. But + I’m no good at it, that’s the fact. I’m always giving + the show away!” he grumbled, half to himself, but not inaudibly. + </p> + <p> + Alec stared at him for a moment in puzzle, but the next instant his + attention was diverted. Another voice besides his was raised; the sound of + it came through the ceiling from the room above; the words were not + audible; the volubility of the utterance in itself went far to prevent + them from being distinguishable; but the high, vibrant, metallic tones + rang through the house. It was a rush of noise, sharp grating noise, + without a meaning. The effect was weird, very uncomfortable. Alec Naylor + knit his brows, and once gave a little shiver, as he listened. Beaumaroy + sat quite still, the expression in his eyes unaltered, or, if altered at + all, it grew softer, as though with pity or affection. + </p> + <p> + “Good God, Beaumaroy, are you keeping a lunatic in this house?” + He might raise his voice as loud as he pleased now, it was drowned by that + other. + </p> + <p> + “I’m not keeping him, he’s keeping me. And, anyhow, his + medical adviser tells me there is no reason to suppose that my old friend + is not <i>compos mentis</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Irechester says that?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Saffron’s medical attendant is Dr. Arkroyd.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke the noise from above suddenly ceased. Since neither of the men + in the parlor spoke, there ensued a minute of what seemed intense silence; + it was such a change. + </p> + <p> + Then came a still small sound, a creaking of wood from overhead. + </p> + <p> + “I think you’d better go, Naylor, if you don’t mind. + After a performance of that kind he generally comes and tells me about it. + And he may be, I don’t know at all for certain, annoyed to find you + here.” + </p> + <p> + Alec Naylor got up from the big chair, but it was not to take his + departure. + </p> + <p> + “I want to see him, Beaumaroy,” he said brusquely and rather + authoritatively. + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy raised his brows. “I won’t take you to his room, or + let you go there if I can help it. But if he comes down, well, you can + stay and see him. It may get me into a scrape, but that doesn’t + matter much.” + </p> + <p> + “My point of view is—” + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow, I know your point of view perfectly. It is that you + are personally responsible for the universe, apparently just because you + wear a uniform.” + </p> + <p> + No other sound had come from above or from the stairs, but the door now + opened suddenly, and Mr. Saffron stood on the threshold. He wore slippers, + a pair of checked trousers, and his bedroom jacket of pale blue; in + addition, the gray shawl, which he wore on his walks, was again swathed + closely round him. Only his right arm was free from it; in his hand was a + silver bedroom candlestick. From his pale face and under his snowy hair + his blue eyes gleamed brightly. As Alec first caught sight of him, he was + smiling happily, and he called out triumphantly: “That was a good + one! That went well, Hector!” + </p> + <p> + Then he saw Alec’s tall figure by the fire. He grew grave, closed + the door carefully, and advanced to the table, on which he set down the + candlestick. After a momentary look at Alec, he turned his gaze + inquiringly towards Beaumaroy. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid we’re keeping it up rather late, sir,” + said the latter in a tone of respectful yet easy apology, “but I + took an airing in the road after you went to bed, and there I found my + friend here on his way home; and since it was Christmas—” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Saffron bowed his head in acquiescence; he showed no sign of anger. + “Present your friend to me, Hector,” he requested, or ordered, + gravely. + </p> + <p> + “Captain Naylor, sir, Distinguished Service Order; Duffshire + Fusiliers.” + </p> + <p> + The Captain was in uniform and, during his talk with Beaumaroy, had not + thought of taking off his cap. Thus he came to the salute instinctively. + The old man bowed with reserved dignity; in spite of his queer get-up he + bore himself well; the tall handsome Captain did not seem to efface or + outclass him. + </p> + <p> + “Captain Naylor has distinguished himself highly in the war, sir,” + Beaumaroy continued. + </p> + <p> + “I am very glad to make the acquaintance of any officer who has + distinguished himself in the service of his country.” Then his tone + became easier and more familiar. “Don’t let me disturb you, + gentlemen. My business with you, Hector, will wait. I have finished my + work, and can rest with a clear conscience.” + </p> + <p> + “Couldn’t we persuade you to stay a few minutes with us, and + join us in a whisky-and-soda?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, by all means, Hector. But no whisky. Give me a glass of my own + wine; I see a bottle on the sideboard.” + </p> + <p> + He came round the table and sat down in the big chair. “Pray seat + yourself, Captain,” he said, waving his hand towards the stool which + Beaumaroy had lately occupied. + </p> + <p> + The Captain obeyed the gesture, but his huge frame looked awkward on the + low seat; he felt aware of it, then aware of the cap on his head; he + snatched it off hastily, and twiddled it between his fingers. Mr. Saffron, + high up in the great chair, sitting erect, seemed now actually to dominate + the scene—Beaumaroy standing by, with an arm on the back of the + chair, holding a tall glass full of the golden wine ready to Mr. Saffron’s + command; the old man reached up his thin right hand, took it, and sipped + with evident pleasure. + </p> + <p> + Alec Naylor was embarrassed; he sat in silence. But Beaumaroy seemed quite + at his ease. He began with a statement which was, in its literal form, no + falsehood; but that was about all that could be said for it on the score + of veracity. “Before you came in, sir, we were just speaking of + uniforms. Do you remember seeing our blue Air Force uniform when we were + in town last week? I remember that you expressed approval of it.” + </p> + <p> + In any case the topic was very successful. Mr. Saffron embraced it with + eagerness; with much animation he discussed the merits, whether practical + or decorative, of various uniforms—field-gray, khaki, horizon blue, + Air Force blue, and a dozen others worn by various armies, corps, and + services. Alec was something of an enthusiast in this line too; he soon + forgot his embarrassment, and joined in the conversation freely, though + with a due respect to the obvious thoroughness of Mr. Saffron’s + information. Watching the pair with an amused smile, Beaumaroy contented + himself with putting in, here and there, what may be called a conjunctive + observation—just enough to give the topic a new start. + </p> + <p> + After a quarter of an hour of this pleasant conversation, for such all + three seemed to find it, Mr. Saffron finished his wine, handed the glass + to Beaumaroy, and took a cordial leave of Alec Naylor. “It’s + time for me to be in bed, but don’t hurry away, Captain. You won’t + disturb me, I’m a good sleeper. Good-bye. I sha’n’t want + you any more to-night, Hector.” + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy handed him his candle again, and held the door open for him as + he went out. + </p> + <p> + Alec Naylor clapped his cap back on his head. “I’m off too,” + he said abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you insisted on seeing him, and you’ve seen him. What + about it now?” asked Beaumaroy. + </p> + <p> + Alec eyed him with a puzzled baffled suspicion. “You switched him on + to that subject on purpose, and by means of something uncommon like a lie.” + </p> + <p> + “A little artifice! I knew it would interest you, and it’s + quite one of his hobbies. I don’t know much about his past life, but + I think he must have had something to do with military tailoring. A + designer at the War Office, perhaps.” Beaumaroy gave a low laugh, + rather mocking and malicious. “Still, that doesn’t prove a man + mad, does it? Perhaps it ought to, but in general opinion it doesn’t, + any more than reciting poetry in bed does.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to tell me that he was reciting poetry when—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it couldn’t have sounded worse if he had been, could + it?” + </p> + <p> + Now he was openly laughing at the Captain’s angry bewilderment. He + knew that Alec Naylor did not believe a word of what he was saying or + suggesting; but yet Alec could not pass his guard, nor wing a shaft + between the joints of his harness. If he got into difficulties through + heedlessness, at least he made a good shot at getting out of them again by + his dexterity. Only, of course, suspicion remains suspicion, even though + it be, for the moment, baffled. And it could not be denied that suspicions + were piling up—Captain Alec, Irechester, even, on one little point, + Doctor Mary! And possibly those two fellows outside—one of them + short and stumpy—had their suspicions too, though these might be + directed to another point. He gave one of his little shrugs as he followed + the silent Captain to the garden gate. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night. Thanks again. And I hope we shall meet soon,” he + said cheerily. + </p> + <p> + Alec gave him a brief “Good-night” and a particularly formal + military salute. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. — DOCTOR MARY’S ULTIMATUM + </h2> + <p> + Even Captain Alec was not superior to the foibles which beset humanity. If + it had been his conception of duty which impelled him to take a high line + with Beaumaroy, there was now in his feelings, although he did not realize + the fact, an alloy of less precious metal. He had demanded an ordeal, a + test—that he should see Mr. Saffron and judge for himself. The test + had been accepted; he had been worsted in it. His suspicions were not laid + to rest—far from it; but they were left unjustified and unconfirmed. + He had nothing to go upon, nothing to show. He had been baffled, and, + moreover, bantered and almost openly ridiculed. In fact, Beaumaroy had + been too many for him, the subtle rogue! + </p> + <p> + This conception of the case colored his looks and pointed his words when + Tower Cottage and its occupants were referred to, and most markedly when + he spoke of them to Cynthia Walford; for in talking to her he naturally + allowed himself greater freedom than he did with others; talking to her + had become like talking to himself, so completely did she give him back + what he bestowed on her, and re-echo to his mind its own voice. Such + perfect sympathy induces a free outpouring of inner thoughts, and + reinforces the opinions of which it so unreservedly approves. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia did more than elicit and reinforce Captain Alec’s opinion; + she also disseminated it—at Old Place, at the Irechesters’, at + Doctor Mary’s, through all the little circle in which she was now a + constant and a favorite figure. In the light of her experience of men, so + limited and so sharply contrasted, she made a simple classification of + them; they were Cransters or Alecs; and each class acted after its kind. + Plainly Beaumaroy was not an Alec; therefore he was Cranster, and + Cranster-like actions were to be expected from him, of such special + description as his circumstances and temptations might dictate. + </p> + <p> + She poured this simple philosophy into Doctor Mary’s ears, vouching + Alec’s authority for its application to Beaumaroy. The theory was + too simple for Mary, whose profession had shown her at all events + something of the complexity of human nature; and she was no infallibilist; + she would bow unquestioningly to no man’s authority, not even to + Alec’s, much as she liked and admired him. There was even a streak + of contrariness in her; what she might have said to herself she was prone + to criticize or contradict, if it were too confidently or urgently pressed + on her by another; perhaps, too, Cynthia’s claim to be the Captain’s + mouthpiece stirred up in her a latent resentment; it was not to be called + a jealousy; it was rather an amused irritation at both the divinity and + his worshiper. His worshipers can sometimes make a divinity look foolish. + </p> + <p> + Her own interview with Beaumaroy at the Cottage had left her puzzled, + distrustful—and attracted. She suspected him vaguely of wanting to + use her for some purpose of his own; in spite of the swift plausibility of + his explanation, she was nearly certain that he had lied to her about the + combination knife-and-fork. Yet his account of his own position in regard + to Mr. Saffron had sounded remarkably candid, and the more so because he + made no pretensions to an exalted attitude. It had been left to her to + define the standard of sensitive honor; his had been rather that of safety + or, at the best, that of what the world would think, or even of what the + hated cousins might attempt to prove. But there again she was distrustful, + both of him and of her own judgment. He might be—it seemed likely—one + of those men who conceal the good as well as the bad in themselves, one of + the morally shy men. Or again, perhaps, one of the morally diffident, who + shrink from arrogating to themselves high standards because they fear for + their own virtue if it be put to the test, and cling to the power of + saying, later on, “Well, I told you not to expect too much from me!” + Such various types of men exist, and they do not fall readily into either + of Cynthia’s two classes; they are neither Cransters nor Alecs; + certainly not in thought, probably not in conduct. He had said at Old + Place, the first time that she met him, that the war had destroyed all his + scruples. That might be true; but it was hardly the remark of a man + naturally unscrupulous. + </p> + <p> + She met him one day at Old Place about a week after Christmas. The Captain + was not there; he was at her own house, with Cynthia. With the rest of the + family Beaumaroy was at his best; gaily respectful to Mrs. Naylor, merry + with Gertie, exchanging cut and thrust with old Mr. Naylor, easy and + cordial towards herself. Certainly an attractive human being and a + charming companion, pre-eminently natural. “One talks of taking + people as one finds them,” old Naylor said to her when they were + left alone together for a few minutes by the fire, while the others + chatted by the window. “That fellow takes himself as he finds + himself! Not as a pattern, a failure, or a problem, but just as a fact—a + psychological fact.” + </p> + <p> + “That rather shuts out effort, doesn’t it? Well, I mean—” + </p> + <p> + “Strivings?” Mr. Naylor smiled. “Yes, it does. On the + other hand, it gives such free play. That’s what makes him + interesting, makes you think about him.” He laughed. “Oh, I + dare say the surroundings help too—we’re all rather children—old + Saffron, and the Devil, and Captain Duggle, and the rest of it! The brain + isn’t overworked down here; we like to find an outlet.” + </p> + <p> + “That means you think there’s nothing in it really?” + </p> + <p> + “In what?” retorted old Naylor briskly. + </p> + <p> + But Mary was equal to him. “My lips are sealed professionally,” + she smiled. “But hasn’t your son said anything?” + </p> + <p> + “Admirable woman! Yes, Alec has said a few things; and the young + lady gives it us, too. For my part, I think Beaumaroy’s just + drifting. He’ll take the gifts of fortune if they come, but I don’t + think there’s much deliberate design about it. Ah, now you’re + smiling in a superior way, Doctor Mary! I charge you with secret + knowledge. Or are you puffed up by having superseded Irechester?” + </p> + <p> + “I was never so distressed and—well, embarrassed at anything + in my life.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that, if you ask me, does look a bit queer. Sort of fits in + with Alec’s theory.” + </p> + <p> + Mary’s discretion gave way a little. “Or with Mr. Beaumaroy’s? + Which is that I’m a fool, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “And that Irechester isn’t?” His eyes twinkled in + good-humored malice. “Talking of what this and that person thinks of + himself and of others, Irechester thinks himself something of an alienist.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes grew suddenly alert. “He’s never talked to me on that + subject.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he doesn’t think it’s one of yours. Perhaps + your studies haven’t lain that way? After all, no medical man can + study everything!” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be naughty, Mr. Naylor” said Doctor Mary. + </p> + <p> + “He tells me that, in cases where the condition—the condition + I think he called it—is in doubt, he fixes his attention on the eyes + and the voice. He couldn’t give me any very clear description of + what he found in the eyes. I couldn’t quite make out, anyhow, what + he meant, unless it was a sort of meaninglessness, a want of what you + might call intellectual focus. Do you follow me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think I know what you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “But with regard to the voice I distinctly remember that he used the + word ‘metallic.’” + </p> + <p> + “Why, that’s the word Cynthia used—” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say it is. It’s the word Alec used in describing the + voice in which old Mr. Saffron recited his poem, or whatever it was, in + bed.” + </p> + <p> + “But I’ve talked to Mr. Saffron; his voice isn’t like + that; it’s a little high, but full and rather melodious.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well then—” He spread out his hands, as though + acknowledging a check. “Still, the voice described as metallic seems + to have been Mr. Saffron’s; at a certain moment at least. As a + merely medical question of some interest, I wonder if such a symptom or + sign of—er—irritability could be intermittent, coming and + going with the—er—fits! Irechester didn’t say anything + on that point. Have you any opinion?” + </p> + <p> + “None. I don’t know. I should like to ask Dr. Irechester.” + Then, with a sudden smile, she amended, “No, I shouldn’t!” + </p> + <p> + “And why not, pray? Professional etiquette?” + </p> + <p> + “No, pride. Dr. Irechester laughed at me. I think I see why now; and + perhaps why Mr. Beaumaroy—” She broke off abruptly, the + slightest gesture of her hand warning Naylor also to be silent. + </p> + <p> + Having said good-bye to his friends by the window, Beaumaroy was + sauntering across the room to pay the like courtesy to herself and Naylor. + Mary rose to her feet; there was an air of decision about her, and she + addressed Beaumaroy almost before he was within speaking distance as it is + generally reckoned in society. + </p> + <p> + “If you’re going home, Mr. Beaumaroy, shall we walk together? + It’s time I was off, too.” + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy looked a little surprised, but undoubtedly pleased. “Well, + now, what a delightful way of prolonging a delightful visit. I’m + truly grateful, Dr. Arkroyd.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you needn’t be!” said Mary with a little toss of + her head. + </p> + <p> + Naylor watched them with amusement. “He’ll catch it on that + walk!” he was thinking. “She’s going to let him have it! + I wish I could be there to hear.” He spoke to them openly: “I’m + sorry you must both go, but, since you must, go together. Your walk will + be much pleasanter.” + </p> + <p> + Mary understood him well enough, and gave him a flash from her eyes. But + Beaumaroy’s face betrayed nothing, as he murmured politely: “To + me, at all events, Mr. Naylor.” + </p> + <p> + Naylor was not wrong as to Mary’s mood and purpose. But she did not + find it easy to begin. Pretty quick at a retort herself, she could often + foresee the retorts open to her interlocutor. Beaumaroy had provided + himself with plenty: the old man’s whim; the access to the old man + so willingly allowed, not only to her but to Captain Alec; his own candor + carried to the verge of self-betrayal. Oh, he would be full of retorts, + supple and dexterous ones! As this hostile accusation passed through her + mind, she awoke to the fact that she was, at the same moment, regarding + his profile (he, too, was silent, no doubt lying in wait to trip up her + opening!) with interest, even with some approval. He seemed to feel her + glance, for he turned towards her quickly—so quickly that she had no + time to turn her eyes away. + </p> + <p> + “Doctor Mary”—the familiar mode of address habitually + used at the house which they had just left seemed to slip out without his + consciousness of it—“You’ve got something against me; I + know you have! I’m sensitive that way, though not, perhaps, in + another. Now, out with it!” + </p> + <p> + “You’d silence me with a clever answer. I think that you + sometimes make the mistake of supposing that to be silenced is the same + thing as being convinced. You silenced Captain Naylor—oh, I don’t + mean you’ve prevented him from talking!—I mean you confuted + him, you put him in the wrong, but you certainly didn’t convince + him.” + </p> + <p> + “Of what?” he asked in a tone of surprise. + </p> + <p> + “You know that. Let us suppose his idea was all nonsense; yet your + immediate object was to put it out of his head.” She suddenly added, + “I think your last question was a diplomatic blunder, Mr. Beaumaroy. + You must have known what I meant. What was the good of pretending not to?” + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy stopped still in the road for a moment, looking at her with a + rueful amusement. “You’re not so easily silenced, after all!” + he said, starting to walk on again. + </p> + <p> + “You encourage me.” To tell the truth, Mary was not only + encouraged, she was pleased by the hit she had scored, and flattered by + his acknowledgment of it. “Well, then, I’ll put another point. + You needn’t answer if you don’t like.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall answer if I can, depend on it!” He laughed, and Mary, + for a brief instant, joined in his laugh. His sudden lapses into candor + seemed somehow to put the serious hostile questioner ridiculously in the + wrong. Could a man like that really have anything to conceal? + </p> + <p> + But she held to her purpose. “You’re a friendly sort of man, + you offer and accept attentions and kindnesses, you’re not + stand-offish, or haughty, or sulky; you make friends easily, especially, + perhaps, with women; they like you, and like to be pleasant and kind to + you. There are men—patients, I mean—very hard to deal with; + men who resent being ill, resent having to have things done to them and + for them, who especially resent the services of women, even of nurses—I + mean in quite indifferent things, not merely in things where a man may + naturally shrink from their help. Well, you don’t seem that sort of + man in the least.” She looked at him, as she ended this appreciation + of him, as though she expected an answer or a comment. Beaumaroy made + neither; he walked on, not even looking at her. + </p> + <p> + “And you can’t have been troubled long with that wound. It + evidently healed up quickly and sweetly.” + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy looked for an instant at his maimed hand with a critical air; + but he was still silent. + </p> + <p> + “So that I wonder you didn’t do as most patients do—let + the nurse, or, if you were still disabled after you came out, a friend or + somebody, cut up your food for you without providing yourself with that + implement.” He turned his head quickly towards her. “And if + you ask me what implement I mean, I shall answer—the one you tried + to snatch from the sideboard at Tower Cottage before I could see it.” + </p> + <p> + It was a direct challenge; she charged him with a lie. Beaumaroy’s + face assumed a really troubled expression, a thing rare for it to do. Yet + it was not an ashamed or abashed expression; it just seemed to recognize + that a troublesome difficulty had arisen. He set a slower pace and prodded + the road with his stick. Mary pushed her advantage. “Your—your + improvization didn’t satisfy me at the time, and the more I’ve + thought over it, the less have I found it convincing.