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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..77ecb69 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #60525 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60525) diff --git a/old/60525-0.txt b/old/60525-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b32384e..0000000 --- a/old/60525-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8258 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Dinner Club, by H. C. (Sapper) McNeile - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Dinner Club - -Author: H. C. (Sapper) McNeile - -Release Date: October 19, 2019 [EBook #60525] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DINNER CLUB *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines, Cindy Beyer & the online Distributed -Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net - - - - - - - - - - - - [Cover Illustration] - - - - - ──────────────────────────────────── - BOOKS BY “SAPPER” - (H. C. McNeile) - ──────────────────────────────────── - THE DINNER CLUB - THE BLACK GANG - BULL-DOG DRUMMOND - THE MAN IN RATCATCHER - MUFTI - THE HUMAN TOUCH - NO MAN’S LAND - MEN, WOMEN, AND GUNS - SERGEANT MICHAEL CASSIDY - THE LIEUTENANT AND OTHERS - ──────────────────────────────────── - HODDER & STOUGHTON, LTD. - PUBLISHERS LONDON - ──────────────────────────────────── - - - - - THE - D I N N E R C L U B - - - STORIES BY - “SAPPER” - (H. C. McNEILE) - - - H O D D E R A N D S T O U G H T O N L T D . - -TORONTO LONDON NEW YORK - - - - - _Made and Printed in Great Britain._ - _Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury._ - - - - - - Contents - - - FOREWORD - CHAPTER - I. THE ACTOR’S STORY, BEING THE PATCH ON - THE QUILT - - II. THE BARRISTER’S STORY, BEING THE - DECISION OF SIR EDWARD SHOREHAM - - III. THE DOCTOR’S STORY, BEING SENTENCE OF - DEATH - - IV. THE ORDINARY MAN’S STORY, BEING THE - PIPES OF DEATH - - V. THE SOLDIER’S STORY, BEING A BIT OF - ORANGE PEEL - - VI. THE WRITER’S STORY, BEING THE HOUSE AT - APPLEDORE - - VII. THE OLD DINING-ROOM - - VIII. WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK - - IX. JEMMY LETHBRIDGE’S TEMPTATION - - X. LADY CYNTHIA AND THE HERMIT - - XI. A GLASS OF WHISKY - - XII. THE MAN WHO COULD NOT GET DRUNK - - - - - - Foreword - - -ON a certain day in the year of grace 1920, there came into being a -special and very select club. There was no entrance fee and no -subscription, in which respect it differed from all other clubs. Its -membership was limited to six: the _Actor_, the _Barrister_, the -_Doctor_, the _Ordinary Man_, the _Soldier_, and the _Writer_. And since -each in his own particular trade had achieved what the world calls fame, -except the Ordinary Man, who was only ordinary, it was decided that for -purposes of convenience they should be entered in the list of members -alphabetically according to their trade, and further that they should -carry out the only rule of the club in the order of that entry. And the -only rule of the club was, that on certain nights, to be mutually agreed -on, the member whose turn it was should give to the remaining members an -exceedingly good dinner, after which he should tell them a story -connected with his own trade, that should be of sufficient interest to -keep them awake. - -And the only penalty of the club was that if the story was not of -sufficient interest to keep the audience awake, the offending member -should pay a sum of ten pounds to a deserving charity. - -No rule was deemed necessary as to the quality of the dinner: the -members had elected themselves with discretion. - - - - - - -_I_ _The Actor’s Story, being The Patch on the Quilt_ - - - -“THE trouble in my game,” he began, “is that the greatest plays can -never be staged. There would be no money in them. The public demand a -plot—a climax: after that the puppets cease strutting, the curtain -rings down. But in life—in real life—there’s no plot. It’s just a -series of anti-climaxes strung together like a patchwork quilt, until -there comes the greatest anti-climax of all and the quilt is finished.” - -He passed his hand through his fast-greying hair, and stared for a -moment or two at the fire. The Soldier was filling his pipe; the Writer, -his legs stretched in front of him, had his hands thrust deep in his -trouser pockets. - -“It’s one of the patches in one of the quilts that my story is about,” -continued the actor thoughtfully. “Just an episode in the life of a -woman—or shall I say, just the life of a woman in an episode? - -“You remember that play of mine—‘John Pendlesham’s Wife’?” He turned to -the Barrister, who nodded. - -“Very well,” he answered. “Molly Travers was your leading lady.” - -“I was out of England,” said the Soldier. “Never saw it.” - -“It’s immaterial.” The Actor lit a cigarette. “The play itself has -nothing to do with my story, except indirectly. But as you didn’t see -it, I will just explain this much. I, of course, was John -Pendlesham—Molly was my wife, and the third act constituted what, in my -opinion, was the finest piece of emotional acting which that consummate -actress has ever done in her career.” - -The Writer nodded. “I agree. She was superb.” - -“Night after night the fall of the curtain found her nearly fainting; -night after night there was that breathless moment of utter silence -followed by a perfect crash of applause. I am mentioning these old facts -because her marvellous performance does concern my story directly—even -though the play does not. - -“We had been running about a month, I suppose, when my story begins. I -had just come off after the third act, and was going to my -dressing-room. For some reason, instead of going by the direct door -which led into it from the stage, I went outside into the passage. There -were some hands moving furniture or something. . . . - -“I think you’ve all of you been behind at my theatre. First you come to -the swing doors out of the street, inside which the watch dog sits -demanding callers’ business. Then there is another door, and beyond that -there are three steps down to my room. And it was just as I was opening -my door on that night that I happened to look round. - -“Standing at the top of the three stairs was a woman who was staring at -me. I only saw her for a moment: then the watch dog intervened, and I -went into my room. But I _had_ seen her for a moment: I had seen her for -long enough to get the look in her eyes. - -“We get all sorts and conditions of people behind, as you’d -expect—stage-struck girls, actors out of a shop, autograph hunters, -beggars. And the watch dog knew my invariable rule: only personal -friends and people who had made an appointment by letter were allowed -inside the second door. But a rule cannot legislate for every case. - -“Gad! you fellows, it’s many years now since that night, but I can still -feel, as clearly as if it were yesterday, the message in that girl’s -eyes. There had been hope and fear and pitiful entreaty: the look of one -who had staked everything on a last desperate throw: the look of a -mother who is fighting for her child. It was amazing: I couldn’t -understand it. As I stood just inside my door I couldn’t have told you -whether she was old or young, plain or pretty. And yet in that one -fleeting second this vivid, jumbled message had reached me.” The Actor -pressed out his cigarette, and there was silence while he lit another -one. - -“For a moment I hesitated,” he continued after a while; “then I rang the -bell for the watch dog. - -“‘Who is that lady I saw outside there?’ I asked, as he came in. - -“‘Won’t give no name, sir,’ he answered. ‘Wants to see you, but I told -her the rules.’ - -“Once again I hesitated; probably I’d exaggerated—put a totally false -construction on her expression, probably she was looking for a job like -the rest of them. And then I knew that I’d got to see that woman, and -that I should have no peace of mind until I’d heard what she had to say. -The watch dog was regarding me curiously; plainly he could see no reason -whatever for my hesitation. He was a matter-of-fact fellow, was the -guardian of the door. - -“‘Show her in, I’ll see her now.’ I had my back to him, but I could feel -his virtuous indignation. After all, rules are rules. - -“‘Now, sir?’ he echoed. - -“‘Now; at once.’ - -“He went out, and I heard him go up the steps. - -“‘Mr. Trayne will see you. Come this way.’ - -“And then the door opened again, and I turned to face the woman. She was -young—quite young, dressed in a kind of cheap suburban frock. Her shoes -had been good ones—once, now—well, however skilfully a patch is put on -it is still a patch. Her gloves showed traces of much needle and cotton; -the little bag she carried was rubbed and frayed. And over the cheap -suburban frock she had on a coat which was worn and threadbare. - -“‘It was good of you to see me, Mr. Trayne.’ - -“She was nervous and her voice shook a little, but she faced me quite -steadily. - -“‘It’s a very unusual thing for me to do,’ I said. ‘But I saw you at the -top of the stairs, and . . .’ - -“‘I know it’s unusual,’ she interrupted. ‘The man outside there told me -your rule. But believe me’—she was talking with more assurance now—‘my -reason for coming to see you is very unusual also.’ - -“I pulled up a chair for her. ‘What is your reason?’ I asked. - -“She took a deep breath and began fumbling with her handkerchief. - -“‘I know you will think me mad,’ she began, ‘but I don’t want to tell -you my reason now. I want to wait until after the play is over, and I -know you go on at once in the fourth act.’ - -“‘You’ve seen the play, then?’ I remarked. - -“‘I’ve seen the play,’ was her somewhat astonishing answer, ‘every night -since the first.’ - -“‘Every night!’ I stared at her in surprise. ‘But . . .’ - -“I must have glanced at her clothes or something and she saw what was in -my mind. - -“‘I suppose you think that I hardly look as if I could afford such -luxuries,’ she smiled faintly. ‘I’ve only seen it from the gallery and -pit, you know. And even that has meant that I’ve had to go without -lunch. But—you see—it was necessary for me to see it: I had to. It was -part of my plan—a necessary part.’ - -“‘I don’t want to seem dense,’ I said gently, ‘but I’m afraid I don’t -quite follow. How can seeing my play thirty odd times be a necessary -part of your plan?’ - -“‘That’s what I don’t want to tell you now,’ she repeated, and once more -her hands began twisting nervously. ‘I want to wait till afterwards, -when perhaps you’ll—of your kindness—do as I ask you. Oh! Mr. -Trayne—for God’s sake, don’t fail me!’ She leant forward beseechingly -in her chair. - -“‘My dear child,’ I answered quietly—I don’t think she can have been -much more than twenty, ‘you haven’t told me yet what you want me to do.’ - -“‘I want you to come to a house in Kensington with me,’ she said -steadily.” - -Once again the Actor paused, and stared at the fire. Then he gave a -short laugh. - -“When she said that, I looked at her pretty sharply. Without appearing -conceited or anything of that sort, one has occasionally in the course -of one’s career, received certain flattering attentions from charming -women—attentions which—er—one is tempted to conceal from one’s wife.” - -“Precisely,” murmured the Ordinary Man. “Precisely.” - -“And for a moment, I must confess that the thought passed through my -mind that this was one of those occasions. And it wasn’t until the -colour rose to her face and stained it scarlet, that I realised that not -only had I made a mistake, but that I had been foolish enough to let her -see that I had. - -“‘My God!’ she whispered, ‘you don’t think—you couldn’t think—that I -meant . . .’ - -“She rose and almost cowered away from me. ‘Why, I’m married.’ - -“I refrained from remarking that the fact was hardly such a conclusive -proof of the absurdity of my unspoken thought as she seemed to imagine. -I merely bowed, and said a little formally: ‘Please don’t jump to -conclusions. May I ask why you wish me to come to a house in Kensington -with you?’ - -“The colour ebbed away from her cheeks, and she sat down again. - -“‘That’s the very thing I don’t want to tell you, until you come,’ she -answered very low. ‘I know it sounds absurd—it must do, it seems as if -I were being unnecessarily mysterious. But I can’t tell you, Mr. Trayne, -I can’t tell you . . . Not yet. . . .’ - -“And then the call boy knocked, and I had to go on for the last act. In -a way I suppose it was absurd of me—but life is made up of impulses. I -confess that the whole thing intrigued me. When a woman comes and tells -you that she has seen your play every night since it started; that she’s -had to go without her lunch to do so; that it was a necessary part of -some wonderful plan, and that she wants you to go to a house in -Kensington, the least curious man would be attracted. And from my -earliest infancy I’ve always been engrossed in other people’s business. - -“‘All right,’ I said briefly. ‘I’ll come with you.’ - -“And then I had to put out my hand to steady her, I thought she was -going to faint. Reaction, I thought at the time; later, it struck me -that the reason was much more prosaic—lack of food. - -“I stopped for a moment till she seemed herself again; then I told her -to wait outside. - -“‘I shall be about half an hour,’ I said, ‘and then we’ll take a taxi, -and go down to Kensington. Tell them to give you a chair. . . .’ - -“And my last impression as I went on to the stage was of a white-faced -girl clutching the table, staring at me with great brown eyes that held -in them a dawning triumph. - -“I think,” went on the Actor thoughtfully, “that that is where the -tragedy of it all really lay. Afterwards she told me that the part of -her plan which had seemed most difficult to her was getting my consent -to go with her to Kensington. Once that was done, she knew all would be -well, she was absolutely and supremely confident. And when I went on to -the stage for the fourth act, she felt that success had crowned her -efforts, that what was to come after was nothing compared to that which -she had already done. The inaccessible stronghold had been stormed, the -ogre had proved to be a lamb. - -“Well, we went to Kensington. I sent my own car home, and we took a -taxi. During the drive she was very silent, and I didn’t try to make her -talk. Evidently no inkling of the mysterious plan was to be revealed -until we arrived at the address she had given the driver. It was some -obscure street that I had never heard of and the name of which I have -completely forgotten. I know it was somewhere not far from Barker’s. - -“The door was opened by a repulsive-looking woman who peered at me -suspiciously. And then the girl took her on one side and whispered -something in her ear. Apparently it had the desired effect, as the -Gorgon retired grumbling to an odoriferous basement, leaving us alone in -the hall. - -“When she had shut the door the girl turned to me. - -“‘Will you come upstairs, Mr. Trayne. I want you to meet my husband.’ - -“I bowed. ‘Certainly,’ I said, and she led the way. - -“‘So the husband was in the plan,’ I reflected as I followed her. Was he -a genius with a play that he proposed to read to me? I had suffered from -the plays of genius before. Or was he some actor down on his luck? If -so, why all the mystery? And then, when I’d made up my mind that it was -a mere begging case, we arrived at the room. Just before she turned the -handle of the door she again looked at me. - -“‘My husband is ill, Mr. Trayne. You’ll excuse his being in bed.’ - -“Then we went in. Good Lord! you fellows,” the Actor leant forward in -his chair. “I’ve been pretty hard up in the old days, but as I stood -inside that door I realised for the first time what poverty—real -poverty—meant. Mark you, the girl was a lady; the weak, -cadaverous-looking fellow propped up in bed with a tattered shawl round -his shoulders was a gentleman. And beyond the bed, and one chair, and a -rackety old chest-of-drawers there wasn’t a stick of furniture in the -room. There was a curtain in the corner with what looked like a -washstand behind it, and a shelf by the bed with two cups and some -plates on it. And nothing else except an appalling oleograph of Queen -Victoria on the wall. - -“‘This is Mr. Trayne, dear.’ She was bending over her husband, and after -a moment he looked up at me. - -“‘It was good of you to come, sir,’ he said. ‘Very good.’ And then he -turned to his wife and I heard him say: ‘Have you told him yet, Kitty?’ - -“She shook her head. ‘Not yet, darling, I will now.’ She left his side -and came over to me. - -“‘Mr. Trayne, I know you thought me very peculiar at the theatre. But I -was afraid that if I told you what I really wanted you’d have refused to -come. You get hundreds and hundreds of people coming to see you who -think they can act. Asking you to help them get a job and that sort of -thing. Well, I was afraid that if I told you that that was what I -wanted, you’d have told me to go away. Perhaps you’d have given me a -straw of comfort—taken my address—said you’d let me know if anything -turned up. But nothing would have turned up. . . . And, you see, I was -rather desperate.’ - -“The big brown eyes were fixed on me pleadingly, and somehow I didn’t -feel quite as annoyed as I should have done at what was nothing more nor -less than a blatant trick to appeal to my sympathy. - -“‘Perhaps nothing would have turned up,’ I said gently, ‘but you must -remember that to-day the stage is a hopelessly overstocked profession. -There are hundreds of trained actors and actresses unable to obtain a -job.’ - -“‘I know that,’ she cried eagerly, ‘and that’s why I—why I thought out -this plan. I thought that if I could _really_ convince you that I could -act above the average . . .’ - -“‘And she can, Mr. Trayne,’ broke in her husband. ‘She’s good, I know -it.’ - -“‘We must leave Mr. Trayne to be the judge of that, Harry,’ she smiled. -‘You see,’ she went on to me, ‘what I felt was that there is an opening -for real talent. There is, isn’t there?’ - -“‘Yes,’ I agreed slowly. ‘There is an opening for _real_ talent. But -even that is a small one. . . . Have you ever acted before?’ - -“‘A little. In amateur theatricals!’ - -“I turned away. Amateur theatricals! More heart-burning and -disappointment has been caused by those abominable entertainments than -their misguided originators will ever realise. - -“‘But don’t think I’m relying on that.’ The girl was speaking again, and -I almost laughed. ‘I want you to judge me to-night.’ - -“I swung round and looked at her. So this was the mysterious plan: I was -to witness an impromptu performance, which was to convince me that the -second Sarah Bernhardt had been discovered. - -“‘I couldn’t have shown you, you see, in your dressing-room. I shouldn’t -have had time. That’s why I asked you to come here.’ - -“‘You have the courage of your convictions anyway,’ I said quietly. ‘I -am perfectly ready to be convinced.’ - -“‘Then will you sit there.’ She took off her hat and coat as I sat down -on the only available chair, and from underneath his pillow the man -produced a paper-covered book. - -“‘You’ll forgive me if I read my lines, Mr. Trayne,’ he said. ‘I find I -can’t learn them—I can’t concentrate.’ He passed a thin, emaciated hand -over his forehead. ‘And it’s her you want to see.’ - -“He turned over the pages weakly; then he began to read. And I—I sat up -as if I’d been stung. At last everything was clear: the continual visits -to the theatre—everything. The part of all others which they had -selected to prove her ability, was the love-scene between Molly Travers -and myself in the third act of ‘John Pendlesham’s Wife. . . .’” - -For a while there was silence, while the Actor thoughtfully lit another -cigarette. - -“This unknown child,” he went on after a moment, “who had acted a little -in amateur theatricals, had deliberately challenged London’s greatest -emotional actress in her most marvellous success before, Heaven help us, -_me_—of all people. I suppose if I was writing a story I should say -that she triumphed; that as I sat in that bare and hideous room I -realised that before me was genius—a second and greater Molly; that -from that moment her foot was set on the ladder of fame, and there was -no looking back.” - -The Actor laughed a little sadly. “Unfortunately, I’m not writing a -story, I’m telling the truth. I don’t know how I sat through the next -twenty minutes. It was the most ghastly caricature of Molly that I have -ever thought of; the more ghastly because it was so intensely -unintentional. Every little gesture was faithfully copied; every little -trick and mannerism had been carefully learnt by heart. And this, as I -say, to me who acted with that divine genius every night. God! it was -awful. That marvellous line of Molly’s, when, standing in the centre of -the stage facing me across the table, she said: ‘Then you don’t want me -back?’ that line which was made marvellous merely through the consummate -restraint with which she said it, sounded from this poor child like a -parlour-maid giving notice. - -“And then, at last it was over, and I realised I had to say something. -They were both staring at me, hope shining clear in the girl’s eyes and -pride in the man’s. - -“‘She’s great, isn’t she, Mr. Trayne?’ he said. ‘I’ve not had the -privilege of seeing you and Miss Travers in the part—but I feel that -now—why,’ he gave a little shaky laugh, ‘that it’s hardly necessary.’ - -“You see,” said the Actor slowly, “that was the devil of it all. They -were both so utterly certain, especially the man. The difficulty had -been to get me there; after that it had been easy. I glanced at the poor -fellow in the bed, and his thoughts were plain to read. No more grinding -poverty, no more unfurnished bed-sitting rooms, and—fame for the woman -he loved! And then he spoke again. - -“‘I’m such a hopeless crock, Mr. Trayne, and she’—he took one of her -hands in both his own—‘she’s had to do all the work. Beastly, grinding -work in an office, when she was capable of this.’ - -“The girl bent over him, and I looked away. It seemed to me that the -ground on which I stood was holy.” - -The Actor gave a short laugh which deceived no one. “I suppose I was an -ass,” he went on, “but I’d do it again to-day. ‘It was wonderful,’ I -said, ‘quite wonderful.’ And because I’m an actor they believed me. Not -that he, at any rate, required much convincing—he only wanted his -knowledge confirmed. Of course, when I spoke I didn’t realise what I was -letting myself in for. I should have done, I suppose, but—I wasn’t left -long in doubt. If she was wonderful—and had not I, Herbert Trayne, said -so—what about a job? At once . . . With my backing it was easy. . . . -Which was all quite true except for the one vital fact of my having -lied. But, hang it, you fellows!” he exploded, “could you have told ’em -it was the most appalling exhibition of utter futility you’d ever -witnessed?” - -“No, I couldn’t,” said the Soldier. “What happened? - -“I can see them now,” continued the Actor. “He was holding her hand, and -looking up into her face—as a dog looks at the being it adores. And she -was smiling a little, and crying a little—tears of pure joy. The strain -was over, the lunches had not been missed in vain. And I stood there -like a dumb idiot racking my brains for something to say. They thought I -was wondering what job to offer her; they were right, I was.” The Actor -laughed shortly. - -“But I’d gone into the morass, and there was nothing for it but to -blunder in deeper. The one vital essential was that in no circumstances -must the poor child ever be allowed to act. The other was money—and at -once. So I offered her then and there a job as Molly Travers’ understudy -at five pounds a week.” - -“Great Scott!” The Doctor sat up with a jerk. “Understudy Molly?” - -“I explained, of course,” went on the Actor, “that there was an -understudy already, and that to save unpleasantness it would be better -if she didn’t come to the theatre, unless I sent for her. That, of -course, it was more than likely that Miss Travers wouldn’t be ill during -the run of the play, and that in those circumstances I didn’t want to -offend the present understudy. And when another play came along, we must -see what we could do. That, thank Heaven, I knew was some way off yet! -It gave me breathing space. - -“I gave her a week’s salary in advance, and I got away—somehow. I think -they were both a little dazed with the wonder of it, and they wanted to -be alone. I heard his voice—weak and quavering—as I shut the door. - -“‘Oh! my very dear girl,’ he was whispering—and she was on her knees -beside the bed. And I blundered my way downstairs, cursing myself for a -sentimental fool. There’s whisky on the table, you fellows. Help -yourselves.” - -But no one moved, and the Actor lit another cigarette. - -“I saw her occasionally during the next two or three months,” he -continued, “though I never went to their rooms again. They had moved—I -knew that—because I used to post the cheque every week. But the few -times I did see her, I gathered that her husband was not getting any -better. And one day I insisted on Lawrence, the specialist, going to see -him. I couldn’t have one of my company being worried, I told her, over -things of that sort. I can see her face now as I said ‘one of my -company.’ I don’t know what Lawrence said to her, but he rang me up at -the theatre that night, and he did not mince his words to me. - -“‘I give him a month,’ he said. ‘It’s galloping consumption.’ - -“It was just about a month later that the thing happened which I had -been dreading. Molly went down with ’flu. Her understudy—the real -one—was Violet Dorman, who was unknown then. And, of course it was her -chance.” - -“One moment,” interrupted the Barrister. “Did anyone at the theatre know -about this girl?” - -“Good God! no,” cried the Actor. “Not a soul. In this censorious world -actions such as mine in that case are apt to be misconstrued, which -alone was sufficient to make me keep it dark. No one knew. - -“The first night—all was well. Molly went down in the afternoon, and it -didn’t come out in any of the evening papers. Violet acted -magnificently. She wasn’t Molly, of course—she isn’t now. But it was -her chance, and she took it—and took it well. Next morning the papers, -naturally, had it in. ‘Temporary indisposition of Miss Molly Travers. -Part filled at a moment’s notice with great credit by Miss Violet -Dorman.’ She had a press agent and he boomed her for all he was worth. -And I read the papers and cursed. Not that I grudged her her success in -the slightest, but I was thinking of the afternoon. It was matinée day -and the girl must read it in the papers. - -“There was only one thing for it—to go round and see her. Whatever -happened I had to prevent her coming to the theatre. How I was going to -do it without giving the show away I hadn’t an idea, but somehow or -other it had got to be done. My blundering foolishness—even though it -had been for the best—had caused the trouble; it was up to me to try -and right it. So I went round and found her with a doctor in the -sitting-room. He was just going as I came in, and his face was grave. - -“‘Harry’s dying,’ she said to me quite simply, and I glanced at the -doctor, who nodded. - -“Poor child! I crossed over to her side, and though it seems an awful -thing to say, my only feeling was one of relief. After what Lawrence had -said I knew it was hopeless, and since the poor devil had to go he -couldn’t have chosen a more opportune moment from my point of view. It -solved the difficulty. If he was dying she couldn’t come to the theatre, -and by the time the funeral was over Molly would be back. I didn’t -realise that one doesn’t get out of things quite as easily as that. - -“‘I’ve only just realised how bad he was,’ she went on in a flat, dead -voice. - -“‘Does he know?’ I asked. - -“‘No. He thinks he’s going to get better. Why didn’t you send for me -last night, Mr. Trayne?’ - -“It was so unexpected, that I hesitated and stammered. - -“‘I couldn’t get at you in time,’ I said finally. ‘Miss Travers only -became ill late in the afternoon.’ - -“With a strange look on her face she opened a paper—some cursed rag I -hadn’t seen. - -“‘It says here,’ she went on slowly, ‘that she was confined to her bed -all yesterday. Oh! it doesn’t matter much, does it?’ She put the paper -down wearily, and gave the most heartrending little sobbing laugh I’ve -ever heard. - -“‘What do you mean?’ I stammered out. - -“‘I suppose you did it for the best, Mr. Trayne. I suppose I ought to be -grateful. But you lied that night—didn’t you?’ - -“I was fingering a book on the table and for the life of me I couldn’t -think of anything to say. ‘He doesn’t know,’ she went on. ‘He still -thinks I’m a God-sent genius. And he mustn’t know.’ - -“‘Why should he?’ I said. And then I put my hand on her arm. ‘Tell me, -how did you find out?’ - -“‘You admit it then?’ - -“‘Yes,’ I said quietly, ‘I admit that I lied. I was so desperately sorry -for you.’ - -“‘I mentioned it to someone—a man who knew the stage—about a week ago. -He looked at me in blank amazement, and then he laughed. I suppose he -couldn’t help it: it was so ridiculous. I was furious—furious. But -afterwards I began to think, and I asked other people one or two -questions—and then that came,’ she pointed to the paper, ‘and I knew. -And now—oh! thank God—he’s dying. He mustn’t know, Mr. Trayne, he -mustn’t.’ - -“And at that moment he came into the room—tottered in is a better word. - -“‘Boy,’ she cried in an agony, ‘what are you doing?’ - -“‘I thought I heard Mr. Trayne’s voice,’ he whispered, collapsing in the -chair. ‘I’m much better to-day, much. Bit weak still——’ - -“And then he saw the paper, and he leant forward eagerly. - -“‘Ill,’ he cried. ‘Molly Travers ill. Why, my dear—but it’s your -chance.’ He read on a bit, and she looked at me desperately. ‘But why -weren’t you there last night? Who is this woman, Violet Dorman?’ - -“‘You see, Tracy,’ I said, picking up the paper and putting it out of -his reach, ‘it was so sudden, Miss Travers’ illness, that I couldn’t get -at your wife in time.’ - -“‘Quite,’ he whispered. ‘Of course. But there’s a matinée this -afternoon, isn’t there? Oh! I wonder if I’m well enough to go. I’m so -much better to-day.’ And then he looked at his wife. ‘My dear! my -dear—at last!’ - -“I don’t think I’ve ever seen such pathetic pride and love shining in a -man’s face before or since. - -“‘I’m afraid you won’t be quite well enough to go,’ I muttered. - -“‘Perhaps it would be wiser not to,’ he whispered. ‘But to think I shall -miss her first appearance. Have you come to fetch her now, Mr. Trayne?’ - -“‘Yes, darling,’ the girl replied, and her voice sounded as steady as a -rock. ‘Mr. Trayne has come to fetch me. But it’s early yet and I want -you to go back to bed now. . . .’ - -“Without a glance at me she helped him from the room and left me -standing there. I heard their voices—hers clear and strong, his barely -audible. And not for the first time in my life I marvelled at the wonder -of a woman who loves. I was to marvel more in a moment or two. - -“She came back and shut the door. Then she stood facing me. - -“‘There’s only one way, Mr. Trayne, though I think it’s going to break -my heart. I must go to the theatre.’ - -“‘But—your husband . . .’ I stammered. - -“‘Oh! I’m not really going. I shall be here—at hand—the whole time. -Because if the end did come—why then—I _must_ be with him. But he’s -got to think I’ve gone; I’ve got to hide from him until after the -matinée is over. And then I must tell him’—she faltered a little—‘of -my success. I’ll keep the papers from him—if it’s necessary. . . .’ She -turned away and I heard her falter: ‘Three hours away from him—when -he’s dying. Oh, my God!’” - -The Actor paused, and the Soldier stirred restlessly in his chair. “I -left shortly after,” he went on at length, “I saw she wanted me to. - -“All through the play that afternoon it haunted me—the pathos of -it—aye, the horror of it. I pictured that girl hiding somewhere, while -in the room above the sands were running out. Longing with all the power -of her being to go to him—to snatch every fleeting minute with him—and -yet condemned by my stupidity to forfeit her right. And then at last the -show was over, and I went to her room again. - -“She was by his side, kneeling on the floor, as I came in. As he saw me -he struggled up on his elbow, and one could see it was the end. - -“‘Dear fellow,’ I said, ‘she was wonderful—just wonderful!’ - -“And the girl looked up at me through her blinding tears. - -“‘Just wonderful,’ I said again. Five minutes later he died. . . .” - -The Actor fell silent. - -“Did you ever see her again?” asked the Soldier thoughtfully. - -“Never: she disappeared. Just a patch on the quilt as I said. But there -was one thread missing. Three years later I received a registered -envelope. There was no letter inside, no word of any sort. Just these.” -He fumbled in his pocket. “There are twenty of them.” - -He held out his hand, and the Soldier leaning forward saw that it -contained a little bundle of five-pound notes. - - - - - - -_II_ _The Barrister’s Story, being The Decision of Sir Edward - Shoreham_ - - - -“THIS morning,” he began, leaning back in his chair and crossing his -legs, “I mislaid my cigarette-case. I knew it was somewhere in the -study, but find it I could not. Finally, having searched all over my -writing table, I rang the bell, and somewhat irritably demanded its -immediate production. The butler stepped forward and lifted it up from -the centre of the blotting pad, where it had been the whole time, -literally under my nose. What peculiar temporary kink in the brain had -prevented my noticing the very thing I was looking for, when it was -lying in the most conspicuous place in which it could possibly have -been, I don’t know. I leave that to the Doctor. But the point of my -parable is this—it decided in my mind the story with which I should -bore you fellows to-night.” - -He paused to light a cigar, then he glanced round at the faces of the -other five. - -“And if, as I get on with it, you think you recognise the real -characters under the fictional names I shall give them, I can’t prevent -you. But don’t ask me to confirm your thoughts.” - -“Exactly,” murmured the Actor. “Fire ahead.” - -“It was about four years before the war,” commenced the Barrister, “that -I was stopping for a few nights at a certain house in Park Lane. It was -in the middle of the season—June, to be accurate—and I was waiting to -get in here. My wife was in the country, and, as I was more or less at a -loose end, I accepted the offer of staying at this house. My -hostess—shall we call her Granger, Ruth Granger—had been an old school -pal of my wife’s; in later years she had become a real, intimate friend -of us both. - -“At the time of which I speak she was a lovely girl of twenty-six, with -the suffering of six years of hell in her eyes. At the age of twenty she -had married Sir Henry Granger, and that fatal mistake had been the cause -of the hell. Henry Granger was one of the most loathsome brutes it has -ever been my misfortune to run across. He had not one single instinct of -a gentleman in him, though he did happen to be the tenth baronet. How -her parents had ever allowed the marriage beat me completely. Perhaps it -was money, for Granger was rich; but whatever it was she married him, -and her hell began. - -“Granger was simply an animal, a coarse and vicious animal. He drank -heavily without getting drunk, which is always a dangerous sign, and he -possessed the morals—or did not possess the morals, whichever you -prefer—of a monkey. He was unfaithful to her on their honeymoon—my -wife told me that; and from then on he made not the slightest attempt to -conceal his mode