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped again, turning round to her. He slapped his left hand against + the side of his leg. “Well, there it is, Doctor Mary! You must make + what you can of it.” + </p> + <p> + It was complete surrender as to the combination knife-and-fork. He was + beaten, on that point at least, and owned it. His lie was found out. + “It’s dashed difficult always to remember that you’re a + doctor,” he broke out the next minute. + </p> + <p> + Mary could not help laughing; but her eyes were still keen and challenging + as she said, “Perhaps you’d better change your doctor again, + Mr. Beaumaroy. You haven’t found one stupid enough!” + </p> + <p> + Again Beaumaroy had no defense; his nonplussed air confessed that + maneuver, too. Mary dropped her rallying tone and went on gravely: “Unless + I’m treated with confidence and sincerity, I can’t continue to + attend Mr. Saffron.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s your ultimatum, is it, Doctor Mary?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded sharply and decisively. Beaumaroy meditated for a few seconds. + Then he shook his head regretfully. “It’s no use. I daren’t + trust you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Mary laughed again, this time in amazed resentment of his impudence. + “You can’t trust me! I think it’s the other way round. + It seems to me that the boot’s on the other leg.” + </p> + <p> + “Not as I see it.” Then he smiled slowly, as it were + tentatively. “Or would you—I wonder if you could—possibly—well, + stand in with me?” + </p> + <p> + “Are you offering me a—a partnership?” she asked + indignantly. + </p> + <p> + He raised his hand in a seeming protest, and spoke now hastily and in some + confusion. “Not as you understand it. I mean, as you probably + understand it, from what I said to you that night at the Cottage. There + are features in the—well, there are things that I admit have—have + passed through my mind, without being what you’d call settled. Oh, + yes, without being in the least settled. Well, for the sake of your help + and—er—co-operation, those—those features could be + dropped. And then perhaps—if only your—your rules and + etiquette—” + </p> + <p> + Mary scornfully cut short his embarrassed pleadings. “There’s + a good deal more than rules and etiquette involved. It seems to me that it’s + a matter of common honesty rather than of rules and etiquette—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but you don’t understand—” + </p> + <p> + She cut him short again. “Mr. Beaumaroy, after this, after your + suggestion and all the rest of it, there must be an end of all relations + between us—professionally and, so far as possible, socially too, + please. I don’t want to be self-righteous, but I feel bound to say + that you have misunderstood my character.” + </p> + <p> + Her voice quivered at the end, and almost broke. She was full of a grieved + indignation. + </p> + <p> + They had come opposite the cottage now. Beaumaroy stopped, and stood + facing her. Though dusk had fallen, it was a clear evening; she could see + his face plainly; obviously he was in deep distress. “I wouldn’t + have offended you for the world. I—I like you far too much, Doctor + Mary.” + </p> + <p> + “You imputed your own standards to me. That’s all there is + about it, I suppose,” she said in a scornful sadness. He looked very + miserable. Compassion, and the old odd attraction which he had for her, + stirred in her mind. Her voice grew soft, and she held out her hand. + “I’m sorry too, very sorry, that it should have to be good-bye + between us.” + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy did not take her proffered hand, or even seem to notice it. He + stood quite still. + </p> + <p> + “I’m damned if I know what I’m to do now!” + </p> + <p> + Close on the heels of his despairing confession of helplessness—for + such it undoubtedly seemed to me—came the noise of an opening door, + a light from the inside of the Cottage, a patter of quick-moving feet on + the flagged path that led to the garden gate. The next moment Mary saw the + figure of Mr. Saffron, in his old gray shawl, standing at the gate. He was + waving his right arm in an excited way, and his hand held a large sheet of + paper. + </p> + <p> + “Hector! Hector, my dear, dear boy! The news has come at last. You + can be off tomorrow!” + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy started violently, glanced at his old friend’s strange + figure, glanced once, too, at Mary; the expression of utter despair which + his face had worn seemed modified into one of humorous bewilderment. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, you can start tomorrow for Morocco, my dear boy!” + cried old Mr. Saffron. + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy lifted his hat to her, cried, “I’m coming, sir!” + turned on his heel, and strode quickly up to Mr. Saffron. She watched him + open the gate and take the old gentleman by the arm; she heard the murmur + of his voice speaking soft accents as the pair walked up the path + together. They passed into the house, and the door was shut. + </p> + <p> + Mary stood where she was for a moment, then moved slowly, hesitatingly, + yet as though under a lure which she could not resist. Just outside the + gate lay something that gleamed white through the darkness. It was the + sheet of paper. Mr. Saffron had dropped it in his excitement, and + Beaumaroy had not noticed. + </p> + <p> + Mary stole forward and picked it up stealthily; she was incapable of + resisting her curiosity or even of stopping to think about her action. She + held it up to what light there was, and strained her eyes to examine it. + So far as she could see, it was covered with dots, dashes, lines, queerly + drawn geometrical figures—a mass of meaningless hieroglyphics. She + dropped it again where she had found it, and made off home with guilty + swiftness. + </p> + <p> + Yes, there had been, this time, a distinctly metallic ring in old Mr. + Saffron’s voice. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. — THE MAGICAL WORD MOROCCO! + </h2> + <p> + When Mary arrived home, she found Cynthia and Captain Alec still in + possession of the drawing-room; their manner accused her legitimate entry + into the room of being an outrageous intrusion. She took no heed of that, + and indeed little heed of them. To tell the truth, she was ashamed to + confess, but it was the truth, she felt rather tired of them that evening. + Their affair deserved every laudatory epithet, except that of interesting; + so she declared peevishly within herself as she tried to join in + conversation with them. It was no use. They talked on, and in justice to + them it may be urged that they were fully as bored with Mary as she was + with them; so naturally their talents did not shine their brightest. But + they had plenty to say to one another, and dutifully threw in a question + or a reference to Mary every now and then. Sitting apart at the other end + of the long low room—it ran through the whole depth of her + old-fashioned dwelling—she barely heeded and barely answered. They + smiled at one another and were glad. + </p> + <p> + She was very tired; her feelings were wounded, her nerves on edge; she + could not even attempt any cool train of reasoning. The outcome of her + talk with Beaumaroy filled her mind rather than the matter of it; and, + more even than that, the figure of the man seemed to be with her, almost + to stand before her, with his queer alternations of despair and mirth, of + defiance and pleading, of derision and alarm. One moment she was intensely + irritated with him; in the next she half forgave the plaintive image which + the fancy of her mind conjured up before her eyes. + </p> + <p> + Her eyes closed—she was so very tired, the fight had taken it out of + her! To have to do things like that was an odious necessity, which had + never befallen her before. That man had done—well, Captain Alec was + quite right about him! Yet still the shadowy image, though thus + reproached, did not depart; it was smiling at her now with its old mockery—the + kindly mockery which his face wore before they quarrelled, and before its + light was quenched in that forlorn bewilderment. And it seemed as though + the image began to say some words to her, disconnected words, not making a + sentence, but yet having for the image a pregnant meaning, and seeming to + her—though vaguely and very dimly—to be the key to what she + had to understand. She was stupid not to understand words so full of + meaning—just as stupid as Beaumaroy had thought. + </p> + <p> + Then Doctor Mary fell asleep, sound asleep; she had been very near it for + the last ten minutes. + </p> + <p> + Captain Alec and Cynthia were in two chairs, close side by side, in front + of the fire. Once Cynthia glanced over her shoulder; the Captain had + glanced over his in the same direction already. One of his hands held one + of Cynthia’s. It was well to be sure that Mary was asleep, really + asleep. + </p> + <p> + She had gone to sleep on the name of Beaumaroy; on it she awoke. It came + from Captain Alec’s lips. He was standing on the hearthrug with his + arm round Cynthia’s waist, and his other hand raising one of hers to + his lips. He looked admirably handsome—strong, protecting, devoted. + And Cynthia, in her fragile appealing prettiness, was a delicious foil, a + perfect complement to the picture. But now, under stress of emotion—small + blame to a man who was making a vow of eternal fidelity!—under + stress of emotion, as, on a previous occasion, under that of indignation, + the Captain had raised his voice! + </p> + <p> + “Yes, against all the scoundrels in the world, whether they’re + called Cranster or Beaumaroy!” he said. + </p> + <p> + Mary’s eyes opened. She sat up. “Cranster and Beaumaroy?” + They were the words which her ears had caught. “What in the world + has Mr. Beaumaroy to do with—” But she broke off, as she saw + the couple by the fire. “But what are you two doing?” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia broke away from her lover, and ran to her friend with joyous + avowals. + </p> + <p> + “I must have been sound asleep,” cried Mary, kissing her. Alec + had followed across the room and now stood close by her. She looked up at + him. “Oh, I see! She’s to be safe now from such people?” + On this particular occasion Mary’s look at the Captain was not + admiring; it was a little scornful. + </p> + <p> + “That’s the idea,” agreed the happy Alec. “Another + idea is that I trot you both over in the car to Old Place—to break + the news and have dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “Splendid!” cried Cynthia. “Do come, Mary!” + </p> + <p> + Mary shook her head. “No; you go, you two,” she said. “I’m + tired, and I want to think.” She passed her hand across her eyes. + She seemed to wipe away the mists of sleep. Her face suddenly grew + animated and exultant. “No, I don’t want to think! I know!” + she exclaimed emphatically. + </p> + <p> + “Mary dear, are you still asleep? Are you talking in your sleep?” + </p> + <p> + “The keyword! It came to me, somehow, in my sleep. The keyword—Morocco!” + </p> + <p> + “What the deuce has Morocco—” Captain Alec began, with + justifiable impatience. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you never heard that, and, dear Captain Alec, you wouldn’t + have understood it if you had. You thought he was reciting poems. What he + was really doing—” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Doctor Mary, I’ve just been accepted by Cynthia, + and I’m going to take her to my mother and father. Can you get your + mind on to that?” He looked at her curiously, not at all + understanding her excitement, perhaps resenting the obvious fact that his + Cynthia’s happiness was not foremost in her friend’s mind. + </p> + <p> + With a great effort Mary brought herself down to the earth—to the + earth of romantic love from the heaven of professional triumph. True, the + latter was hers, the former somebody else’s. “I do beg your + pardon. I do indeed. And do let me kiss you again, Cynthia darling—and + you, dear Captain Alec, just once! And then you shall go off to dinner.” + She laughed excitedly. “Yes, I’m going to push you out.” + </p> + <p> + “Let’s go, Alec,” said Cynthia, not unkindly, yet just a + little pettishly. The great moment of her life—surely as great a + moment as there had ever been in anybody’s life—had hardly + earned adequate recognition from Mary. As usual, her feelings and Alec’s + were at one. Before they passed to other and more important matters, when + they drove off in the car she said to Alec, “It seems to me that + Mary’s strangely interested in that Mr. Beaumaroy. Had she been + dreaming of him, Alec?” + </p> + <p> + “Looks like it! And why the devil Morocco?” His intellect + baffled, Captain Alec took refuge in his affections. + </p> + <p> + Left alone, and so thankful for it, Doctor Mary did not attempt to sit + still. She walked up and down, she roved here and there, smoking any + quantity of cigarettes; she would certainly have forbidden such excess to + a patient. The keyword; its significance had seemed to come to her in her + sleep. Something in that subconsciousness theory? The word explained, + linked up, gave significance—that magical word Morocco! + </p> + <p> + Yes, they fell into place now, the things that had been so puzzling, and + that looked now so obviously suggestive. Even one thing which she had + thought nothing about, which had not struck her as having any + significance, now took on its meaning—the gray shawl which the old + gentleman so constantly wore swathed round his body, enveloping the whole + of it except his right arm. Did he wear the shawl while he took his meals? + Doctor Mary could not tell as to that. Perhaps he did not; at his meals + only Beaumaroy, and perhaps their servant, would be present. But he seemed + to wear it whenever he went abroad, whenever he was exposed to the + scrutiny of strangers. That indicated secretiveness, perhaps fear, the + apprehension of something. The caution bred by that might give way under + the influence of great cerebral excitement. Unquestionably Mr. Saffron had + been very excited when he waved the sheet of hieroglyphics and shouted to + Beaumaroy about Morocco. But whether he wore the shawl or not in the safe + privacy of Tower Cottage, whatever might be the truth about that—perhaps + he varied his practice according to his condition—on one thing + Doctor Mary would stake her life; he used the combination knife-and-fork! + </p> + <p> + For it was over that implement that Beaumaroy had tripped up. It ought to + have been hidden before she was admitted to the cottage. Somebody had been + careless, somebody had blundered—whether Beaumaroy himself or his + servant was immaterial. Beaumaroy had lied, readily and ingeniously, but + not quite readily enough. The dart of his hand had betrayed him; that, and + a look in his eyes, a tell-tale mirth which had seemed to mock both her + and himself, and had made his ingenious lie even at the moment + unconvincing. Yes, whether Mr. Saffron wore the shawl or not, he certainly + used the combination table implement! + </p> + <p> + And the “poems?” The poems which Mr. Saffron recited to + himself in bed, and which he had said, in Captain Alec’s hearing, + were good and “went well.” It was Beaumaroy, of course, who + had called them poems; the Captain had merely repeated the description. + But with her newly found insight Doctor Mary knew better. What Mr. Saffron + declaimed in that vibrating, metallic voice, were not poems, but—speeches! + </p> + <p> + And “Morocco” itself! To anybody who remembered history for a + few years back, even with the general memory of the man in the street, to + anybody who had read the controversies about the war, Morocco brought not + puzzle, but enlightenment. For had not Morocco been really the starting + point of the Years of Crisis—those years intermittent in excitement, + but constant in anxiety? Beaumaroy was to start tomorrow for Morocco—on + the strength of the hieroglyphics! Perhaps he was to go on from Morocco to + Libya; perhaps he was to raise the Senussi (Mary had followed the history + of the war), to make his appearance at Cairo, Jerusalem, Bagdad! He was to + be a forerunner, was Mr. Beaumaroy. Mr. Saffron, his august master, would + follow in due course! With a sardonic smile she wondered how the ingenious + man would get out of starting for Morocco; perhaps he would not succeed in + obtaining a passport, or, that excuse failing, in eluding the vigilance of + the British authorities. Or some more hieroglyphics might come, carrying + another message, postponing his start, saying that the propitious moment + had not yet arrived after all. There were several devices open to + ingenuity; many ways in which Beaumaroy might protract a situation not so + bad for him even as it stood, and quite rich in possibilities. Her acid + smile was turned against herself when she remembered that she had been + fool enough to talk to Beaumaroy about sensitive honor! + </p> + <p> + Well, never mind Mr. Beaumaroy! The case as to Mr. Saffron stood pretty + plain. It was queer and pitiful, but by no means unprecedented. She might + be not much of an alienist, as Dr. Irechester had been kind enough to + suggest to Mr. Naylor, but she had seen such cases herself—even + stranger ones, where even higher Powers suffered impersonation, with + effects still more tragically absurd to onlookers. And she remembered + reading somewhere—was it in Maudslay—that in the days of + Napoleon, when princes and kings were as ninepins to be set up and knocked + down at the tyrant’s pleasure, the asylums of France were full of + such great folk? Potentates there galore! If she had Mr. Saffron’s + “record” before her, she would expect to read of a vain + ostentatious man, ambitious in his own small way; the little plant of + these qualities would, given a morbid physical condition, develop into the + fantastic growth of delusion which she had now diagnosed in the case of + Mr. Saffron—diagnosed with the assistance of some lucky accidents! + </p> + <p> + But what was her duty now—the duty of Dr. Mary Arkroyd, a duly + qualified, accredited, responsible medical practitioner? With a slight + shock to her self-esteem she was obliged to confess that she had only the + haziest idea. Had not people who kept a lunatic to be licensed or + something? Or did that apply only to lunatics in the plural? And did + Beaumaroy keep Mr. Saffron within the meaning of whatever the law might + be? But at any rate she must do something; the state of things at Tower + Cottage could not go on as it was. The law of the land—whatever it + was—must be observed, Beaumaroy must be foiled, and poor old Mr. + Saffron taken proper care of. The course of her meditations was hardly + interrupted by the episode of her light evening meal; she was back in her + drawing-room by half past eight, her mind engrossed with the matter still. + </p> + <p> + It was a little after nine when there was a ring at the hall door. Not the + lovers back so early? She heard a man’s voice in the hall. The next + moment Beaumaroy was shown in, and the door shut behind him. He stood + still by it, making no motion to advance towards her. He was breathing + quickly, and she noticed beads of perspiration on his forehead. She had + sprung to her feet at the sight of him and faced him with indignation. + </p> + <p> + “You have no right to come here, Mr. Beaumaroy, after what passed + between us this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “Besides being, as you saw yourself, very excited, my poor old + friend isn’t at all well tonight.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m very sorry; but I’m no longer Mr. Saffron’s + medical attendant. If I declined to be this afternoon, I decline ten times + more tonight.” + </p> + <p> + “For all I know, he’s very ill indeed, Dr. Arkroyd.” + Beaumaroy’s manner was very quiet, restrained, and formal. + </p> + <p> + “I have come to a clear conclusion about Mr. Saffron’s case + since I left you.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you might. I suppose ‘Morocco’ put you on the + scent? And I suppose, too, that you looked at that wretched bit of paper?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I thought of it—” Here Mary was slightly + embarrassed. + </p> + <p> + “You’d have been more than human if you hadn’t. I was + out again after it in five minutes—as soon as I missed it; you’d + gone, but I concluded you’d seen it. He scribbles dozens like that.” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to admit my conclusion about his mental condition,” + she observed stiffly. + </p> + <p> + “I always admit when I cease to be able to deny. But don’t let’s + stand here talking. Really, for all I know, he may be dying. His heart + seems to me very bad.” + </p> + <p> + “Go and ask Dr. Irechester.” + </p> + <p> + “He dreads Irechester. I believe the sight of Irechester might + finish him. You must come.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t—for the reasons I’ve told you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why? My misdeeds? Or your rules and regulations? My God, how I hate + rules and regulations! Which of them is it that is perhaps to cost the old + man his life?” + </p> + <p> + Mary could not resist the appeal; that could hardly be her duty, and + certainly was not her inclination. Her grievance was not against poor old + Mr. Saffron, with his pitiful delusion of greatness, of a greatness, too, + which now had suffered an eclipse almost as tragical as that which had + befallen his own reason. What an irony in his mad aping of it now! + </p> + <p> + “I will come, Mr. Beaumaroy, on condition that you give me candidly + and truthfully all the information which, as Mr. Saffron’s medical + attendant, I am entitled to ask.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell you all I know about him, and about myself, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Your affairs and—er—position matter to me only so far + as they bear on Mr. Saffron.” + </p> + <p> + “So be it. Only come quickly; and bring some of your things that may + help a man with a bad heart.” + </p> + <p> + Mary left him, went to her surgery, and was quickly back with her bag. + “I’ll get out the car.” + </p> + <p> + “It’ll take a little longer, I know, but do you mind if we + walk? Cars always alarm him. He thinks that they come to take him away. + Every car that passes vexes him; he looks to see if it will stop. And when + yours does—” He ended with a shrug. + </p> + <p> + For the first time Mary’s feelings took on a keen edge of pity. Poor + old gentleman! Fancy his living like that! And cars, military cars, too, + had been so common on the road across the heath. + </p> + <p> + “I understand. Let us go at once. You walked yourself, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Ran,” said Beaumaroy, and, with the first sign of a smile, + wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I’m ready, Mr. Beaumaroy,” said Doctor Mary. + </p> + <p> + They walked along together in silence for fully half the way. Then + Beaumaroy spoke. “He was extremely excited—at his worst—when + he and I went into the cottage. I had to humor him in every way; it was + the only thing to do. That was followed by great fatigue, a sort of + collapse. I persuaded him to go to bed. I hope we shall find him there, + but I don’t know. He would let me go only on condition that I left + the door of the Tower unlocked, so that he could go in there if he wanted + to. If he has, I’m afraid that you may see something—well, + something rather bizarre, Dr. Arkroyd.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s all in the course of my profession.” + </p> + <p> + Silence fell on them again, till the outline of cottage and Tower came + into view through the darkness. Beaumaroy spoke only once again before + they reached the garden gate. + </p> + <p> + “If he should happen to be calmer now, I hope you will not consider + it necessary to tell him that you suspect anything unusual.” + </p> + <p> + “He is secretive?” + </p> + <p> + “He lives in terror.” + </p> + <p> + “Of what?” + </p> + <p> + “Of being shut up. May I lead the way in, Dr. Arkroyd?” + </p> + <p> + They entered the cottage, and Beaumaroy shut the door. A lamp was burning + dimly in the passage. He turned it up. “Would you kindly wait here + one minute?” Receiving her nod of acquiescence, he stepped softly up + the stairs, and she heard him open a door above; she knew it was that of + Mr. Saffron’s bedroom, where she had visited the old man. She + waited, now with a sudden sense of suspense. It was very quiet in the + cottage. + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy was down again in a minute. + </p> + <p> + “It is as I feared,” he said quietly. “He has got up + again, and gone into the Tower. Shall I try and get him out, or will you—” + </p> + <p> + “I will go in with you, of course, Mr. Beaumaroy.” + </p> + <p> + His old mirthful, yet rueful, smile came on his lips—just for a + moment. Then he was grave and formal again. “This way, then, if you + please, Dr. Arkroyd,” he said deferentially. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. — THE CAR BEHIND THE TREES + </h2> + <p> + Mr. Percy Bennett, that gentlemanly stranger, was an enemy to delay; both + constitutionally and owing to experience, averse from dallying with + fortune; to him a bird in his hand was worth a whole aviary on his + neighbor’s unrifled premises. He thought that Beaumaroy might levant + with the treasure; at any moment that unwelcome, though not unfamiliar, + tap on the shoulder, with the words (gratifying under quite other + circumstances and from quite different lips) “I want you,” + might incapacitate him from prosecuting his enterprise (he expressed this + idea in more homely idiom—less Latinized was his language, + metaphorical indeed, yet terse); finally he had that healthy distrust of + his accomplices which is essential to success in a career of crime; he + thought that Sergeant Hooper might not deliver the goods! + </p> + <p> + Sergeant Hooper demurred; he deprecated inconsiderate haste? let the + opportunity be chosen. He had served under Mr. Beaumaroy in France, and + (whatever faults Major-General Punnit might find with that officer) + preferred that he should be off the premises at the moment when Mr. + Bennett and he himself made unauthorized entry thereon. “He’s + a hot ‘un in a scrap,” said the Sergeant, sitting in a public + house at Sprotsfield on Boxing Day evening, Mr. Bennett and sundry other + excursionists from London being present. + </p> + <p> + “My chauffeur will settle him,” said Mr. Bennett. It may seem + odd that Mr. Bennett should have a chauffeur; but he had—or proposed + to have—<i>pro hac vice</i>—or <i>ad hoc</i>; for this + particular job, in fact. Without a car that stuff at Tower Cottage—somewhere + at Tower Cottage—would be difficult to shift. + </p> + <p> + The Sergeant demurred still, by no means for the sake of saving Beaumaroy’s + skin, but still purely for the reason already given; yet he admitted that + he could not name any date on which he could guarantee Beaumaroy’s + absence from Tower Cottage. “He never leaves the old blighter alone + later than eleven o’clock or so, and rarely as late as that.” + </p> + <p> + “Then any night’s about the same,” said gentleman + Bennett; “and now for the scheme, dear N.C.O.!” + </p> + <p> + Sergeant Hooper despaired of the doors. The house-door might possibly be + negotiated, though at the probable cost of arousing the notice of + Beaumaroy—and of the old blighter himself. But the door from the + parlor into the Tower offered insuperable difficulties. It was always + locked; the lock was intricate; he had never so much as seen the key at + close quarters and, even had opportunity offered, was quite unpractised in + the art of taking impressions of locks—a thing not done with + accuracy quite so easily as seems sometimes to be assumed. + </p> + <p> + “For my own part,” said Mr. Bennett with a nod, “I’ve + always inclined to the window. We can negotiate that without any noise to + speak of, and it oughtn’t to take us more than a few minutes. Just + deal boards, I expect! Perhaps the old gentleman and your pal Beaumaroy—the + Sergeant spat—will sleep right through it!” + </p> + <p> + “If they ain’t in the Tower itself,” suggested the + Sergeant gloomily. + </p> + <p> + “Wherever they may be,” said gentleman Bennett, with a touch + of irritability—he was himself a sanguine man and disliked a mind + fertile in objections—“I suppose the stuff’s in the + Tower, isn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “It goes in there, and I’ve never seen it come out, Mr. + Bennett.” Here at least a tone of confidence rang in the Sergeant’s + voice. + </p> + <p> + “But where in the Tower, Sergeant?” + </p> + <p> + “‘Ow should I know? I’ve never been in the blooming + place.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s really rather a queer business,” observed Mr. + Bennett, allowing himself for a moment, an outside and critical + consideration of the matter. + </p> + <p> + “Damned,” said the Sergeant briefly. + </p> + <p> + “But, once inside, we’re bound to find it! Then—with the + car—it’s in London in forty minutes, and in ten more it’s—where + it’s going to be; where that is needn’t worry you, my dear + Sergeant.” + </p> + <p> + “What if we’re seen from the road?” urged the + pessimistic Sergeant. + </p> + <p> + “There’s never a job about which you can’t put those + questions. What if Ludendorff had known just what Foch was going to do, + Sergeant? At any rate anybody who sees us is two miles either way from a + police station—and may be a lot farther if he tries to interfere + with us! It’s a hundred to one against anybody being on the road at + that time of night; we’ll pray for a dark night and dirty weather—which, + so far as I’ve observed, you generally get in this beastly + neighborhood.” He leant forward and tapped the Sergeant on the + shoulder. “Barring accidents, let’s say this day week; + meanwhile, Neddy”—he smiled as he interjected. “Neddy is + our chauffeur—Neddy and I will make our little plan of attack.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be too generous! Don’t leave all the V.C. chances + to me,” the Sergeant implored. + </p> + <p> + “Neddy’s fair glutton for ‘em! Difficulty is to keep him + from murder! And he stands six foot four, and weighs seventeen stone.” + </p> + <p> + “Ill back him up—from be’ind—company in support,” + grinned the Sergeant, considerably comforted by this description of his + coadjutor. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll occupy the station assigned to you, my man,” + said Mr. Bennett, with an admirable burlesque of the military manner. + “The front is wherever a soldier is ordered to be—a fine + saying of Lord Kitchener’s! Remember it, Sergeant!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” said the Sergeant, grinning still. + </p> + <p> + He found Mr. Bennett on the whole amusing company, though occasionally + rather alarming; for instance, there seemed to him to be no particular + reason for dragging in Neddy’s predilection for murder; though, of + course, a man of his inches and weight might commit murder through some + trifling and pardonable miscalculation of force. “Same as if that + Captain Naylor hit you!” the Sergeant reflected, as he finished the + ample portion of rum with which the conversation had been lightened. He + felt pleasantly muzzy, and saw Mr. Bennett’s cleancut features + rather blurred in outline. However, the sandy wig and red mustache which + that gentleman wore—in his character as a Boxing Day excursionist—were + still salient features even to his eyes. Anybody in the room would have + been able to swear to them. + </p> + <p> + Thus the date of the attack was settled and, if only it had been adhered + to, things might have fallen out differently between Doctor Mary and Mr. + Beaumaroy. Events would probably have relieved Mary from the necessity of + presenting her ultimatum, and she might never have heard that illuminating + word “Morocco.” But big Neddy the Shover—as his intimate + friends were wont to call him—was a man of pleasure as well as of + business; he was not a bloke in an office; he liked an ample Christmas + vacation and was now taking one with a party of friends at Brighton—all + tip-toppers who did the thing in style and spent their money (which was + not their money) lavishly. From the attraction of this company—not + composed of gentlemen only—Neddy refused to be separated. Mr. + Bennett, who was on thorns at the delay, could take it or leave it at + that; in any case the job was, in Neddy’s opinion (which he + expressed with that massive but good-humored scorn which is an appanage of + very large men), a leap in the dark, a pig in a poke, blind hookey; for + who really knew how much of the stuff the old blighter and his pal had + contrived to shift down to the Cottage in the old brown bag. Sometimes it + looked light, sometimes it looked heavy; sometimes perhaps it was full of + bricks! + </p> + <p> + In this mood Neddy had to be humored, even though gentlemanly Mr. Bennett + sat on thorns. The Sergeant repined less at the delay; he liked the + pickings which the job brought him much better than the job itself, + standing in wholesome dread of Beaumaroy. It was rather with resignation + than with joy that he received from Mr. Bennett the news that Neddy had at + last named the day that would suit his High Mightiness—Tuesday the + 7th of January it was, and, as it chanced, the very day before Beaumaroy + was to start for Morocco! More accurately, the attack would be delivered + on the actual day of his departure—if he went. For it was timed for + one o’clock in the morning, an hour at which the road across the + heath might reasonably be expected to be clear of traffic. This was an + especially important point, in view of the fact that the window of the + Tower faced towards the road and was but four or five yards distant from + it. + </p> + <p> + After a jovial dinner—rather too jovial in Mr. Bennett’s + opinion, but that was Neddy’s only fault, he would mix pleasure with + business—the two set out in an Overland car. Mr. Bennett—whom, + by the way, his big friend Neddy called “Mike,” and not + “Percy,” as might have been expected—assumed his sandy + wig and red mustache as soon as they were well started; Neddy scorned + disguise for the moment, but he had a mask in his pocket. He also had a + very nasty little club in the same pocket, whereas Mr. Bennett carried no + weapon of offense—merely the tools of his trade, at which he was + singularly expert. The friends had worked together before; though Neddy + reviled Mike for a coward, and Mike averred with curses, that Neddy would + bring them both to the gallows some day, yet they worked well together and + had a respect for one another, each allowing for the other’s + idiosyncrasies. The true spirit of partnership! On it alone can lasting + and honorable success be built. + </p> + <p> + “Just match-boarding, the Sergeant says it is, does he?” asked + Neddy, breaking a long silence, which indeed had lasted until they were + across Putney Bridge and climbing the Hill. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and rotten at that. It oughtn’t to take two minutes; + then there’ll be only the window. Of course we must have a look + round first. Then, if the coast’s clear, I’ll nip in and shove + something up against the door of the place while you’re following. + The Sergeant’s to stay on guard at the door of the house, so that we + can’t be taken in the rear. See?” + </p> + <p> + “Righto!” + </p> + <p> + “Then—well, we’ve got to find the stuff, and when we’ve + found it, you’ve got to carry it, Neddy. Don’t mind if it’s + a bit heavy, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to overstrain myself,” said Neddy + jocularly, “but I’ll do my best with it, only hope it’s + there!” + </p> + <p> + “It must be there. Hasn’t got wings, has it? At any rate not + till you put it in your pocket, and go out for an evening with the ladies!” + </p> + <p> + Neddy paid this pleasantry the tribute of a laugh, but he had one more + business question to ask: + </p> + <p> + “Where are we to stow the car? How far off?” + </p> + <p> + “The Sergeant has picked out a big clump of trees, a hundred yards + from the cottage on the Sprotsfield side, and about thirty yards from the + road. Pretty clear going to it, bar the bracken—she’ll do it + easily. There she’ll lie, snug as you like. As we go by Sprotsfield, + the car won’t have to pass the Cottage at all—that’s an + advantage—and yet it’s not over far to carry the stuff.” + </p> + <p> + “Sounds all right,” said Neddy placidly, and with a yawn. + “Have a drop?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I won’t—and I wish you wouldn’t, Neddy. It + makes you bad-tempered, and a man doesn’t want to be bad-tempered on + these jobs.” + </p> + <p> + “Take the wheel a second while I have a drop,” said Neddy, + just for all the world as if his friend had not spoken. He unscrewed the + top of a large flask and took a very considerable “drop.” It + was only after he had done this with great deliberation that he observed + good-naturedly, “And you go to hell, Mike! It’s dark, ain’t + it? That’s a bit of all right.” + </p> + <p> + He did not speak again till they were near Sprotsfield. “This + Beaumaroy—queer name, ain’t it?—he’s a big chap, + ain’t he, Mike?” + </p> + <p> + “Pretty fair, but, Lord love you, a baby beside yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, now, you told me something the Sergeant said about a man as + was (Neddy, unlike his friend, occasionally tripped in his English) really + big.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that’s Naylor—Captain Naylor. But he’s not at + the cottage; we’re not likely to meet him, praise be!” + </p> + <p> + “Rather wish we were! I want a little bit of exercise,” said + Neddy. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t know but what Beaumaroy might give you that. + The Sergeant’s got tales about him at the war.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, blast these soldiers—they ain’t no good.” In + what he himself regarded as his spare hours, that is to say, the daytime + hours wherein the ordinary man labors, Neddy was a highly skilled + craftsman, whose only failing was a tendency to be late in the morning and + to fall ill about the festive seasons of the year. He made lenses, and, in + spite of the failing, his work had been deemed to be of national + importance, as indeed it was. But that did not excuse his prejudice + against soldiers. + </p> + <p> + They passed through the outskirts of Sprotsfield; Mike—to use his + more familiar name—had made a thorough exploration of the place, and + his directions enabled his chauffeur to avoid the central and populous + parts of the town. Then they came out on to the open heath, passed Old + Place, and presently—about half a mile from Tower Cottage—found + Sergeant Hooper waiting for them by the roadside. It was then hard on + midnight—a dark cloudy night, very apt for their purpose. With a + nod, but without a word, the Sergeant got into the car, and in cautious + whispers directed its course to the shelter of the clump of trees; they + reached it after a few hundred yards of smooth road and some thirty of + bumping over the heath. It afforded a perfect screen from the road, and on + the other side there was only untrodden heath, no path or track being + visible near it. + </p> + <p> + Neddy got out of the car, but he did not forget his faithful flask. He + offered it to the Sergeant in token of approval. “Good place, + Sergeant,” he said; “does credit to you, as a beginner. Here, + mate, hold on, though. It’s evident you ain’t accustomed to + liquor glasses!” + </p> + <p> + “When I sits up so late, I gets a kind of a sinking,” the + Sergeant explained apologetically. + </p> + <p> + Mike flashed a torch on him for a minute; there was a very uncomfortable + look in his little squinty eyes. “Sergeant,” he said suavely + but gravely, “my friend here relies on you. He’s not a safe + man to disappoint.” He shifted the light suddenly on to Neddy, whose + proportions seemed to loom out prodigious from the surrounding darkness. + “Are you, Neddy?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I’m a sensitive chap, I am,” said Neddy, smiling. + “Don’t you go and hurt my pride in you by any sign of + weakness, Sergeant.” + </p> + <p> + The Sergeant shivered a little. “I’m game. I’ll stick + it,” he protested valorously. + </p> + <p> + “You’d better!” Neddy advised. + </p> + <p> + “All quiet at the Cottage as you came by?” asked Mike. + </p> + <p> + “Quiet as the grave, for what I see,” the Sergeant answered. + </p> + <p> + “All right. Mike, where are them sandwiches? I feel like a bite. One + for the Sergeant too! But no more flask—no, you don’t + Sergeant! When’ll we start, Mike!” + </p> + <p> + “In about half-an-hour.” + </p> + <p> + “Just nice time for a snack—oysters and stout for you, my + darling?” said jovial Neddy. Then—with a change of voice—“Just + as well that didn’t pass us!” + </p> + <p> + For the sound of a car came from the road they had just left. It was going + in the direction of the Cottage and of Inkston. Captain Alec was taking + his betrothed home after a joyful evening of congratulation and welcome. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. — THE SECRET OF THE TOWER + </h2> + <p> + The scene presented by the interior of the Tower, when Beaumaroy softly + opened the door and signed to Doctor Mary to step forward and look, was + indeed a strange one, a ridiculous yet pathetic mockery of grandeur. + </p> + <p> + The building was a circular one, rising to a height of some thirty-five + feet and having a diameter of about ten. Up to about twelve feet from the + floor its walls were draped with red and purple stuffs of coarse material; + above them the bare bricks and the rafters of the roof showed naked. In + the middle of the floor, with their backs to the door at which Mary and + her companion stood, were set two small armchairs of plain and cheap make. + Facing them, on a rough dais about three feet high and with two steps + leading up to it, stood a large and deep carved oaken armchair. It too was + upholstered in purple, and above and around it were a canopy and curtains + of the same color. This strange erection was set with its back to the one + window—that which Mr. Saffron had caused to be boarded up soon after + he entered into occupation. The place was lighted by candles—two + tall standards of an ecclesiastical pattern, one on either side of the + great chair or throne, and each holding six large candles, all of which + were now alight and about half-consumed. On the throne, his spare wasted + figure set far back in the recesses of its deep cushioned seat and his + feet resting on a high hassock, sat old Mr. Saffron; in his right hand he + grasped a scepter, obviously a theatrical “property,” but a + handsome one, of black wood with gilt ornamentation; his left arm he held + close against his side. His eyes were turned up towards the room; his lips + were moving as though he were talking, but no sound came. + </p> + <p> + Such was Doctor Mary’s first impression of the scene; but the next + moment she took in another feature of it, not less remarkable. To the left + of the throne, to her right as she stood in the doorway facing it, there + was a fireplace; an empty grate, though the night was cold. Immediately in + front of it was, unmistakably, the excavation in the floor which Mr. + Penrose had described at the Christmas dinner-party at Old Place—six + feet in length by three in breadth, and about four feet deep. Against the + wall, close by, stood a sheet of cast iron, which evidently served to + cover and conceal the aperture; by it was thrown down, in careless + disorder, a strip of the same dull red baize as covered the rest of the + floor of the Tower. By the side of the sheet and the piece of carpet there + was an old brown leather bag. + </p> + <p> + Tradition, and Mr. Penrose, had told the truth. Here without doubt was + Captain Duggle’s grave, the grave he had caused to be dug for + himself, but which—be the reason what it might—-his body had + never occupied. Yet the tomb was not entirely empty. The floor of it was + strewn with gold, to what depth Mary could not tell, but it was covered + with golden sovereigns; there must be thousands of them. They gleamed + under the light of the candles. + </p> + <p> + Mary turned, startled, inquiring, apprehensive eyes on Beaumaroy. He + pressed her arm gently, and whispered: + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell you presently. Come in. He’ll notice us, I + expect, in a minute. Mind you curtsey when he sees you!” He led her + in, pulling the door to after him, and placed her and himself in front of + the two small armchairs opposite Mr. Saffron’s throne. + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy removed his hand from her arm, but she caught his wrist in one + of hers and stood there, holding on to him, breathing quickly, her eyes + now set on the figure on the throne. + </p> + <p> + The old man’s lips had ceased to move; his eyes had closed; he lay + back in the deep seat, inert, looking half-dead, very pale and waxen in + the face. For what seemed a long time he sat thus, motionless and almost + without signs of life, while the two stood side by side before him. Mary + glanced once at Beaumaroy; his lips were apart in that half humorous, half + compassionate smile; there was no hint of impatience in his bearing. + </p> + <p> + At last Mr. Saffron opened his eyes, and saw them; there was intelligence + in his look, though his body did not move. Mary was conscious of a low bow + from Beaumaroy; she remembered the caution he had given her, and herself + made a deep curtsey; the old man made a slight inclination of his handsome + white head. Then, after another long pause, a movement passed over his + body—excepting his left arm. She saw that he was trying to rise from + his seat, but that he had barely the strength to achieve his purpose. But + he persisted in his effort, and in the end rose slowly and tremulously to + his feet. + </p> + <p> + Then, utterly without warning, in a sudden and shocking burst of that + high, voluble, metallic speech which Captain Alec had heard through the + ceiling of the parlor, he began to address them, if indeed it were they + whom he addressed, and not some phantom audience of Princes, Marshals, + Admirals, or trembling sheep-like re emits. It was difficult to hear the + words, hopeless to make out the sense. It was a farrago of nonsense, part + of his own inventing, part (as it seemed) wild and confused reminiscences + of the published speeches of the man he aped, all strung together on some + invisible thread of insane reasoning, delivered with a mad vehemence and + intensity that shook and seemed to rend his feeble frame. + </p> + <p> + “We must stop him, we must stop him,” Mary suddenly whispered. + “He’ll kill himself if he goes on like this!” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve never been able to stop him,” Beaumaroy whispered + back. “Hush! If he hears us speaking he’ll be furious, and + carry on worse.” + </p> + <p> + The old man’s blue eyes fixed themselves on Beaumaroy—of Mary + he took no heed. He pointed at Beaumaroy with his scepter, and from him to + the gleaming gold in Captain Duggle’s grave. A streak of coherency, + a strand of mad logic, now ran through his hurtling words; the money was + there, Beaumaroy was to take it—to-day, to-day!—to take it to + Morocco, to raise the tribes, to set Africa aflame. He was to scatter it—broadcast, + broadcast! There was no end to it—don’t spare it! “There’s + millions, millions of it!” he shouted, and achieved a weird wild + majesty in a final cry, “God with us!” + </p> + <p> + Then he fell—tumbled back in utter collapse into the recesses of the + great chair. His scepter fell from his nerveless hand and rolled down the + steps of the dais; the impetus it gathered carried it, rolling still, + across the floor to the edge of the open pit; for an instant it lay poised + on the edge, and then fell with a jangle of sound on the carpet of golden + coins that lined Captain Duggle’s grave. + </p> + <p> + “Quick! Get my bag—I left it in the passage,” whispered + Mary, as she started forward, up the dais, to the old man’s side. + “And brandy, if you’ve got it,” she called after + Beaumaroy, as he turned to the door to do her bidding. + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy was gone no more than a minute. When he came back, with the bag + hitched under his arm, a decanter of brandy in one band and a glass in the + other, Mary was leaning over the throne, with her arm round the old man. + His eyes were open, but he was inert and motionless. Beaumaroy poured out + some brandy, and gave it into Mary’s free hand. But when Mr. Saffron + saw Beaumaroy by his side, he gave a sudden twist of his body, wrenched + himself away from Mary’s arm, and flung himself on his trusted + friend. “Hector, I’m in danger! They’re after me! They’ll + shut me up!” + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy put his strong arms about the frail old body. “Oh no, sir, + oh, no!” he said in low, comforting, half-bantering tones. “That’s + the old foolishness, sir, if I may so say. You’re perfectly safe + with me. You ought to trust me by now, sir, really you ought.” + </p> + <p> + “You swear, you swear it’s all right, Hector?” + </p> + <p> + “Right as rain, sir,” Beaumaroy assured him cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + Very feebly the old man moved his right hand towards the open grave. + “Plenty—plenty! All yours, Hector! For—for the Cause—God’s + with us!” His head fell forward on Beaumaroy’s breast; for an + instant again he raised it, and looked in the face of his friend. A smile + came on his lips. “I know I can trust you. I’m safe with you, + Hector.” His head fell forward again; his whole body was relaxed; he + gave a sigh of peace. Beaumaroy lifted him in his arms and very gently set + him back in his great chair, placing his feet again on the high footstool. + </p> + <p> + “I think it’s all over,” he said, and Mary saw tears in + his eyes. + </p> + <p> + Then Mary herself collapsed; she sank down on the dais and broke into + weeping. It had all been so pitiful, and somehow so terrible. Her quick + tumultuous sobbing sounded through the place which the vibrations of the + old man’s voice had lately filled. + </p> + <p> + She felt Beaumaroy’s hand on her shoulder. “You must make + sure,” he said, in a low voice. “You must make your + examination.” + </p> + <p> + With trembling hands she did it—she forced herself to it, Beaumaroy + aiding her. There was no doubt. Life had left the body which reason had + left long before. His weakened heart had not endured the last strain of + mad excitement. The old man was dead. + </p> + <p> + Her face showed Beaumaroy the result of her examination, if he had ever + doubted of it. She looked at him, then made a motion of her hand towards + the body. “We must—we must—” she stammered, the + tears still rolling down her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “Presently,” he said. “There’s plenty of time. You’re + not fit to do that now—and no more am I, to tell the truth. We’ll + rest for half an hour, and then get him upstairs, and—and do the + rest. Come with me!” He put his hand lightly within her arm. “He + will rest quietly on his throne for a little while. He’s not afraid + any more. He’s at rest.” + </p> + <p> + Still with his arm in Mary’s, he bent forward and kissed the old man + on the forehead. “I shall miss you, old friend,” he said. + Then, with gentle insistence, he led Mary away. They left the old man, + propped up by the high stool on which his feet rested, seated far back in + the great chair, hard by Captain Duggle’s grave, where the scepter + lay on a carpet of gold. The tall candles burnt on either side of his + throne, imparting a far-off semblance of ceremonial state. + </p> + <p> + Thus died, unmarried, in the seventy-first year of his age, Aloysius + William Saffron, formerly of Exeter, Surveyor and Auctioneer. He had run, + on the whole, a creditable course; starting from small beginnings, and + belonging to a family more remarkable for eccentricity than for any solid + merit, he had built up a good practice; he had made money and put it by; + he enjoyed a good name for financial probity. But he was held to be a + vain, fussy, self-important, peacocky fellow; very self-centered also and + (as Beaumaroy had indicated) impatient of the family and social + obligations which most men recognize, even though often unwillingly. As + the years gathered upon his head, these characteristics were intensified. + On the occasion of some trifling set-back in business—a rival cut + him out in a certain negotiation—He threw up everything and + disappeared from his native town. Thenceforward nothing was heard of him + there, save that he wrote occasionally to his cousin, Sophia Radbolt, and + her husband, both of whom he most cordially hated, whose claims to his + notice, regard, or assistance he had, of late years at least, hotly + resented. Yet he wrote to them—wrote them vaunting and magniloquent + letters, hinting darkly of great doings and great riches. In spite of + their opinion of him, the Radbolts came to believe perhaps half of what he + said; he was old and without other ties; their thirst for his money was + greedy. Undoubtedly the Radbolts would dearly have loved to get hold of + him and—somehow—hold him fast. + </p> + <p> + When he came to Tower Cottage—it was in the first year of the war—he + was precariously sane; it was only gradually that his fundamental and + constitutional vices and foibles turned to a morbid growth. First came + intensified hatred and suspicion of the Radbolts—they were after him + and his money! Then, through hidden processes of mental distortion, there + grew the conviction that he was of high importance, a great man, the + object of great conspiracies, in which the odious Radbolts were but + instruments. It was, no doubt, the course of public events, culminating in + the Great War, which gave to his mania its special turn, to his delusion + its monstrous (but, as Doctor Mary was aware, by no means unprecedented) + character. By the time of his meeting with Beaumaroy the delusion was + complete; through all the second half of 1918 he followed—so far as + his mind could now follow anything rationally—in his own person and + fortunes the fate of the man whom he believed himself to be, appropriating + the hopes, the fears, the imagined ambitions, the physical infirmity, of + that self-created other self. + </p> + <p> + But he wrapped it all in deep secrecy, for, as the conviction of his true + identity grew complete, his fears were multiplied. Radbolts indeed! The + whole of Christendom—Principalities and Powers—were on his + track. They would shut him up, kill him perhaps! Cunningly he hid his + secret—save what could not be entirely hidden, the physical + deformity. But he hid it with his shawl; he never ate out of his own + house; the combination knife-and-fork was kept sedulously hidden. Only to + Beaumaroy did he reveal the hidden thing; and, later, on Beaumaroy’s + persuasion, he let into the portentous secret one faithful servant—Beaumaroy’s + unsavory retainer, Sergeant Hooper. + </p> + <p> + He never accepted Hooper as more than a distasteful necessity—somebody + must wait on him and do him menial service; he was not feared, indeed, for + surely such a dog would not dare to be false, but cordially disliked. + Beaumaroy won him from the beginning. Whom he conceived him to be + Beaumaroy himself never knew, but he opened his heart to him unreservedly. + Of him he had no suspicion; to him he looked for safety and for the + realization of his cherished dreams. Beaumaroy soothed his terrors and + humored him in all things—what was the good of doing anything else, + asked Beaumaroy’s philosophy. He loved Beaumaroy far more than he + had loved anybody except himself in all his life. At the end, through the + wild tangle of mad imaginings, there ran this golden thread of human + affection; it gave the old man hours of peace, sometimes almost of sanity. + </p> + <p> + So he came to his death, directly indeed of a long-standing organic + disease, yet veritably self-destroyed. And so he sat now, dead amidst his + shabby parody of splendor. He had done with thrones; he had even done with + Tower Cottage—unless indeed his pale shade were to hold nocturnal + converse with the robust and flamboyant ghost of Captain Duggle; the one + vaunting his unreal vanished greatness, mouthing orations and mimicking + pomp; the other telling, in language garnished with strange and horrible + oaths, of those dark and lurid terrors which once had driven him from this + very place, leaving it ablaze behind. A strange couple they would make, + and strange would be their conversation! + </p> + <p> + Yet the tenement which had housed the old man’s deranged spirit, + empty as now it was—aye, emptier than Duggle’s tomb—was + still to be witness of one more earthly scene and unwittingly bear part in + it. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. — RIGHT OF CONQUEST + </h2> + <p> + What has been related of Mr. Saffron’s life before he ascended the + throne on which he still sat in the Tower represented all that Beaumaroy + knew of his old friend before they met—indeed he knew scarcely as + much. He told the brief story to Doctor Mary in the parlor. She heard him + listlessly; all that was not much to the point on which her thoughts were + set, and did not answer the riddle which the scene in the Tower put to + her. She was calm now—and ashamed that she had ever lost her + calmness. + </p> + <p> + “Well, there was the situation as I understood it when I took on the + job—or quite soon afterwards. He thought that he was being pursued; + in a sense he was. If these Radbolts found out the truth, they certainly + would pursue him, try to shut him up, and prevent him from making away + with his money or leaving it to anybody else. I didn’t at all know + at first what a tidy lot he had. He hated the Radbolts; even after he + ceased to know them as cousins, he remained very conscious of them always; + they were enemies, spies, secret service people on his track—poor + old boy! Well, why should they have him and his money? I didn’t see + it. I don’t see it to this day.” + </p> + <p> + Mary was in Mr. Saffron’s armchair. Beaumaroy stood before the fire. + She looked up at him. + </p> + <p> + “They seem to have more right than anybody else. And you know—you + knew—that he was mad.” + </p> + <p> + “His being mad gives them no right! Oh, well, it’s no use + arguing. In the end I suppose they had rights—of a kind; a right by + law, I suppose—though I never knew the law and don’t want to—to + shut the old man up, and make him damned miserable, and get the money for + themselves. That sounds just the sort of right the law does give people + over other people—because Aunt Betsy married Uncle John fifty years + ago, and was probably infernally sorry for it!” + </p> + <p> + Mary smiled. “A matter of principle with you, was it, Mr. Beaumaroy?” + </p> + <p> + “No—instinct, I think. It’s my instinct to be against + the proper thing, the regular thing, the thing that deals hardly with an + individual in the name of some highly nebulous general principle.” + </p> + <p> + “Like discipline?” she put in, with a reminiscence of + Major-General Punnit. + </p> + <p> + He nodded. “Yes, that’s one case of it. And then, the + situation amused me. I think that had more to do with it than anything + else at first. It amused me to play up to his delusions. I suggested the + shawl as useful on our walks—and thereby got him to take wholesome + exercise; that ought to appeal to you, Doctor! I got him the combination + knife-and-fork; that made him enjoy his meals—also good for him, + Doctor! But I didn’t do these things because they were good for him, + but because they amused me. They never amused Hooper, he’s a dull, + surly, and—I’m inclined to believe—treacherous dog.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Sacked from the Army—sent to quod. Just a jail-bird whom I’ve + kept loose. But the things did amuse me, and it was that at first. But + then—” he paused. + </p> + <p> + Looking at him again, Mary saw a whimsical tenderness expressed in his + eyes and smile. “The poor chap was so overwhelmingly grateful. He + thought me the one indubitably faithful adherent that he had. And so I was + too—though not in the way he thought. And he trusted me absolutely. + Well, was I to give him up—to the law, and the Radbolts, and the + jailers of an asylum—a man who trusted me like that?” + </p> + <p> + “But he was mad,” objected Doctor Mary obstinately. + </p> + <p> + “A man has his feelings, or may have, even when he’s mad. He + trusted me and he loved me, Doctor Mary. Won’t you allow that I’ve + my case—so far?” She made no sign of assent. “Well then, + I loved him—does that go any better with you? If it doesn’t, I’m + in a bad way; be cause what I’m giving you now is the strong part of + my case.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see why you should put what you call your case to me + at all, Mr. Beaumaroy.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her in a reproachful astonishment. “But you seemed + touched by—by what we saw in the Tower. I thought the old man’s + death and faith had appealed to you. It seems to me that people can’t + go through a thing like that together without feeling—well, some + sort of comradeship. But if you’ve no sort of feeling of that kind—well, + I don’t want to put my case.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on with your case,” said Doctor Mary, after a moment’s + silence. + </p> + <p> + “Though it isn’t really that I want to put a case for myself + at all. But I don’t mind owning that I’d like you to + understand about it—before I clear out.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him questioningly, but put no spoken question. Beaumaroy sat + down on the stool opposite to her, and poked the fire. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t get away from it, can I? There was something else you + saw in the Tower, wasn’t there, and I dare say that you connect it + with a conversation that we had together a little while ago? Well, I’ll + tell you about that. Oh, well, of course I must, mustn’t I?” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to hear.” Her bitterness was gone; he had come + now to the riddle. + </p> + <p> + “He was a King to himself,” Beaumaroy resumed thoughtfully, + “but in fact I was king over him. I could do anything I liked with + him. I had him. I possessed him—by right of conquest. The right of + conquest seemed a big thing to me; it was about the only sort of right + that I’d seen anything of for three years and more. Yes, it was—and + is—a big thing, a real thing—the one right in the whole world + that there’s no doubt about. Other rights are theories, views, + preachments! Right of conquest is a fact. I had it. I could make him do + what I liked, say what I liked, sign what I liked. Do you begin to see + where I found myself? I say found myself, because really it was a surprise + to me. At first I thought he was in a pretty small way—he only gave + me a hundred a year besides my keep. True, he always talked of his money, + but I set that down mainly to his delusion. But it was true that he had a + lot—really a lot. A good bit besides what you saw in there; he must + have speculated cleverly, I think, he couldn’t have made it all in + his business. Doctor Mary, how much gold do you think there is in the + grave in there?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t the least idea. Thousands? Where did you get it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, thousands—and thousands. We got it mostly from the + aliens in the East End; they’d hoarded it, you know; but they were + willing to sell at a premium. The premium rose up to last month; then it + dropped a little—not much, though, because we’d exhausted some + of the most obvious sources. I carried every sovereign of that money in + the grave down from London in my brown bag.” He smiled reflectively. + “Do you know how much a thousand sovereigns weigh, Doctor Mary?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t the least idea,” said Mary again. She was + leaning forward now, listening intently, and watching Beaumaroy’s + face with absorbed interest. + </p> + <p> + “Seventeen and three-quarter pounds avoirdupois—that’s + the correct weight. The first time or two we didn’t get much—they + were still shy of us. But after that we made some heavy; hauls. Twice we + brought down close on two thousand. Once there was three thousand, almost + to a sovereign. Even men trained to the work—bullion porters, as + they call them at the Bank of England—reckon five bags of a + thousand, canvas bags not much short of a foot long and six inches across, + you know—they reckon five of them a full load—and wouldn’t + care to go far with them either. The equivalent of three of them was quite + enough for me to carry from Inkston station up to the Cottage—trying + to look as if I were carrying nothing of any account! One hasn’t got + to pretend to be carrying nothing in full marching kit—nor to carry + it all in one hand. And he’d never trust himself in a cab—might + be kidnapped, you see! I don’t know exactly, but from what he said I + reckon we’ve brought down, on our Wednesday trips, about two-thirds + of all he had. Now you’ve probably gathered what his idea was. He + knew he was disguised as Saffron—and very proud of the way he lived + up to the character. As Saffron, he realized the money by driblets—turned + his securities into notes, his notes into gold. But he’d lost all + knowledge that the money was his own—made by himself—himself + Saffron. He thought it was saved out of the wreck of his Imperial fortune. + It was to be dedicated to restoring the Imperial cause. He himself could + not attempt, at present, to get out of England, least of all carrying pots + of gold coin. But he believed that I could. I was to go to Morocco and so + on, and raise the country for him, taking as much as I could, and coming + back for more! He had no doubt at all of my coming back! In fact it wouldn’t + have been much easier for me to get out of the country with the money than + it would have been for the authentic Kaiser himself. But, Doctor Mary, + what would have been possible was for me to go somewhere else, or even + back to the places we knew of, for no questions were asked there—put + that money back into notes, or securities in my own name, and tell him I + had carried out the Morocco programme. He had no sense of time, he would + have suspected nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “That would have been mere and sheer robbery,” said Mary. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, it would,” Beaumaroy agreed. “And, if I’d + done it, and deserted him, I should have deserved to be hanged. That was + hardly my question. As long as he lived, I meant to stick by him; but he + was turned seventy, frail, with heart-disease, and, as I understand, quite + likely to sink into general paralysis. Well, if I was to exercise my right + of conquest and get the fruits of conquest, two ways seemed open. There + could be a will; you’ll remember my consulting you on that point and + your reply?” + </p> + <p> + “Did he make a will?” asked Mary quickly. + </p> + <p> + “No. A will was open to serious objections. Even supposing your + evidence—which, of course, I wanted in case of need—had been + satisfactory, a fight with the Radbolts would have been unpleasant. Worse + than that—as long as I lived I should have been blackmailed by + Sergeant Hooper, who knew Mr. Saffron’s condition, though he didn’t + know about the money here. Even before you found out about my poor old + friend, I had decided against a will—though, perhaps, I might have + squared the Radbolts by just taking this little place—and its + contents—and letting them take the rest. That too became impossible + after your discovery. There remained then, the money in the Tower. I could + make quite sure of that, wait for his death, and then enjoy it. And, upon + my word, why shouldn’t I? He’d have been much gratified by my + going to Morocco; and he’d certainly much sooner that I had the + money—if it couldn’t go to Morocco—than that the + Radbolts should get it. That was the way the question presented itself to + me; and I’m a poor man, with no obvious career before me. The right + of conquest appealed to me strongly, Doctor Mary.” + </p> + <p> + “I can see that you may have been greatly tempted,” said Mary + in a grave and troubled voice. “And the circumstances did enable you + to make excuses for what you thought of doing.” + </p> + <p> + “Excuses? You won’t even go so far as to call it a doubtful + case? One that a casuist could argue either way?” Beaumaroy was + smiling again now. + </p> + <p> + “Even if I did, men of—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Doctor Mary—of sensitive honor!” + </p> + <p> + “Decide doubtful cases against themselves in money matters.