of life.” - -The Barrister carefully removed the ash from his cigar. “I won’t labour -the point,” he went on with a faint smile. “We have all of us met the -type, but I’d like to emphasise the fact that I, at any rate, have never -met any member of that type who came within a mile of him. Most of ’em -have some semblance of decency about ’em—make some attempt to conceal -their affairs. Granger didn’t; he seemed to prefer that they should be -known. Sometimes since then I have wondered whether he was actuated by a -sort of blind rage—by a mad desire to pierce through the calm, icy -contempt of his wife; to make her writhe and suffer, because he realised -she was so immeasurably his superior.” He paused thoughtfully. “He made -her suffer right enough.” - -“Did she never try for a divorce?” asked the Soldier. - -“No, never. We discussed it once—she, and my wife and I; and I had to -explain to her our peculiar laws on the subject. His adultery by itself -was, of course, not sufficient, and for some reason she flatly refused -to consider a mere separation. She wouldn’t face the scandal and -publicity for only that. I said to her then: ‘Why not apply for a -restitution of conjugal rights. Get your husband to leave the house, and -if he doesn’t return in fourteen days——’ - -“She stopped me with a bitter laugh. - -“‘It seems rather fatuous,’ she said slowly, ‘getting a lawyer to ask my -husband to do what he is only too ready to do—return to me.’ - -“‘But surely,’ I began, not quite taking her meaning. - -“‘You see, Bill,’ she answered in a flat, dead voice, ‘my husband is -very fond of me—as a stopgap. After most of his episodes he honours me -with his attentions for two or three days.’ - -“That was the devil of it—he didn’t intend to let her divorce him. She -formed an excellent hostess for his house, and for the rest there were -always _les autres_. And he wanted her, too, because he couldn’t get -her, and that made him mad.” - -The Barrister leant forward, and the firelight flickered on his thin, -ascetic face. - -“Such was the state of affairs when I went to stay. The particular lady -at the time who was being honoured by Henry Granger was a shining light -in musical comedy—Nelly Jones, shall we call her? It is very far from -her real name. If possible, he had been more open over this affair than -usual; everyone who knew the Grangers in London knew about -it—_everyone_. He had twice dined with her at the same restaurant at -which his wife was entertaining, once deliberately selecting the next -table.” - -“What an unmitigated swine!” cried the Ordinary Man. - -“He was,” agreed the Barrister briefly. “But even that was not -sufficient to satisfy the gentleman. He proceeded to do a thing which -put him for ever outside the pale. He brought this girl to a reception -of his wife’s at his own house. - -“It was the night that I arrived. She had fixed up one of those ghastly -entertainments which are now, thank Heaven, practically extinct. -Somebody sings and nobody listens, and you meet everybody you -particularly want to avoid. Mercifully I ran into an old pal, also of -your calling, Actor-man—Violet Seymour. No reason why I should disguise -her name at any rate. She was not acting at the moment, and we sat in a -sort of alcove-place at the top of the stairs, on the same landing as -the reception-room. - -“‘There’s going to be a break here soon, Bill,’ she said to me after a -while. ‘Ruth is going to snap.’ - -“‘Poor girl!’ I answered. ‘But what the devil can one do, Violet?’ - -“‘Nothing,’ she said fiercely, ‘except alter your abominably unjust -laws. Why can’t she get a divorce, Bill? It’s vile—utterly vile.’ - -“And then—well, let’s call him Sir Edward Shoreham, joined us. He was -on the Bench—a judge, which makes the disguise of a false name pretty -thin, especially in view of what is to come. I remember he had recently -taken a murder case—one that had aroused a good deal of popular -attention—and the prisoner had been found guilty. We were talking about -it at the time Sir Edward arrived, with Violet, as usual, tilting lances -against every form of authority. - -“I can see her now as she turned to Sir Edward with a sort of dreadful -fascination on her face. - -“‘And so you sentenced him to death?’ - -“He nodded gravely. ‘Certainly,’ he answered. ‘He was guilty.’ - -“And then she turned half-away, speaking almost under her breath. - -“‘And doesn’t it ever appall you? Make you wake in the middle of the -night, with your mouth dry and your throat parched. All this—life, -love—and in a cell, a man waiting—a man you’ve sent there. Ticking off -the days on his nerveless fingers—staring out at the sun. My God! it -would drive me mad.’ - -“Ned Shoreham smiled a little grimly. - -“‘You seem to forget one unimportant factor,’ he answered; ‘the wretched -woman that man killed.’ - -“‘No, I don’t,’ she cried. ‘But the punishment is so immeasurably worse -than the crime. I don’t think death would matter if it came suddenly; -but to sit waiting with a sort of sickening helplessness——’ - -“It was then Ruth Granger joined us. Some woman was singing in the -reception-room and, for the moment, she was free from her duties as -hostess. - -“‘You seem very serious,’ she said with her grave, sweet smile, holding -out her hand to Sir Edward. - -“‘Miss Seymour is a revolutionary,’ he answered lightly, and I happened -at that moment to glance at Ruth. And for the moment she had let the -mask slip as she looked at Ned Shoreham’s face. Then it was replaced, -but their secret was out, as far as I was concerned, though on matters -of affection I am the least observant of mortals. If they weren’t in -love with one another, they were as near to it as made no odds. And it -gave me a bit of a shock. - -“Shoreham was young—young, at any rate, for the Bench—and he was -unmarried. And somehow I couldn’t fit Shoreham into the situation of -loving another man’s wife. There had never been a breath of scandal that -I had heard; if there had been, it would have finished him for good. A -judge must be like Cæsar’s wife. And Shoreham, even then, had -established a reputation for the most scrupulous observance of the law. -His enemies called him cruel and harsh; those who knew him better -realised that his apparent harshness was merely a cloak he had wrapped -tightly round himself as a guard against a naturally tender heart. I -don’t know any man that I can think of who had such an undeviating idea -of duty as Shoreham, and without being in the least a prig, such an -exalted idea of the responsibilities of his position. And to realise -suddenly that he was in love with Ruth Granger, as I say, came as a -shock. - -“‘What was the argument about?’ she said, sitting down beside me. - -“‘Morality _versus_ the Law,’ chipped in Violet. - -“‘The individual _versus_ the community,’ amended Sir Edward. -‘Justice—real justice—against sickly sentimentality, with all due -deference to you, Miss Seymour. There are hard cases, one knows, but -hard cases make bad laws. There’s been far too much lately of men taking -matters into their own hands—this so-called Unwritten Law. And it has -got to stop.’ - -“‘You would never admit the justification,’ said Ruth slowly. - -“‘Never—in any circumstances,’ he answered. ‘You have the law—then -appeal to the law. Otherwise there occurs chaos.’ - -“‘And what of the cases where the law gives no redress?’ demanded -Violet, and even as she spoke Granger came up the stairs with this girl -on his arm. - -“Ruth Granger rose, deathly white, and gazed speechlessly at her -husband’s coarse, sneering face. I don’t think for a moment she fully -grasped the immensity of the insult; she was stunned. The footmen were -staring open-mouthed; guests passing into the supper-room stopped and -smirked. And then it was over; the tension snapped. - -“‘Have you had any supper, Sir Edward?’ said Ruth calmly, and with her -hand on his arm she swept past her husband, completely ignoring both him -and the girl, who flushed angrily. - -“‘I suppose,’ said Violet Seymour to me, as Granger and the girl went -into the reception-room, ‘that had Ruth shot that filthy blackguard dead -on the stairs, Sir Edward would have piously folded his hands and, in -due course, sentenced her to death.’ - -“And at the moment I certainly sympathised with her point of view.” - -The Barrister got up and splashed some soda-water into a glass. Then he -continued: - -“I won’t weary you with an account of the rest of the reception. You can -imagine for yourselves the covert sneers and whisperings. I want to go -on two or three hours to the time when the guests had gone, and a -white-faced, tight-lipped woman was staring at the dying embers of a -fire in her sitting-room, while I stood by the mantelpiece wondering -what the devil to do to help. Granger was in his study, where he had -retired on the departure of Miss Jones, and I, personally, had seen two -bottles of champagne taken to him there by one of the footmen. - -“‘It’s the end, Bill,’ she said, looking at me suddenly, ‘absolutely the -end. I can’t go on—not after to-night. How dared he bring that woman -here? How dared he?’ - -“Violet had been right—the break had come. Ruth Granger was desperate, -and there was an expression on her face that it wasn’t good to see. It -put the wind up me all right. - -“‘Go to bed, Ruth,’ I said quietly. ‘There’s no good having a row with -Granger to-night; you can say what you want to say to-morrow.’ - -“And at that moment the door opened and her husband came in. As I said, -he was a man who never got drunk, but that night he was unsteady on his -legs. He stood by the door, swaying a little and staring at her with a -sneer on his face. He was a swine sober; in drink he was—well, words -fail. But, by God! you fellows, she got through him and into him until I -thought he was going to strike her. I believe that was what she was -playing for at the time, because I was there as a witness. But he -didn’t, and when she finished flaying him he merely laughed in her face. - -“‘And what about your own damned lover, my virtuous darling?’ he -sneered. ‘What about the upright judge whom you adore—dear, kind Edward -Shoreham?’ - -“It was unexpected; she didn’t know he had guessed—and her face gave -her away for a moment. Then she straightened up proudly. - -“‘Sir Edward Shoreham and I are on terms which an animal of your gross -mind couldn’t possibly understand,’ she answered coldly, and he laughed. -‘If you insinuate that he is my lover in the accepted sense of the word, -you lie and you know it.’ - -“Without another word she walked contemptuously by him, and the door -closed behind her. And after a moment or two I followed her, leaving him -staring moodily at the empty grate. I couldn’t have spoken to him -without being rude and, after all, I was under his roof.” - -The Barrister leant back in his chair and crossed his legs. - -“Now that was the situation,” he continued, “when I went to bed. My room -was almost opposite Lady Granger’s, and at the end of the passage, which -was a cul-de-sac, was the door leading into Granger’s study. I hadn’t -started to undress when I heard him come past my room and go along the -passage to his study. And I was still thinking over the situation about -ten minutes later when Lady Granger’s door opened. I knew it was hers -because I heard her speak to her maid, telling her to go to bed. The -girl said ‘Good night,’ and something—I don’t quite know what—made me -look through the keyhole of my door. I was feeling uneasy and alarmed; I -suppose the scene downstairs had unsettled me. And sure enough, as soon -as the maid’s footsteps had died away, I saw through my spy-hole Ruth -Granger go down the passage towards her husband’s study. For a moment I -hesitated; an outsider’s position is always awkward between husband and -wife. But one thing was very certain, those two were in no condition to -have another—and this time a private—interview. I opened my door -noiselessly and peered out