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say, is that doctrine current in business circles? I’ve + been in business myself, and I doubt it.” + </p> + <p> + “They do—men of real honor,” Mary persisted. + </p> + <p> + “So that’s how great fortunes are made? That’s how + individuals—to say nothing of nations—rise to wealth and + power! And I never knew it,” Beaumaroy reflected in a gentle voice. + His eye caught Mary’s, and she gave a little laugh. “By + deciding doubtful cases against themselves! Dear me, yes!” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t say they rose to greatness and power.” + </p> + <p> + “Then the people who do rise to greatness and power—and the + nations—don’t they go by right of conquest, Doctor Mary? Don’t + they decide cases in their own favor?” + </p> + <p> + “Did you really mean to—to take the money?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell you as near as I can. I meant to do my best for my + old man. I meant him to live as long as he could, and to live free, + unpersecuted, as happy as he could be made. I meant that, because I loved + him, and he loved me. Well, I’ve lost him; I’m alone in the + world.” The last words were no appeal to Mary; for the moment he + seemed to have forgotten her; he was speaking out of his own heart to + himself. Yet the words thereby touched her to a livelier pity; you are + very lonely when there is nobody to whom you have affection’s right + to complain of loneliness. + </p> + <p> + “But after that, if I saw him to his end in peace, if I brought that + off, well, then I rather think that I should have stuck to the money. Yes, + I rather think so.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ve managed to mix things up so!” Mary complained. + “Your devotion to Mr. Saffron—for that I could forgive you + keeping his secret, and fooling me, and all of us. But then you mix that + up with the money!” + </p> + <p> + “It was mixed up with it. I didn’t do the mixing.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do now?” she asked with a sudden + curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, now? Now the thing’s all different. You’ve seen, + you know, and even I can’t offer you a partnership in the cash, can + I? If I weren’t an infernally poor conspirator, I should have + covered up the Captain’s grave, and made everything neat and tidy + before I came to fetch you, because I knew he might go back to the Tower. + On his bad nights he always made me open the grave, and spread out the + money, make a show of it, you know. Then it had to be put back in bags—the + money bags lived in the brown leather bag—and the grave had to be + fastened down. Altogether it was a good bit of work. I’d just got it + open, and the money spread out, when he turned bad—a sort of + collapse like the one you saw; and I was so busy getting him to bed that I + forgot the cursed grave and the money—just as I forgot to put away + the knife-and-fork before you called the first time, and you saw through + me!” + </p> + <p> + “If you’re not a good conspirator, it’s another reason + for not conspiring, Mr. Beaumaroy. I know you conspired for him first of + all, but—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he’s safe, he’s at peace. It can all come out + now, and it must. You know, and you must tell the truth. I don’t + know whether they can put me in prison. I should hardly think they’d + bother, if they get the money all right. In any case I don’t care + much. Lord, what a lot of people’ll say ‘I told you so—bad + egg, that Beaumaroy!’ No, I don’t care. My old man’s + safe; I’ve won my big game after all, Doctor Mary!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe you cared about the money really!” she + cried. “That really was a game to you, I think, a trick you liked to + play on us respectables!” + </p> + <p> + He smiled at her confidentially. “I do like beating the + respectables,” he admitted. Then he looked at his watch. “I + must do what has to be done for the old man. But it’s late—hard + on one o’clock. You must be tired—and it’s a sad job.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I’ll help you. I—I’ve been in hospitals, you + know. Only do go first, and cover up that horrible place, and hide that + wretched money before I go into the Tower. Will you?” She gave a + shiver, as her imagination renewed the scene which the Tower held. + </p> + <p> + “You needn’t come into the Tower at all. He’s as light + as a feather—I’ve lifted him into bed often. I can lift him + now. If you really wish to help, will you go up to his room, and get + things ready?” As he spoke, he crossed to the sideboard, took up a + bedroom candlestick, and lighted it from one that stood on the table. + “And you’ll see about the body being taken to the mortuary, + won’t you? I shall communicate with the Radbolts—fully; they’ll + take charge of the funeral, I suppose. Well, he won’t know anything + about that now, thank God!” There was the slightest tremor in his + voice as he spoke. + </p> + <p> + Mary did not take the candle. “I’ve said some hard things to + you, Mr. Beaumaroy. I dare say I’ve sounded very self-righteous.” + He raised his hand in protest, but she went on: “So I should like to + say one different thing to you, since we’re to part after to-night. + You’ve shown yourself a good friend, good and true as a man could + have.” + </p> + <p> + “I loved my old man,” said Beaumaroy. + </p> + <p> + It was his only plea. To Mary it seemed a good one. He had loved his poor + old madman; and he had served him faithfully. “Yes, the old man + found a good friend in you; I hope you will find good friends too. Oh, I + do hope it! Because that’s what you want.” + </p> + <p> + “I should be very glad if I could think that, in spite of + everything, I had found one here in this place—even although she can + be a friend only in memory.” + </p> + <p> + Mary paused for a moment, then gave him her hand. “I know you much + better after tonight. My memory of you will be a kind one. Now to our + work!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—and thank you. I thank you more deeply than you imagine.” + </p> + <p> + He gave her the candle and followed her to the passage. + </p> + <p> + “You know where the room is. I shall put the—the place—straight, + and then bring him up. I sha’n’t be many minutes—ten, + perhaps. The cover’s rather hard to fit.” + </p> + <p> + Mary nodded from the top of the stairs. Strained by the events of the + night, and by the talk to Beaumaroy, she was again near tears; her eyes + were bright in the light of the candle, and told of nervous excitement. + Beaumaroy went back into the parlor, on his way to the Tower. Suddenly he + stopped and stood dead still, listening intently. + </p> + <p> + Mary busied herself upstairs, making her preparations with practiced skill + and readiness. Her agitation did not interfere with her work —there + her training told—but of her inner mind it had full possession. She + was afraid to be alone—there in that cottage. She longed for another + clasp of that friendly hand. Well, he would come soon; but he must bring + his burden with him. When she had finished what she had to do, she sat + down, and waited. + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy waited too, outside the door leading to the Tower. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. — THE SCEPTER IN THE GRAVE + </h2> + <p> + Sergeant Hooper took up his appointed position on the flagged path that + led up to the cottage door. His primary task was to give warning if + anybody should come out of the door; a secondary one was to give the alarm + in case of interruption by passers-by on the road—an unlikely peril + this latter, in view of the hour, the darkness of the night, and the + practiced noiselessness with which Mike might be relied upon to do his + work. Here then the Sergeant was left, after being accorded another nip + from the flask—which, however, Neddy kept in his own hands this time—and + a whispered but vigorously worded exhortation to keep up his courage. + </p> + <p> + Neddy, the Shover, and gentlemanly Mike tiptoed off to the window, on the + right hand side of the door as one approached the house from the road. The + bottom of the window was about seven feet from the ground. Neddy bent down + and offered his broad back as a platform to his companion. Mike mounted + thereon and began his work. That, in itself, was child’s play to + him; the matchboarding was but lightly nailed on; the fastenings came away + in a moment under the skillful application of his instrument; the window + sash behind was not even bolted, for the bolt had perished with time and + had not been replaced. So far, very good! But at this early point Mike + received his first surprise. He could not see much of the interior; a tall + curtain stretched across the entire breadth of the window, distant about + two feet from it; but he could see that the room was lighted up. + </p> + <p> + Very cautiously he completed his work on the matchboarding, handing down + each plank to Neddy when he had detached it. Then he cut out a pane of + glass—it was all A.B.C. to him—put his hand in and raised the + sash a little; then it was simple to push it up from below. But the sash + had not been raised for years; it stuck; when it yielded to his efforts, + it gave a loud creak. He flung one leg over the window-sill and sat poised + there, listening. The room was lighted up; but if there were anyone in it, + he must be asleep, or very hard of hearing, or that creak would have + aroused his attention. + </p> + <p> + Released from his office as a support, Neddy rose, and hauled himself up + by his arms till he could see in the window. “Lights!” he + whispered. Mike nodded and got in—on the dais, behind the curtain. + Neddy scrambled up after him, finding some help from a stunted but sturdy + old apple tree that grew against the wall. Now they were both inside, + behind the tall curtain. + </p> + <p> + “Come on,” Mike whispered. “We must see if there’s + anybody here, and, if there isn’t, put out the light.” For on + either side of the curtain there was room for a streak of light which + might by chance be seen from the road. + </p> + <p> + Mike advanced round the left-side edge of the curtain; he had perceived by + now that it formed the back of some structure, though he could not yet see + of what nature the structure was; nor was he now examining. For as he + stepped out on the dais at the side of the canopy, his eyes were engrossed + by another feature of this strange apartment. He stretched back his hand + and caught hold of Neddy’s brawny arm, pulling him forward. “See + that—that hole, Neddy?” + </p> + <p> + For the moment they forgot the lights; they forgot the possibility of an + occupant of the room—which indeed was, save for their own whispers, + absolutely still; they stood looking at the strange hole, and then into + one another’s faces, for a few seconds. Then they stole softly + nearer to it. “That’s a blasted funny ‘ole!” + breathed Neddy. “Look’s like a bloke’s—” + </p> + <p> + Mike’s fingers squeezed his arm tighter, evidently again claiming + his attention. “My hat, we needn’t look far for the stuff!” + he whispered. An uneasy whisper it was; the whole place looked queer, and + that hole was uncanny—it had its contents. + </p> + <p> + Yet they approached nearer; they came to the edge and stood looking in. As + though he could not believe the mere sight of his eyes, big Neddy crouched + down, reached out his hand, and took up Mr. Saffron’s scepter. With + a look of half-scared amazement he held it up for his companion’s + inspection. Mike eyed it uneasily, but his thoughts were getting back to + business. He stole softly off to the door, with intent to see whether it + was locked; he stooped down to examine it and perceived that it was not. + It would be well, then, to barricade it, and he turned round to look for + some heavy bit of furniture suitable for his purpose, something that would + delay the entrance of an intruder and give them notice of the + interruption. + </p> + <p> + As he turned, his body suddenly stiffened; only his trained instinct + prevented him from crying out. There was an occupant of the room—there, + in the great chair between the tall candlesticks on the dais. An old man + sat—half lay—there; asleep, it seemed; his eyes were shut. The + color of his face struck Gentleman Mike as being peculiar. But everything + in that place was peculiar; like a great tomb—a blooming mausoleum—the + whole place was. Though he had the reputation of being an <i>esprit fort</i>, + Mike felt uncomfortable. Cold and clammy too, the beastly place was! + </p> + <p> + Still—business is business. Letting the matter of the unlocked door + wait for the moment, he began to steal catlike across the floor towards + the dais. He had to investigate; also he really ought to put out those + candles; it was utterly unprofessional to leave them alight. But he could + not conquer a feeling that the place would seem still more peculiar when + they were put out. + </p> + <p> + Big Neddy’s eyes had not followed his comrade to the door; they had + been held by the queer hole and its queer contents—by the gleaming + gold that strewed its floor, by the mock symbol of majesty which he had + lifted from it and still held in his hand, by the oddly suggestive shape + and dimensions of the hole itself. But now he raised his eyes from these + things and looked across at Mike, mutely asking what he thought of + matters. He saw Mike stealing across the floor, looking very, very hard at—something. + </p> + <p> + Mute as Neddy’s inquiry was, Mike seemed somehow aware of it. He + raised his hand, as though to enjoin silence, and then pointed it in front + of him, raised to the level of his head. Neddy turned round to look in the + direction indicated. He saw the throne and its silent occupant—the + waxen-faced old man who sat there, seeming to preside over the scene, + whose head was turned towards him, whose closed eyes would open directly + on his face if their lids were lifted. + </p> + <p> + Neddy feared no living man; so he was accustomed to boast, and with good + warrant. But was that man living? How came he up there? And what had he to + do with the queer-shaped hole that had all that gold in it? And the thing + he held in his own hand? Did that belong to the old man up there? Had he + flung it into the hole? Or (odd fancies began to assail big Neddy) had he + left it behind him when he got out? And would he, by chance, come down to + look for it? + </p> + <p> + Mike’s hand, stretched out from his body towards his friend, now + again enjoined silence. He was at the foot of the dais; he was going up + its steps. He was no good in a scrap, but he had a nerve in some things! + He was up the steps now, and leaning forward; he was looking hard in the + old man’s face; his own was close to it. He laid hold of one of the + old man’s arms, it happened to be that left arm of Mr. Saffron’s, + lifted it, and let it fall again; it fell back just in the position from + which he had lifted it. Then he straightened himself up, looking a trifle + green perhaps, but reassured, and called out to Mike, in a penetrating + whisper, “He’s a stiff un all right!” + </p> + <p> + Yes! But then, what of the grave? Because it was a grave and nothing else; + there was no getting away from it. What of the grave, and what about the + scepter? + </p> + <p> + And what was Mike going to do now? He was tiptoeing to the edge of the + dais. He was moving towards one of the high candlesticks, the top of which + was a little below the level of his head, as he stood raised on the dais + beside the throne. He leant forward towards the candles; his intent was + obvious. + </p> + <p> + But big Neddy was not minded that he should carry it out, could not suffer + him to do it. With the light of the candles—well, at all events you + could see what was happening; you could see where you were, and where + anybody else was. But in the dark—left to torches which illuminated + only bits of the place, and which perhaps you mightn’t switch on in + time or turn in the right direction; if you were left like that, anybody + might be anywhere, and on to you before you knew it! + </p> + <p> + “Let them lights alone, Mike!” he whispered hoarsely. “I’ll + smash your ‘ead in if you put them lights out!” + </p> + <p> + Mike had conquered his own fit of nerves, not without some exercise of + will, and had not given any notice to his companion’s, which was + considerably more acute; perhaps the constant use of that roomy flask had + contributed to that, though lack of a liberal education (such as Mike had + enjoyed and misused) must also bear its share of responsibility. He was + amazed at this violent and threatening interruption. He gave a funny + little skip backwards on the dais; his heel came thereby in contact with + the high hassock on which Mr. Saffron’s feet rested. The hassock was + shifted; one foot fell from it on to the dais, and Mr. Saffron’s + body fell a little forward from out of the deep recess of his great chair. + To big Neddy’s perturbed imagination it looked as if Mr. Saffron had + set one foot upon the floor of the dais and was going to rise from his + seat, perhaps to come down from the dais, to come nearer to his grave—to + ask for his scepter. + </p> + <p> + It was too much for Neddy. He shuddered, he could not help it; and the + scepter dropped from his hand. It fell from his hand back into the grave + again; under its impact the gold coins in the grave again jangled. + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy had, by this time, been standing close outside the door for + about two minutes; he had lighted a cigarette from the candle on the + parlor table. The sounds that he thought he heard were not conclusive; + creaks and cracks did sometimes come from the boarded-up window and the + rafters of the roof. But the sound of the jangling gold was conclusive; it + must be due in some way to human agency; and in the circumstances human + agency must mean a thief. + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy’s mind leapt to the Sergeant. Ten to one it was the + Sergeant! He had long been after the secret; he had at last sniffed it + out, and was helping himself! It seemed to Beaumaroy a disgusting thing to + do, with the dead man sitting there. But that was sentiment. Sentiment was + not to be expected of the Sergeant, and disgusting things were. + </p> + <p> + Then he suddenly recalled Alec Naylor’s story of the two men, one + tall and slight, one short and stumpy, who had reconnoitered Tower + Cottage. The Sergeant had an accomplice, no doubt. He listened again. He + heard the scrape of metal on metal, as when a man gathers up coins in his + hand out of a heap. Yet he stood where he was, smoking still. Thoughts + were passing rapidly through his brain, and they brought a smile to his + lips. + </p> + <p> + Let them take it! Why not? It was no care to him now! Doctor Mary had to + tell the truth about it, and so, consequently, had he himself. It belonged + to the Radbolts. Oh, damn the Radbolts! He would have risked his life for + it if the old man had lived, but he wasn’t going to risk his life + for the Radbolts. Let the rascals get off with the stuff, or as much as + they could carry! He was all right. Doctor Mary could testify that he hadn’t + taken it. Let them carry off the infernal stuff! Incidentally he would be + well rid of the Sergeant, and free from any of his importunities, from + whines and threats alike; it was not an unimportant, if a minor, + consideration. + </p> + <p> + Yet it was a disgusting thing to do—it certainly was; and the + Sergeant would think that he had scored a triumph. Over his benefactor + too, his protector, Beaumaroy reflected with a satiric smile. The Sergeant + certainly deserved a fright—and, if possible, a licking. These + administered, he could be kicked out; perhaps—oh, yes, poor brute!—with + a handful of the Radbolts’ money. They would never miss it, as they + did not know how much there was, and such a diversion of their legal + property in no way troubled Beaumaroy’s conscience. + </p> + <p> + And the accomplice? He shrugged his shoulders. The Sergeant was, as he + well knew from his military experience of that worthy man, an arrant + coward. He would show no fight. If the accomplice did, Beaumaroy was quite + in the mood to oblige him. But while he tackled one fellow, the other + might get off with the money—with as much as he could carry. For all + that it was merely Radbolt money now; in the end Beaumaroy could not + stomach the idea of that—the idea that either of the dirty rogues in + there should get off with the money. And it was foolish to attack them on + the front on which they expected to be attacked. Quickly his mind formed + another plan. He turned, stole softly out of the parlor, and along the + passage towards the front door of the cottage. + </p> + <p> + After Neddy had dropped Mr. Saffron’s scepter into Captain Duggle’s + grave (had he known that it was Captain Duggle’s, and not been a + prey to the ridiculous but haunting fancy that it had been destined for, + or even—oh, these errant fancies—already occupied by, Mr. + Saffron himself, Neddy would have been less agitated) Mike dealt with him + roundly. In bitter hissing whispers, and in language suited thereto, he + pointed out the folly of vain superstitions, of childish fears and sick + imaginings which interfered with business and threatened its success. His + eloquent reasoning, combined with a lively desire to get out of the place + as soon as possible, so far wrought on Neddy that he produced the sack + which he had brought with him, and held its mouth open, though with + trembling hands, while Mike scraped up handful after handful of gold coins + and poured them into it. They were busily engaged on their joint task as + Beaumaroy stole along the passage and, reaching the front door, again + stood listening. + </p> + <p> + The Sergeant was still keeping his vigil before the door. He had no doubt + that it was locked; did not Beaumaroy see Mrs. Wiles and himself out of it + every evening—the back door to the little house led only on to the + heath behind and gave no direct access to the road—and lock it after + them with a squeaking key? He would have warning enough if anyone turned + the key now. He was looking towards the road; a surprise was more possible + from that quarter; his back was towards the door and only a very little + way from it. + </p> + <p> + But when Beaumaroy had entered with Doctor Mary, he had not re-locked the + door; he opened it now very gently and cautiously, and saw the Sergeant’s + back—there was no mistaking it. Without letting his surprise—for + he had confidently supposed the Sergeant to be in the Tower—interfere + with the instant action called for by the circumstances, he flung out his + long right arm, caught the Sergeant round the neck with a throttling grip, + and dragged him backwards into the house. The man was incapable of crying + out; no sound escaped from him which could reach the Tower. Beaumaroy set + him softly on the floor of the passage. “If you stir or speak, I’ll + strangle you!” he whispered. There was enough light from the passage + lamp to enable the Sergeant to judge, by the expression of his face, that + he spoke sincerely. The Sergeant did not dare even to rub his throat, + though it was feeling very sore and uncomfortable. + </p> + <p> + There was a row of pegs on the passage wall, just inside the door. On + them, among hats, caps, and coats—and also Mr. Saffron’s gray + shawl—hung two long neck-scarves, comforters that the keen heath + winds made very acceptable on a walk. Beaumaroy took them, and tied his + prisoner hand and foot. He had just completed this operation, in the + workmanlike fashion which he had learnt on service, when he heard a + footstep on the stairs. Looking up, he saw Doctor Mary standing there. + </p> + <p> + Her waiting in the room above had seemed long to her. Her ears had been + expecting the sound of Beaumaroy’s tread as he mounted the stairs, + laden with his burden. That sound had not come; instead, there had been + the soft, just audible, plop of the Sergeant’s body as it dropped on + the floor of the passage. It occurred to her that Beaumaroy had perhaps + had some mishap with his burden, or found difficulty with it. She was + coming downstairs to offer her help. Seeing what she saw now, she stood + still in surprise. + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy looked up at her and smiled. “No cause for alarm,” + he said, “but I’ve got to go out for a minute. Keep an eye on + this rascal, will you? Oh, and, Doctor Mary, if he tries to move or untie + himself, just take the parlor poker and hit him over the head! Thanks. You + don’t mind, de you? And you, Sergeant, remember what I said!” + </p> + <p> + With these words Beaumaroy slipped out of the door, and softly closed it + behind him. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. — A NORMAL CASE + </h2> + <p> + When Captain Alec brought his <i>fiancée</i> home after the dinner of + welcome and congratulation at Old Place, it was nearly twelve o’clock. + Jeanne, however—in these days a radiant Jeanne, very different from + the mournful creature who had accompanied Captain Cranster’s victim + to Inkston a few weeks before—was sitting up for her mistress and, + since she had to perform this duty—which was sweetened by the hope + of receiving exciting confidences, for surely that affair was “marching?”—it + had been agreed between her and the other maids that she should sit up for + the Doctor also. She told the lovers that Doctor Mary had been called for + by Mr. Beaumaroy, and had gone out with him, presumably to visit his + friend Mr. Saffron. It did not occur to either of them to ask when Mary + had set out; they contented themselves with exchanging a glance of + disapproval. What a pity that Mary should have anything more to do with + this Mr. Saffron and his Beaumaroy! + </p> + <p> + However there was a bright side to it this time. It would be kind of + Cynthia to sit up for Mary, and minister to her a cup of tea which Jeanne + should prepare; and it would be pleasant—and quite permissible—for + Captain Alec to bear her company. Mary could not be long, surely; it grew + late. + </p> + <p> + So for a while they thought no more of Mary—as was natural enough. + They had so much to talk about, the whole of a new and very wonderful life + to speculate about and to plan, the whole of their past acquaintance to + review; old doubts had to be confessed and laughed at; the inevitability + of the whole thing from the first beginnings had to be recognized, proved, + and exhibited. In this sweet discourse the minutes flew by unmarked, and + would have gone on flying, had not Jeanne reappeared of her own accord, to + remark that it really was very late now; did mademoiselle think that + possibly anything could have happened to Doctor Arkroyd? + </p> + <p> + “By Jove, it is late!” cried the Captain, looking at his + watch. “It’s past one!” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia was amazed to hear that. + </p> + <p> + “He must be very ill, that old gentleman,” Jeanne opined. + “And poor Doctor Arkroyd will be very tired. She will find the walk + across the heath very fatiguing.” + </p> + <p> + “Walk, Jeanne? Didn’t she take the car?” cried Cynthia, + surprised. + </p> + <p> + No, the Doctor had not taken the car; she had started to walk with Mr. + Beaumaroy; the parlormaid had certainly told Jeanne that. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you what,” said the Captain. “I’ll just + tool along to Tower Cottage. I’ll look out for Doctor Mary on the + road, and give her a lift back if I meet her. If I don’t, I can stop + at the cottage and get Beaumaroy to tell her that I’m there, and can + wait to bring her home as soon as she’s ready. You’d better go + to bed, Cynthia.” + </p> + <p> + Jeanne tactfully disappeared, and the lovers said good-night. After Alec’s + departure, Jeanne received the anticipated confidence. + </p> + <p> + That departure almost synchronized with two events at Tower Cottage. The + first was Beaumaroy’s exit from the front door, leaving Mary in + charge of his prisoner who, consequently, was unable to keep any watch on + the road or to warn his principals of approaching danger. The second was + big Neddy’s declaration that, in his opinion, the sack now held + about as much as he could carry. He raised it from the floor in his two + hands. “Must weight a ‘undred pound or more!” he + reckoned. That meant a lot of money, a fat lot of money. His terrors had + begun to wear off, since nothing of a supernatural or even creepy order + had actually happened. He had, at last, even agreed to the candles being + put out. Still he would be glad to be off. “Enough’s as good + as a feast, as the sayin’ goes, Mike,” he chuckled. + </p> + <p> + Mike had fitted a new battery into his torch. It shone brightly on Neddy + and on the sack, whose mouth Neddy was now tying up, “I might fill + my pockets too,” he suggested, eyeing the very respectable amount of + sovereigns which still remained in Captain Duggle’s tomb. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t do it, old lad,” Neddy advised. “If we + ‘ave to get out, or anything of that kind, you don’t want to + jingle as if you was a glass chandelier, do you?” + </p> + <p> + Mike admitted the cogency of the objection, and they agreed to be off. + Mike started for the window. “I’ll just pick up the Sergeant,” + he said, “and signal you ‘All clear.’ Then you follow + out.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Mike,” said Neddy slowly, but very decisively. “If + you don’t mind, it’s going to be me as gets out of that window + first. I ain’t a man of your eddication, and—well, blast me if + I’m going to be left in this place alone with—that there!” + He motioned with his head, back over his shoulder, towards where silent + Mr. Saffron sat. + </p> + <p> + “You’re a blooming ass, Neddy, but have it your own way. Only + let me see the coast’s clear first.” + </p> + <p> + He stole to the window and looked around. He assumed that the Sergeant was + at his post, but all the same he wanted to have a look at the road + himself. So he had, and the result was satisfactory. It was hardly to be + expected that he should scrutinize the ground immediately under the + window; at any rate he did not think of that. It was, as Beaumaroy had + conjectured, from another direction, from the parlor, that he anticipated + a possible attack. There all was quiet. He came back and reported to Neddy + that the moment was favorable. “I’ll switch off the torch, + though, just in case. You can feel your way; keep to the edge of the + steps; don’t knock up against—” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll take damned good care not to!” muttered Neddy, + with a little shiver. + </p> + <p> + He made his way to the window, through the darkness, having slung his sack + over his shoulder and holding it with his right hand, while with the left + he guided himself up the dais and along its outside edge, giving as wide a + berth as possible to the great chair and its encircling canopy. With a + sigh of relief he found the window, moved the sack from his shoulder, and + set it on the ledge for a moment. But it was awkward to get down from the + window, holding that heavy sack. He lowered it towards the ground, so that + it might land gently, and, just as he let it go, he turned his head back + and whispered to Mike, “All serene. Get a move on!” + </p> + <p> + “Half a minute!” answered Mike, as he in his turn set out to + grope his way to the window. + </p> + <p> + But he was not so cautious as his friend had been. In his progress he + kicked the tall footstool sharply with one of his feet. Neddy leant back + from the window, asking quickly, and again very nervously, “What the + devil’s that?” + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy could not resist the opportunity thus offered to him. He was + crouching on the ground, not exactly under the window, but just to the + right of it. Neddy’s face was turned away; he threw himself on to + the bag, rose to his feet, raised it cautiously, and holding it in front + of him with both his hands—its weight was fully as much as he could + manage—was round the curve of the Tower and out of sight with it in + an instant. + </p> + <p> + At the back of the house there was a space of ground where Mrs. Wiles grew + a few vegetables for the household’s use. It was a clearing made + from the heath, but it was not enclosed. Beaumaroy was able to reach the + back entrance, by which this patch of ground could be entered from the + kitchen. Just by the kitchen door stood that useful thing, a butt for + rainwater. It stood some three, or three-and-a-half, feet high; and it was + full to the brim almost. With a fresh effort Beaumaroy raised the sack to + the level of his breast. Then he lowered it into the water, not dropping + it, for fear of a splash, but immersing both his arms above the elbow. + Only when he felt the weight off them, as the sack touched bottom, did he + release his hold. Then with cautious steps he continued his progress round + the house and, coming to the other side, crouched close by the wall again + and waited. Where he was now, he could see the fence that separated the + front garden from the road, and he was not more than ten or twelve feet + from the front door on his left. As he huddled down there, he could not + repress a smile of amusement, even of self-congratulation. However, he + turned to the practical job of squeezing the water out of his sleeves. + </p> + <p> + In thus congratulating himself, he was premature. His action had been + based on a miscalculation. He had heard only Neddy’s last + exclamation, not the cautious whispers previously exchanged between him + and Mike; he thought that the man astride the window-sill himself had + kicked something and instinctively exclaimed, “What the devil’s + that?” He thought that the sack was lowered from the window in order + to be committed to the temporary guardianship of the Sergeant, who was + doubtless looking out for it and, if he had his ears open, would hear its + gentle thud. Perhaps the man in the Tower was collecting a second + instalment of booty; heavy as the sack was, it did not contain all that he + knew to be in Captain Duggle’s grave. Be that as it might, the man + would climb out of the window soon; and he would fail to find his sack. + </p> + <p> + What would he do then? He would signal or call to the Sergeant; or, if + they had a preconcerted rendezvous, he would betake himself there, + expecting to find his accomplice. He would neither get an answer from him + nor find him, of course. Equally, of course, he would look for him. But + the last place where he would expect to find him—the last place he + would search—would be where the Sergeant in fact was, the house + itself. If, in his search for Hooper, he found Beaumaroy, it would be man + to man, and, now again, Beaumaroy had no objection. + </p> + <p> + But, in fact, there were two men in the Tower—one of them big Neddy; + and the function, which Beaumaroy supposed to have been intrusted to the + Sergeant, had never been assigned to him at all; to guard the door and the + road had been his only tasks. When they found the bag gone, and the + Sergeant too, they might well think that the Sergeant had betrayed them; + that he had gone off on his own account, or that he had, at the last + moment, under an impulse of fear or a calculation of interest, changed + sides and joined the garrison in the house. If he had gone off with the + sack, he could not have gone fast or far with it. Failing to overtake him, + they might turn back to the cottage; for they knew themselves to be in + superior force. Beaumaroy was in greater danger than he knew—and so + was Doctor Mary in the house. + </p> + <p> + Big Neddy let himself down from the window, and put down his hand to lift + up the sack; he groped about for it for some seconds, during which time + Mike also climbed over the window-sill and dropped on to the ground below. + Neddy emitted a low but strenuous oath. + </p> + <p> + “The sack’s gone, Mike!” he added in a whisper. + </p> + <p> + “Gone? Rot! Can’t be! What do you mean, Neddy?” + </p> + <p> + “I dropped it straight ‘ere. It’s gone,” Neddy + persisted. “The Sergeant must ‘ave took it.” + </p> + <p> + “No business of his! Where is the fool?” Mike’s voice + was already uneasy; thieves themselves seldom believe in there being honor + among them. “You stay here. I’ll go to the door and see if he’s + there.” + </p> + <p> + He was just about to put this purpose into execution—in which event + it was quite likely that Beaumaroy, hearing his approach or his call to + the Sergeant, would have sprung out upon him, only to find himself + assailed the next instant by another and far more formidable antagonist in + the person of big Neddy, and thus in sore peril of his life—when the + hum of Captain Alec’s engine became audible in the distance. The + next moment, the lights of his car became visible to all the men in the + little front garden of the cottage. + </p> + <p> + “Hist! Wait till that’s gone by!” whispered Neddy. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and get round to the back. Get out of sight round here.” + He drew Neddy round the curve of the Tower wall till his big frame was + hidden by it; then he himself crouched down under the wall, with his head + cautiously protruded. The night had grown clearer; it was possible to see + figures at a distance of some yards now. + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy also perceived the car. Whose it was and the explanation of its + appearance even occurred to his mind. But he kept still. He did not want + visitors; he conceived his hand to be a better one than it really was, and + preferred to play it by himself. If the car passed by, well and good. Only + if it stopped at the gate would he have to take action. + </p> + <p> + It did stop at the gate. Mike saw it stop. Then its engine was shut off, + and a man got out of it, and came up to the garden gate. Though the + watching Mike had never seen him before, he had little difficulty in + guessing who he was, and he remembered something that the Sergeant had + said about him. Of a certainty it was the redoubtable Captain Naylor. + Through the darkness he loomed enormous, as tall as big Neddy himself and + no whit less broad. A powerful reinforcement for the garrison! + </p> + <p> + And what would the Sergeant do, if he were still at his post by the door—with + or without that missing, that all-important, sack? + </p> + <p> + Another tall figure came into Mike’s view—from where he could + not distinctly see; it hardly seemed to be from the door of the cottage, + for no light showed, and there was no sound of an opening door. But it + appeared from somewhere near there; it was on the path, and it moved along + to the gate in a leisurely unhurried approach. A man with his hands in his + pockets—that was what it looked like. This must be the garrison; + this must be the Sergeant’s friend, master, protector, and <i>bête + noire</i>, his “Boomery.” + </p> + <p> + But the Sergeant himself? Where was he? He could hardly be at his post; or + Beaumaroy and he must have seen one another, must have taken some heed of + one another; something must have passed between them, either friendly or + hostile. Mike turned round and whispered hastily, close into Neddy’s + ear. Neddy crawled a little forward, and put his own bullet head far + enough round the curve of the wall to see the meeting between the garrison + and its unexpected reinforcement. + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy, hands in pockets, lounged nonchalantly down to the gate. He + opened it; the Captain entered. The two shook hands and stood there, + apparently in conversation. The words did not reach the ears of the + listeners, but the sound of voices did—voices hushed in tone. Once + Beaumaroy pointed to the house; both Mike and Neddy marked the + outstretched hand. Was Beaumaroy telling his companion about something + that had been happening at the house? Were they concocting a plan of + defense—or of attack? With the disappearance, perhaps the treachery, + of the Sergeant, and the appearance of this new ally for the garrison, the + prospects of a fight took on a very different look. Neddy might tackle the + big stranger with an equal chance. How would Mike fare in an encounter + with Beaumaroy? He did not relish the idea of it. + </p> + <p> + And, while they fought, the traitor Sergeant might be on their backs! Or—on + the other hypothesis—he might be getting off with the swag! Neither + alternative was satisfactory. + </p> + <p> + “P’r’aps he’s gone off to the car with the sack—in + a fright, like, thinking we’ll guess that!” whispered Neddy. + </p> + <p> + Mike did not much think so, though he would much have liked to. But he + received the suggestion kindly. “We might as well have a look; we + can come back afterwards if—if we like. Perhaps that big brute’ll + have gone.” + </p> + <p> + “The thing as I want to do most is to wring that Sergeant’s + neck!” + </p> + <p> + Their whispers were checked by a new development. The cottage door opened + for a moment and then closed again; they could tell that, both by the + sound and by the momentary ray of light. Yet a light persisted after the + door was shut. It came from a candle, which burnt steadily in the + stillness of the night. It was carried by a woman, who came down the path + towards where Beaumaroy and the Captain stood in conversation. Both turned + towards her with eager attention. + </p> + <p> + “Now’s our time, then! They aren’t looking our way now. + We can get across the heath to where the car is.” + </p> + <p> + They moved off very softly, keeping the Tower between them and the group + on the path. They gained the back of the house, and so the open heath, and + made off to their destination. They moved so softly that they escaped + unheard—unless Beaumaroy were right in the notion that his ear + caught a little rustle of the bracken. He took no heed of it, unless a + passing smile might be reckoned as such. + </p> + <p> + Doctor Mary joined him and the Captain on the path. Beaumaroy’s + smile gave way to a look of expectant interest. He wondered what she was + going to say to Captain Alec. There was so much that she might say, or—just + conceivably—leave unsaid. + </p> + <p> + She spoke calmly and quietly. “It’s you, Captain Alec! I + thought so! Cynthia got anxious? I’m all right. I suppose Mr. + Beaumaroy has told you? Poor Mr. Saffron is dead.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve told him,” said Beaumaroy. + </p> + <p> + “Of heart disease,” Mary added. “Quite painlessly, I + think—and quite a normal case, though, of course, it’s + distressing.” + </p> + <p> + “I—I’m sorry,” stammered Captain Alec. + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy’s eyes met Mary’s in the candle’s light with a + swift glance of surprise and inquiry. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. — DEAD MAJESTY + </h2> + <p> + Mary did not appear to answer Beaumaroy’s glance; she continued to + look at, and to address herself to, Captain Alec. “I am tired, and I + should love a ride home. But I’ve still a little to do, and—I + know it’s awfully late, but would you mind waiting just a little + while? I’m afraid I might be as much as half-an-hour.” + </p> + <p> + “Right you are, Doctor Mary—as long as you like. I’ll + walk up and down, and smoke a cigar; I want one badly.” Mary made an + extremely faint motion of her hand towards the house. “Oh, thanks, + but really I—well, I shall feel more comfortable here, I think.” + </p> + <p> + Mary smiled; it was always safe to rely on Captain Alec’s fine + feelings; under the circumstances he would—she had felt pretty sure—prefer + to smoke his cigar outside the house. “I’ll be as quick as I + can. Come, Mr. Beaumaroy!” + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy followed her up the path and into the house. The Sergeant was + still on the floor of the passage; he rolled apprehensive resentful eyes + at them; Mary took no heed of him, but preceded Beaumaroy into the parlor + and shut the door. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know what your game is,” remarked Beaumaroy in + a low voice, “but you couldn’t have played mine better. I don’t + want him inside the house; but I’m mighty glad to have him extremely + visible outside it.” + </p> + <p> + “It was very quiet inside there”—she pointed to the door + of the Tower—“just before I came out. Before that, I’d + heard odd sounds. Was there somebody there—and the Sergeant in + league with him?” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” smiled Beaumaroy. “It is all quiet. I think I’ll + have a look.” + </p> + <p> + The candle on the table had burnt out. He took another from the sideboard + and lit it from the one which Mary still held. + </p> + <p> + “Like the poker?” she asked, with a flicker of a smile on her + face. + </p> + <p> + “No you come and help, if I cry out!” He could not repress a + chuckle; Doctor Mary was interesting him extremely. + </p> + <p> + Lighted by his candle, he went into the Tower. She heard him moving about + there, as she stood thoughtfully by the extinct fire, still with her + candle in her hand. + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy returned. “He’s gone—or they’ve gone.” + He exhibited to her gaze two objects—a checked pocket-handkerchief + and a tobacco pouch. “Number one found on the edge of the grave—Number + two on the floor of the dais, just behind the canopy. If the same man had + drawn them both out of the same pocket at the same time—wanting to + blow the same nose, Doctor Mary—they’d have fallen at the same + place, wouldn’t they?” + </p> + <p> + “Wonderful, Holmes!” said Mary. “And now, shall we + attend to Mr. Saffron?” + </p> + <p> + They carried out that office, the course of which they had originally + prepared. Beaumaroy passed with his burden hard by the Sergeant, and Mary + followed. In a quarter of an hour they came downstairs again, and Mary + again led the way into the parlor. She went to the window, and drew the + curtains aside a little way. The lights of the car were burning; the + Captain’s tall figure fell within their rays and was plainly + visible, strolling up and down; the ambit of the rays did not, however, + embrace the Tower window. The Captain paced and smoked, patient, content, + gone back to his own happy memories and anticipations. Mary returned to + the table and set her candle down on it. + </p> + <p> + “All right. I think we can keep him a little longer.” + </p> + <p> + “I vote we do,” said Beaumaroy. “I reckon he’s + scared the fellows away, and they won’t come back so long as they + see his lights.” + </p> + <p> + Rash at conclusions sometimes—as has been seen—Beaumaroy was + right in his opinion of the Captain’s value as a sentry, or a + scarecrow to keep away hungry birds. The confederates had stolen back to + their base of operations—to where their car lay behind the trees. + There, too, no Sergeant and no sack! Neddy reached for his roomy flask, + drank of it, and with hoarse curses consigned the entire course of events, + his accomplices, even himself, to nethermost perdition. “That place + ain’t—natural!” he ended in a gloomy conviction. “‘Oo + pinched that sack? The Sergeant? Well—maybe it was, and maybe it + wasn’t.” He finished the flask to cure a recurrence of the + shudders. + </p> + <p> + Mike prevailed with him so far that he consented—reluctantly—to + be left alone on the blasted heath, while his friend went back to + reconnoiter. Mike went, and presently returned; the car was still there, + the tall figure was still pacing up and down. + </p> + <p> + “And perhaps the other one’s gone for the police!” Mike + suggested uneasily. “Guess we’ve lost the hand, Neddy! Best be + moving, eh? It’s no go for to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Catch me trying the bloomin’ place any other night!” + grumbled Neddy. “It’s given me the ‘orrors, and no + mistake.” + </p> + <p> + Mike—Mr. Percy Bennett, that erstwhile gentlemanly stranger—recognized + one of his failures. Such things are incidental to all professions. + “Our best game is to go back; if the Sergeant’s on the square, + we’ll hear from him.” But he spoke without much hope; + rationalist as he professed himself, still he was affected by the + atmosphere of the Tower. With what difficulty do we entirely throw off + atavistic notions! They both of them had, at the bottom of their minds, + the idea that the dead man on the high seat had defeated them, and that no + luck lay in meddling with his treasure. + </p> + <p> + “I ‘ave my doubts whether that ugly Sergeant’s ‘uman + himself,” growled Neddy, as he hoisted his bulk into the car. + </p> + <p> + So they went back to whence they came; and the impression that the night’s + adventure left upon them was heightened as the days went by. For, strange + to say, though they watched all the usual channels of information, as + Ministers say; in Parliament, and also tried to open up some unusual ones, + they never heard anything again of the Sergeant, of the sack of gold, of + the yawning tomb with its golden lining, of its silent waxen-faced + enthroned guardian who had defeated them. It all—the whole bizarre + scene—vanished from their ken, as though it had been one of those + alluring, thwarting dreams which afflict men in sleep. It was an + experience to which they were shy of alluding among their confidential + friends, even of talking about between themselves. In a word—uncomfortable! + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile the Sergeant’s association with Tower Cottage had also + drawn to its close. After his search and his discovery in the Tower, + Beaumaroy came out into the passage where the prisoner lay, and proceeded + to unfasten his bonds. + </p> + <p> + “Stand up and listen to me, Sergeant,” he said. “Your + pals have run away; they can’t help you, and they wouldn’t if + they could, because, owing to you, they haven’t got away with any + plunder, and so they’ll be in a very bad temper with you. In the + road, in front of the house, is Captain Naylor—you know that officer + and his dimensions? He’s in a very temper with you too. (Here + Beaumaroy was embroidering the situation; the Sergeant was not really in + Captain Alec’s thoughts.) Finally, I’m in a very bad temper + with you myself. If I see your ugly phiz much longer, I may break out. Don’t + you think you’d better depart—by the back door—and go + home? And if you’re not out of Inkston for good and all by ten o’clock + in the morning, and if you ever show yourself there again, look out for + squalls. What you’ve got out of this business I don’t know. + You can keep it—and I’ll give you a parting present myself as + well.” + </p> + <p> + “I knows a thing or two—” the Sergeant began, but he saw + a look that he had seen only once or twice before on Beaumaroy’s + face; on each occasion it had been followed by the death of the enemy + whose act had elicited it. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, try that game, just try it!” Beaumaroy muttered. “Just + give me that excuse!” He advanced to the Sergeant, who fell suddenly + on his knees. “Don’t make a noise, you hound, or I’ll + silence you for good and all—I’d do it for twopence!” He + took hold of the Sergeant’s coat-collar, jerked him on to his legs, + and propelled him to the kitchen and through it to the back door. Opening + it, he dispatched the Sergeant through the doorway with an accurate and + vigorous kick. He fell, and lay sprawling on the ground for a second, then + gathered himself up and ran hastily over the heath, soon disappearing in + the darkness. The memory of Beaumaroy’s look was even keener than + the sensation caused by Beaumaroy’s boot. It sent him in flight back + to Inkston, thence to London, thence into the unknown, to some spot chosen + for its remoteness from Beaumaroy, from Captain Naylor, from Mike and from + Neddy. He recognized his unpopularity, thereby achieving a triumph in a + difficult little branch of wisdom. + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy returned to the parlor hastily; not so much to avoid keeping + Captain Alec waiting—it was quite a useful precaution to have that + sentry on duty a little longer—as because his curiosity and interest + had been excited by the description which Doctor Mary had given of Mr. + Saffron’s death. It was true, probably the precise truth, but it + seemed to have been volunteered in a rather remarkable way and worded with + careful purpose. Also it was the bare truth, the truth denuded of all its + attendant circumstances—which had not been normal. + </p> + <p> + When he rejoined her, Mary was sitting in the armchair by the fire; she + heard his account of the state of affairs up-to-date with a thoughtful + smile, smoking a cigarette; her smile broadened over the tale of the + water-butt. She had put on the fur cloak in which she had walked to the + cottage—the fire was out and the room cold; framed in the furs, the + outline of her face looked softer. + </p> + <p> + “So we stand more or less as we did before the burglars appeared on + the scene,” she commented. + </p> + <p> + “Except that our personal exertions have saved that money.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you would prefer that all the circumstances shouldn’t + come out? There have been irregularities.” + </p> + <p> + “I should prefer that, not so much on my own account—I don’t + know and don’t care what they could do to me—as for the old + man’s sake.” + </p> + <p> + “If I know you, I think you would rather enjoy being able to keep + your secret. You like having the laugh of people. I know that myself, Mr. + Beaumaroy.” She exchanged a smile with him. “You want a death + certificate from me,” she added. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I do,” Beaumaroy agreed. + </p> + <p> + “In the sort of terms in which I described Mr. Saffron’s death + to Captain Alec? If I gave such a certificate, there would remain nothing—well, + nothing peculiar—except the—the appearance of things in the + Tower.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes were now fixed on his face; he nodded his head with a smile of + understanding. There was something new in the tone of Doctor Mary’s + voice; not only friendliness, though that was there, but a note of + excitement, of enjoyment, as though she also were not superior to the + pleasure of having the laugh of people. “But it’s rather + straining a point to say that—and nothing more. I could do it only + if you made me feel that I could trust you absolutely.” + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy made a little grimace, and waited for her to develop her + subject. + </p> + <p> + “Your morality is different from most people’s, and from mine. + Mine is conventional.” + </p> + <p> + “Conventual!” Beaumaroy murmured. + </p> + <p> + “Yours isn’t. It’s all personal with you. You recognize + no rights in people whom you don’t like, or who you think aren’t + deserving, or haven’t earned rights. And you don’t judge your + own rights by what the law gives you, either. The right of conquest you + called it; you hold yourself free to exercise that against everybody, + except your friends, and against everybody in the interest of your friends—like + poor Mr. Saffron. I believe you’d do the same for me if I asked you + to.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m glad you believe that, Doctor Mary.” + </p> + <p> + “But I can’t deal with you on that basis. It’s even + difficult to be friends on that basis—and certainly impossible to be + partners.” + </p> + <p> + “I never suggested that we should be partners over the money,” + Beaumaroy put in quickly. + </p> + <p> + “No. But I’m suggesting now—as you did before—that + we should be partners—in a secret, in Mr. Saffron’s secret.” + She smiled again as she added, “You can manage it all, I know, if + you like. I’ve unlimited confidence in your ingenuity—quite + unlimited.” + </p> + <p> + “But none at all in my honesty?” + </p> + <p> + “You’ve got an honesty; but I don’t call it a really + honest honesty.” + </p> + <p> + “All this leads up to—the Radbolts!” declared Beaumaroy + with & gesture of disgust. + </p> + <p> + “It does. I want your word of honor—given to a friend—that + all that money—all of it—goes to the Radbolts, if it legally + belongs to them. I want that in exchange for the certificate.” + </p> + <p> + “A hard bargain! It isn’t so much that I want the money—though + I must remark that in my judgment I have a strong claim to it; I would say + a moral claim but for my deference to your views, Doctor Mary. But it isn’t + mainly that. I hate the Radbolts getting it, just as much as the old man + would have hated it.” + </p> + <p> + “I have given you my—my terms,” said Mary. + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy stood looking down at her, his hands in his pockets. His face + was twisted in a humorous disgust. Mary laughed gently. “It is + possible to—to keep the rules without being a prig, you know, though + I believe you think it isn’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Including the sack in the water-butt? My sack, the sack I rescued?” + </p> + <p> + “Including the sack in the water-butt. Yes, every single sovereign!” + Though Mary was pursuing the high moral line, there was now more mischief + than gravity in her demeanor. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’ll do it!” He evidently spoke with a great + effort. “I’ll do it! But, look here, Doctor Mary, you’ll + live to be sorry you made me do it. Oh, I don’t mean that that + conscience of yours will be sorry. That’ll approve, no doubt, being + the extremely conventionalized thing it is. But you yourself, you’ll + be sorry, or I’m much mistaken in the Radbolts.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t a question of the Radbolts,” she insisted, + laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, it is, and you’ll come to feel it so.” + Beaumaroy was equally obstinate. + </p> + <p> + Mary rose. “Then that’s settled, and we needn’t keep + Captain Alec waiting any longer.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know that I sha’n’t cheat you?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know how I know that,” Mary admitted. “But + I do know it. And I want to tell you—” + </p> + <p> + She suddenly felt embarrassed under his gaze; her cheeks flushed, but she + went on resolutely: + </p> + <p> + “To tell you how glad, how happy, I am that it all ends like this; + that the poor old man is free of his fancies and his fears, beyond both + our pity and our laughter.” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, he’s earned rest, if there is to be rest for any of us!” + </p> + <p> + “And you can rest, too. And you can laugh with us, and not at us. + Isn’t that, after all, a more human sort of laughter?” + </p> + <p> + She was smiling still as she gave him her hand, but he saw that tears + stood in her eyes. The next instant she gave a little sob. + </p> + <p> + “Doctor Mary!” he exclaimed in rueful expostulation. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, how stupid you are!” She laughed through her sob. + “It’s not unhappiness!” She pressed his hand tightly for + an instant and then walked quickly out of the house, calling back to him, + “Don’t come, please don’t come. I’d rather go to + Captain Alec by myself.” + </p> + <p> + Left alone in the cottage, now so quiet and so peaceful, Beaumaroy mused a + while as he smoked his pipe. Then he turned to his labors—his final + night of work in the Tower. There was much to do, very much to do; he + achieved his task towards morning. When day dawned, there was nothing but + water in the water-butt, and in the Tower no furnishings were visible save + three chairs—a high carved one by the fireplace, and two much + smaller on the little platform under the window. The faded old red carpet + on the floor was the only attempt at decoration. And in still one thing + more the Tower was different from what it had been, Beaumaroy contented + himself with pasting brown paper over the pane on which Mike had operated. + He did not replace the matchboarding over the window, but stowed it away + in the coal-shed. The place was horribly in need of sunshine and fresh air—and + the old gentleman was no longer alive to fear the draught! + </p> + <p> + When the undertaker came up to the cottage that afternoon, he glanced from + the parlor, through the open door, into the Tower. + </p> + <p> + “Driving past on business, sir,” he remarked to Beaumaroy, + “I’ve often wondered what the old gentleman did with that + there Tower. But it looks as if he didn’t make no use of it.” + </p> + <p> + “We sometimes stored things in it,” said Beaumaroy. “But, + as you see, there’s nothing much there now.” + </p> + <p> + But then the undertaker, worthy man, could not see through the carpet, or + through the lid of Captain Duggle’s grave. That was full—fuller + than it had been at any period of its history. In it lay the wealth, the + scepter, and the trappings of dead Majesty. For wherein did Mr. Saffron’s + dead Majesty differ from the dead Majesty of other Kings? + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. — THE CHIEF MOURNERS + </h2> + <p> + The attendance was small at Mr. Saffron’s funeral. Besides meek and + depressed Mrs. Wiles, and Beaumaroy himself, Doctor Mary found herself, + rather to her surprise, in company with old Mr. Naylor. On comparing notes + she discovered that, like herself, he had come on Beaumaroy’s urgent + invitation and, moreover, that he was engaged also to come on afterwards + to Tower Cottage, where Beaumaroy was to entertain the chief mourners at a + mid-day repast. “Glad enough to show my respect to a neighbor,” + said old Naylor. “And I always liked the old man’s looks. But + really I don’t see why I should go to lunch. However, Beaumaroy—” + </p> + <p> + Mary did not see why he should go to lunch—nor, for that matter, why + she should either, but curiosity about the chief mourners made her glad + that she was going. The chief mourners did not look, at first sight, + attractive. Mr. Radbolt was a short plump man, with a weaselly face and + cunning eyes; his wife’s eyes, of a greeny color, stared stolidly + out from her broad red face; she was taller than her mate, and her figure + contrived to be at once stout and angular. All through the service, + Beaumaroy’s gaze was set on the pair as they sat or stood in front + of him, wandering from the one to the other in an apparently fascinated + study. + </p> + <p> + At the Cottage he entertained his party in the parlor with a generous + hospitality, and treated the Radbolts with most courteous deference. The + man responded with the best manners that he had—who can do more? The + woman was much less cordial; she was curt, and treated Beaumaroy rather as + the servant than the friend of her dead cousin; there was a clear + suggestion of suspicion in her bearing towards him. After a broad stare of + astonishment on her introduction to “Dr. Arkroyd,” she took + very little notice of Mary; only to Mr. Naylor was she clumsily civil and + even rather cringing; it was clear that in him she acknowledged the + gentleman. He sat by her, and she tried to insinuate herself into a + private conversation with him, apart from the others, probing him as to + his knowledge of the dead man and his mode of living. Her questions + hovered persistently round the point of Mr. Saffron’s expenditure. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Saffron was not a friend of mine,” Naylor found it + necessary to explain. “I had few opportunities of observing his way + of life, even if I had felt any wish to do so.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose Beaumaroy knew all about his affairs,” she + suggested. + </p> + <p> + “As to that, I think you must ask Mr. Beaumaroy himself.” + </p> + <p> + “From what the lawyers say, the old man seems to have been getting + rid of his money, somehow or to somebody,” she grumbled, in a + positive whisper. + </p> + <p> + To Mr. Naylor’s intense relief, Beaumaroy interrupted this + conversation. “Well, how do you like this little place, Mrs. + Radbolt?” he asked cheerfully. “Not a bad little crib, is it? + Don’t you think so too, Dr. Arkroyd?” Throughout this + gathering Beaumaroy was very punctilious with his “Dr. Arkroyd.” + One would have thought that Mary and he were almost strangers. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I like it,” said Mary. “The Tower makes it rather + unusual and picturesque.” This was not really her sincere opinion; + she was playing up to Beaumaroy, convinced that he had opened some + conversational maneuver. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t like it at all,” answered Mrs. Radbolt. “We’ll + get rid of it as soon as we can, won’t we, Radbolt?” She + always addressed her husband as “Radbolt.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be in a hurry, don’t throw it away,” + Beaumaroy advised. “It’s not everybody’s choice, of + course, but there are quarters—yes, more than one quarter—in + which you might get a very good offer for this place.” His eye + caught Mary’s for a moment. “Indeed I wish I was in a position + to make you one myself. I should like to take it as it stands—lock, + stock and barrel. But I’ve sunk all I had in another venture—hope + it turns out a satisfactory one! So I’m not in a position to do it. + If Mrs. Radbolt wants to sell, what would you think of it, Dr. Arkroyd, as + a speculation?” + </p> + <p> + Mary shook her head, smiling, glad to be able to smile with plausible + reason. “I’m not as fond of rash speculations as you are, Mr. + Beaumaroy.” + </p> + <p> + “It may be worth more than it looks,” he pursued. “Good + neighborhood, healthy air, fruitful soil, very rich soil hereabouts.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Beaumaroy, the land about here is abominable,” Naylor + expostulated. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps generally, but some rich pockets—one may call + pockets,” corrected Beaumaroy. + </p> + <p> + “I’m not an agriculturist,” remarked weaselly Mr. + Radbolt, in his oily tones. + </p> + <p> + “And then there’s a picturesque old yarn told about it—oh, + whether it’s true or not, of course I don’t know. It’s + about a certain Captain Duggle—not the Army—the Mercantile + Marine, Mrs. Radbolt. You know the story Dr. Arkroyd? And you too, Mr. + Naylor? You’re the oldest inhabitant of Inkston present, sir. + Suppose you tell it to Mr. and Mrs. Radbolt? I’m sure it will make + them attach a new value to this really very attractive cottage—with, + as Dr. Arkroyd says, the additional feature of the Tower.” + </p> + <p> + “I know the story only as a friend of mine—Mr. Penrose—who + takes great interest in local records and traditions, told it to me. If + our host desires, I shall be happy to tell it to Mrs. Radbolt.” Mr. + Naylor accompanied his words with a courtly little bow to that lady, and + launched upon the legend of Captain Duggle. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Radbolt was a religious man. At the end of the story he observed + gravely, “The belief in diabolical personalities is not to be + lightly dismissed, Mr. Beaumaroy.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m entirely of your opinion, Mr. Radbolt.” This time + Mary felt that her smile was not so plausible. + </p> + <p> + “There seems to have been nothing in the grave,” mused Mrs. + Radbolt. + </p> + <p> + “Apparently not when Captain Duggle left it—if he was ever in + it—at all events not when he left the house, in whatever way and by + whatever agency.” + </p> + <p> + “As to the latter point, I myself incline to Penrose’s theory,” + said Mr. Naylor. “<i>Delirium tremens</i>, you know!” + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy puffed at his cigar. “Still, I’ve often thought + that, though it was empty then, it would have made—supposing it + really exists—an excellent hiding-place for anybody who wanted such + a thing. Say, for a miser, or a man who had his reasons for concealing + what he was worth! I once suggested the idea to Mr. Saffron, and he was a + good deal amused. He patted me on the shoulder and laughed heartily. He + wasn’t often so much amused as that.” + </p> + <p> + A new look came into Mrs. Radbolt’s green eyes. Up to now, distrust + of Beaumaroy had predominated. His frank bearing, his obvious candor and + simplicity, had weakened her suspicions. But his words suggested something + else; he might be a fool, not a knave; Mr. Saffron had been amused, had + laughed beyond his wont. That might have seemed the best way of putting + Beaumaroy off the scent. The green eyes were now alert, eager, immensely + acquisitive. + </p> + <p> + “The grave’s in the Tower, if it’s anywhere. Would you + like to see the Tower, Mrs. Radbolt?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I should,” she answered tartly. “Being part of our + property as it is.” + </p> + <p> + Mary exchanged a glance with Mr. Naylor, as they followed the others into + the Tower. “What an abominable woman!” her glance said. Naylor + smiled a despairing acquiescence. + </p> + <p> + The strangers—chief mourners, heirs-at-law, owners now of the place + wherein they stood—looked round the bare brick walls of the little + rotunda. Naylor examined it with interest too—the old story was a + quaint one. Mary stood at the back of the group, smiling triumphantly. How + had he disposed of—everything? She had not been wrong in her + unlimited confidence in his ingenuity. She did not falter in her faith in + his word pledged to her. + </p> + <p> + “Safe from burglars, that grave of the Captain’s, if you kept + it properly concealed!” Beaumaroy pursued in a sort of humorous + meditation. “And in these days some people like to have their money + in their own hands. Confiscatory legislation possible, isn’t it, Mr. + Naylor? You know about those things better than I do. And then the taxes—shocking, + Mr. Radbolt! By Jove, I knew a chap the other day who came in for what + sounded like a pretty little inheritance. But by the time he’d paid + all the duties and so on, most of the gilt was off the gingerbread! It’s + there—in front of the hearth—that the story says the grave is. + Doesn’t it, Mr. Naylor?” A sudden thought seemed to strike + him, “I say, Mrs. Radbolt, would you like us to have a look whether + we can find any indications of it?” His eyes traveled beyond the + lady whom he addressed. They met Mary’s. She knew their message; he + was taking her into his confidence about his experiment with the chief + mourners. + </p> + <p> + The stout angular woman had leapt to her conclusion. Much less money than + had been expected—no signs of money having been spent and here, not + the cunning knave whom she had expected, but a garrulous open fool, giving + away what was perhaps a golden secret! Mammon, the greed of + acquisitiveness, the voracious appetite for getting more, gleamed in her + green eyes. + </p> + <p> + “There? Do you say it’s—it’s supposed to be there?” + she asked eagerly, with a shake in her voice. + </p> + <p> + Her husband interposed in a suave and sanctimonious voice: “My dear, + if Mr. Beaumaroy and the other gentleman won’t mind my saying so, I’ve + been feeling that these are rather light and frivolous topics for the day, + and the occasion which brings us here. The whole thing is probably an + unfounded story, although there is a sound moral to it. Later on, just as + a matter of curiosity, if you like, my dear. But to-day, Cousin Aloysius’s + day of burial, is it quite seemly?” + </p> + <p> + The big woman looked at her smaller mate for just a moment, a scrutinizing + look. Then she said with most unexpected meekness, “I was wrong. You + always have the proper feelings, Radbolt.” + </p> + <p> + “The fault was mine, entirely mine,” Beaumaroy hastily + interposed. “I dragged in the old yarn, I led Mr. Naylor into + telling it, I told you about what I said to Mr. Saffron and how he took + it. All my fault! I acknowledge the justice of your rebuke. I apologize, + Mr. Radbolt! And I think that we’ve exhausted the interest of the + Tower.” He looked at his watch. “Er, how do you stand for + time? Shall Mrs. Wiles make us a cup of tea, or have you a train to catch?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s the woman in charge of the house, isn’t it?” + asked Mrs. Radbolt. + </p> + <p> + “Comes in for the day. She doesn’t sleep here.” He + smiled pleasantly on Mrs. Radbolt. “To tell you the truth, I don’t + think that she would consent to sleep here by herself. Silly! But—the + old story, you know!” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you sleep here?” the woman persisted, though her + husband was looking at her rather uneasily. + </p> + <p> + “Up to now I have,” said Beaumaroy. “But there’s + nothing to keep me here now, and Mr. Naylor has kindly offered to put me + up as long as I stay at Inkston.” + </p> + <p> + “Going to leave the place with nobody in it?” + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy’s manner indicated surprise. “Oh, yes! There’s + nothing to tempt thieves, is there? Just lock the door and put the key in + my pocket!” + </p> + <p> + The woman looked very surly, but flummoxed. Her husband, with his suave + oiliness, came to her rescue. “My wife is always nervous, perhaps + foolishly nervous, about fire, Mr. Beaumaroy. Well, with an old house like + this, there is always the risk.” + </p> + <p> + “Upon my soul, I hadn’t thought of it! And I’ve packed + up all my things, and your car’s come and fetched them, Mr. Naylor. + Still, of course I could—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we’ve no right, no claim, to trouble you, Mr. Beaumaroy. + Only my wife is—” + </p> + <p> + “Fire’s an obsession with me, I’m afraid,” said + the stout woman, with a rumbling giggle. The sound of her mirth was + intolerably disagreeable to Mary. + </p> + <p> + “I really think, my dear, that you’ll feel easier if I stay + myself, won’t you? You can send me what I want to-morrow, and rejoin + me when we arrange—because we shall have to settle what’s to + be done with the place.” + </p> + <p> + “As you please, Mr. Radbolt.” Beaumaroy’s tone was, for + the first time, a little curt. It hinted some slight offense—as + though he felt himself charged with carelessness, and considered Mrs. + Radbolt’s obsession mere fussiness. “No doubt, if you stay, + Mrs. Wiles will agree to stay too, and do her best to make you + comfortable.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall feel easier that way, Radbolt,” Mrs. Radbolt + admitted, with another rumble of apologetic mirth. + </p> + <p> + Beaumaroy motioned his guests back to the parlor. His manner retained its + shade of distance and offense. “Then it really only remains for me + to wish you good-bye—and all happiness in your new property. Any + information in my possession as to Mr. Saffron’s affairs I shall, of + course, be happy to give you. Is the car coming for you, Mr. Naylor?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought it would be pleasant to walk back; and I hope Doctor Mary + will come with us and have some tea. I’ll send you home afterwards, + Doctor Mary.” + </p> + <p> + Farewells were exchanged, but now without even a show of cordiality. + Naylor and Doctor Mary felt too much distaste for the chief mourners to + attain more than a cold civility. Beaumaroy did not relax into his earlier + friendliness. His apparent dislike to her husband’s plan of staying + at the Cottage roused Mrs. Radbolt’s suspicions again; was he a + rogue after all, but a very plausible, a very deep one? Only Mr. Radbolt’s + unctuousness—surely it would have smoothed the stormiest waves—saved + the social situation. + </p> + <p> + “Intelligent people, I thought,” Beaumaroy observed, as the + three friends pursued their way across the heath towards Old Place. + “Didn’t you, Mr. Naylor?” + </p> + <p> + Old Naylor grunted. With a twinkle in his eyes, Beaumaroy tried Doctor + Mary. “What was your impression of them?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” moaned Mary, with a deep and expressive note. “But + how did you know they’d be like that?” + </p> + <p> + “Letters, and the old man’s description, he had a considerable + command of language, and very violent likes and dislikes. I made a picture + of them—and it’s turned out pretty accurate.” + </p> + <p> + “And those were the nearest kith and kin your poor old man had?” + Naylor shook his head sadly. “The woman obviously cared not a straw + about anything but handling his money—and couldn’t even hide + it! A gross and horrible female, Beaumaroy!” + </p> + <p> + “Were you really hurt about their insisting on staying?” asked + Mary. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come, you’re sharper than that, Doctor Mary! Still, I + think I did it pretty well. I set the old girl thinking again, didn’t + I?” He broke into laughter, and Mary joined in heartily. Old Naylor + glanced from one to the other with an air of curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “You two people look to me—somehow—as if you’d got + a secret between you.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps we have! Mr. Naylor’s a man of honor, Doctor Mary; a + man who appreciates a situation, a man you can trust.” Beaumaroy + seemed very gay and happy now, disembarrassed of a load, and buoyant alike + in walk and in spirit. “What do you say to letting Mr. Naylor—just + him—nobody else—into our secret?” + </p> + <p> + Mary put her arms through old Mr. Naylor’s. “I don’t + mind, if you don’t. But nobody else!” + </p> + <p> + “Then you shall tell him—the entire story—at your + leisure. Meanwhile I’ll begin at the wrong end. I told you I’d + made a picture of the hated cousins, of the heirs-at-law, those sorrowing + chief mourners. Well, having made a picture of them that’s proved + true, I’ll make a prophecy about them, and I’ll bet you it + proves just as true.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” said Mary. “Listen, Mr. Naylor,” she + added with a squeeze of the old man’s arm. + </p> + <p> + “You’re like a couple of naughty children!” he said, + with an affectionate look and laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my prophecy is that they’ll swear the poor dear old man’s + estate at under five thousand.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, why shouldn’t—” old Naylor began; but he + stopped as he saw Mary’s eyes meet Beaumaroy’s in a rapture of + quick and delighted understanding. + </p> + <p> + “And then perhaps you’ll own to being sorry, Doctor Mary!” + </p> + <p> + “So that’s what you were up to, was it?” said Mary. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. — THE GOLD AND THE TREASURE + </h2> + <p> + Old Mr. Naylor called on Mary two or three days later—at an hour + when, as he well knew, Cynthia was at his own house—in order to hear + the story. There were parts of it which she could not describe fully for + lack of knowledge—the enterprise of Mike and Big Neddy, for example; + but all that she knew she told frankly, and did not scruple to invoke her + imagination to paint Beaumaroy’s position, with its difficulties, + demands, obligations—and temptations. He heard her with close + attention, evidently amused, and watching her animated face with a keen + and watchful pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “Surprising!” he said at the end, rubbing his hands together. + “That’s to say, not in itself particularly surprising. Just a + queer little happening; one would think nothing of it if one read it in + the newspaper! Things are always so much more surprising when they happen + down one’s own street, or within a few minutes’ walk of one’s + garden wall—and when one actually knows the people involved in them. + Still I was always inclined to agree with Dr. Irechester that there was + something out of the common about old Saffron and our friend Beaumaroy.” + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Irechester never found out what it was, though!” + exclaimed Mary triumphantly. + </p> + <p> + “No, he didn’t; for reasons pretty clearly indicated in your + narrative.” He sat back in his chair, his elbows on the arms and his + hands clasped before him. “If I may say so, the really curious thing + is to find you in the thick of it, Doctor Mary.” + </p> + <p> + “That wasn’t my fault. I couldn’t refuse to attend Mr. + Saffron. Dr. Irechester himself said so.” + </p> + <p> + He paid no heed to her protest. “In the thick of it—and + enjoying it so tremendously!” + </p> + <p> + Mary looked thoughtful. “I didn’t at first. I was angry, + indignant, suspicious. I thought I was being made a fool of.” + </p> + <p> + “So you were—a fool and a tool, my dear!” + </p> + <p> + “But that night—because it all really happened in just one + night—the chief mourners, as Mr. Beaumaroy always calls them, were + more than—” + </p> + <p> + “Just a rather amusing epilogue—yes, that’s all.” + </p> + <p> + “That night, it did get hold of me.” She laughed a little + nervously, a little uneasily. + </p> + <p> + “And now you tell it to me—I must say that your telling made + it twice the story that it really is—now you tell it as if it were + the greatest thing that ever happened to you!” + </p> + <p> + For a moment Mary fenced. “Well, nothing interesting ever has + happened in my humdrum life before.” But old Naylor pursed up his + lips in contempt of her fencing. “It did seem to me a great—a + great experience. Not the burglars and all that—though some of the + things, like the water-butt, did amuse me very much—but our being + apart from all the world, there by ourselves, against the whole world in a + way, Mr. Naylor.” + </p> + <p> + “The law on one side, the robbers on the other, and you two alone + together!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you understand. That was the way I felt it. But we weren’t + together, not in every way. I mean, we were fighting between ourselves + too, right up to the very end.” She gave another low laugh. “I + suppose we’re fighting still; he means to face me with some Radbolt + villainy, and make me sorry for what he calls my legalism—with an + epithet!” + </p> + <p> + “That’s his idea, and my own too, I confess. Those chief + mourners will find the money—and some other things that’ll + make ‘em stare. But they’ll lie low; they’ll sit on the + cash till the time comes when it’s safe to dispose of it; and they’ll + bilk the Inland Revenue out of the duties. The remarkable thing is that + Beaumaroy seems to want them to do it.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s to make me sorry; that’s to prove me wrong, Mr. + Naylor.” + </p> + <p> + “It may make you sorry, it makes me sorry, for that matter; but it + doesn’t prove you wrong. You were right. My boy Alec would have + taken the same line as you did. Now you needn’t laugh at me, Mary. I + own up at once; that’s my highest praise.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it is; and it implies a contrast?” + </p> + <p> + Old Naylor unclasped his hands and spread them in a deprecatory gesture. + “It must do that,” he acknowledged. + </p> + <p> + Mary gave a rebellious little toss of her head. “I don’t care + if it does, Mr. Naylor! Mr. Beaumaroy is my friend now.” + </p> + <p> + “And mine. Moreover I have such confidence in his honor and fidelity + that I have offered him a rather important and confidential position in my + business—to represent us at one of the foreign ports where we have + considerable interests.” He smiled. “It’s the sort of + place where he will perhaps find himself less trammelled by—er—legalism, + and with more opportunities for his undoubted gift of initiative.” + </p> + <p> + “Will he accept your offer? Will he go?” she asked rather + excitedly. + </p> + <p> + “Without doubt, I think. It’s really quite a good offer. And + what prospects has he now, or here?” + </p> + <p> + Mary stretched her hands towards the fire and gazed into it in silence. + </p> + <p> + “I think you’ll have an offer soon too, and a good one, Doctor + Mary. Irechester was over at our place yesterday. He’s still of + opinion that there was something queer at Tower Cottage. Indeed he thinks + that Mr. Saffron was queer himself, in his head, and that a clever doctor + would have found it out.” + </p> + <p> + “That he himself would, if he’d gone on attending—” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely. But he’s not surprised that you didn’t; you + lacked the experience. Still he thinks none the worse of you for that, and + he told me that he has made up his mind to offer you partnership. + Irechester’s a bit stiff, but a very straight fellow. You could rely + on being fairly treated, and it’s a good practice. Besides he’s + well off, and quite likely to retire as soon as he sees you fairly in the + saddle.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a great compliment.” Here Mary’s voice + sounded quite straightforward and sincere. An odd little note of contempt + crept into it as she added, “And it sounds—ideal!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it does,” old Naylor agreed, with a private smile all to + himself, whilst Mary still gazed into the fire. “Quite ideal. You’re + a lucky young woman, Mary.” He rose to take his leave. “So, + with our young folk happily married, and you installed, and friend + Beaumaroy suited to his liking—why, upon my word, we may ring the + curtain down on a happy ending—of Act I, at all events!” + </p> + <p> + She seemed to pay no heed to his words. He stood for a moment, admiring + her; not as a beauty, but a healthy comely young woman, stout-hearted, and + with humanity and a sense of fun in her. And, as he looked, his true + feeling about the situation suddenly burst through all restraint and leapt + from his lips. “Though, for my part, under the circumstances, if I + were you, I’d see old Irechester damned before I accepted the + partnership!” + </p> + <p> + She turned to him—startled, yet suddenly smiling. He took her hand + and raised it to his lips. + </p> + <p> + “Hush! Not another word! Good-bye, my dear Mary!” + </p> + <p> + The next day, as Mary, her morning round finished, sat at lunch with + Cynthia, listening, or not listening, to her friend’s excusably, + eager chatter about her approaching wedding, a note was delivered into her + hands: + </p> + <p> + The C.M.‘s are in a hurry! She’s back! The window is boarded + up again! Come and see! About 4 o’clock this afternoon. B. + </p> + <p> + Mary kept the appointment. She found Beaumaroy strolling up and down on + the road in front of the cottage. The Tower window was boarded up again, + but with new strong planks, in a much more solid and workmanlike fashion. + If he were to try again, Mike would not find it so easy to negotiate, + without making a dangerous noise over the job. + </p> + <p> + “Such impatience—such undisguised rapacity—is indecent + and revolting,” Beaumaroy remarked. He seemed to be in the highest + spirits. “I wonder if they’ve opened it yet!” + </p> + <p> + “They’ll see you prowling about outside, won’t they?” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so. Indeed I’ve no doubt of it. Mrs. Greeneyes is + probably peering through the parlor window at this minute, and cursing me. + I like it! To those people I represent law and order. If they can rise to + the conception of such a thing at all, I probably embody conscience. When + you come to think of it, it’s a pleasant turn of events that I + should come to represent law and order and conscience to anybody, even to + the Radbolts.” + </p> + <p> + “It is rather a change,” she agreed. “But let’s + walk on. I don’t really much want to think of them.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s because you feel that you’re losing the bet. I + can’t stop them getting the money in the end, that’s your + doing! I can’t stop them cheating the Revenue, which is what they + certainly mean to do, without exposing myself to more inconvenience than I + am disposed to undergo in the cause of the Revenue. Whereas if I had left + the bag in the water-butt—all your doing! Aren’t you a little + sorry?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course there is an aspect of the case—” she admitted + smiling. + </p> + <p> + “That’s enough for me! You’ve lost the bet. Let’s + see—what were the stakes, Mary?” + </p> + <p> + “Come, let’s walk on.” She put her arm through his. + “What about this berth that Mr. Naylor’s offering you? At + Bogota, isn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + He looked puzzled for a moment; then his mind worked quickly back to + Cynthia’s almost forgotten tragedy. He laughed in enjoyment of her + thrust. “My place isn’t Bogota—though I fancy that it’s + rather in the same moral latitude. You’re confusing me with Captain + Cranster!” + </p> + <p> + “So I was—for a moment,” said Doctor Mary demurely. + “But what about the appointment, anyhow?” + </p> + <p> + “What about your partnership with Dr. Irechester, if you come to + that?” + </p> + <p> + Mary pressed his arm gently, and they walked on in silence for a little + while. They were clear of the neighborhood of Tower Cottage now, but still + a considerable distance from Old Place; very much alone together on the + heath, as they had seemed to be that night—that night of nights—at + the cottage. + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t so much as received the offer yet; only Mr. Naylor + has mentioned it to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Still, you’d like to be ready with your answer when the offer + is made, wouldn’t you?” He drew suddenly away from her, and + stood still on the road, opposite to her. His face lost its playfulness; + as it set into gravity, the lines upon it deepened, and his eyes looked + rather sad. “This is wrong of me, perhaps, but I can’t help + it. I’m not going to talk to you about myself. Confessions and + apologies and excuses, and so on, aren’t in my line. I should + probably tell lies if I attempted anything of the sort. You must take me + or leave me on your own judgment, on your own feelings about me, as you’ve + seen and known me—not long, but pretty intimately, Mary.” He + suddenly reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out the combination + knife-and-fork. “That’s all I’ve brought away of his + from Tower Cottage. And I brought it away as much for your sake as for + his. It was during our encounter over this instrument that I first thought + of you as a woman, Mary. And, by Jove, I believe you knew it!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I believe I did,” she answered, her eyes set very + steadily on his. + </p> + <p> + He slipped the thing back into his pocket. “And now I love you, and + I want you, Mary.” + </p> + <p> + She fell into a sudden agitation. “Oh, but this doesn’t seem + for me! I’d put all that behind me! I—” She could + scarcely find words. “I, I’m just Doctor Mary!” + </p> + <p> + “Lots of people to practice on—bodies and souls too, in the + moral latitude I’m going to!” + </p> + <p> + Her body seemed to shiver a little, as though before a plunge into deep + water. “I’m very safe here,” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you’re safe here,” he acknowledged gravely, and + stood silent, waiting for her choice. + </p> + <p> + “What a decision to have to make!” she cried suddenly. “It’s + all my life in a moment! Because I don’t want you to go away from + me!” She drew near to him, and put her hands on his shoulders. + “I’m not a child, like Cynthia. I can’t dream dreams and + make idols any more. I think I see you as you are, and I don’t know + whether your love is a good thing.” She paused, searching his eyes + with hers very earnestly. Then she went on, “But if it isn’t, + I think there’s no good thing left for me at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Mary, isn’t that your answer to me?” “Yes.” + Her arms fell from his shoulders, and she stood opposite to him, in + silence again for a moment. Then her troubled face cleared to a calm + serenity. “And now I set doubts and fears behind me. I come to you + in faith, and loyalty, and love. I’m not a missionary to you, or a + reformer, God forbid! I’m just the woman who loves you, Hector.” + </p> + <p> + “I should have mocked at the missionary, and tricked the reformer.” + He bared his head before her. “But by the woman who loves me and + whom I love, I will deal faithfully.” He bent and kissed her + forehead. + </p> + <p> + “And now, let’s walk on. No, not to old Place—back home, + past Tower Cottage.” + </p> + <p> + She put her arm through his again, and they set out through the soft dusk + that had begun to hover about them. So they came to the cottage, and here, + for a while, instinctively stayed their steps. A light shone in the parlor + window; the Tower was dark and still. Mary turned her face to Beaumaroy’s + with a sudden smile of scornful gladness. + </p> + <p> + “Aye, aye, you’re right!” His smile answered hers. + “Poor devils! I’m sorry; for them, upon my soul I am!” + </p> + <p> + “That really is just like you!” she exclaimed in mirthful + exasperation. “Sorry for the Radbolts now, are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, after all, they’ve only got the gold. We’ve got + the treasure, Mary!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE END. + </h2> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10057 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |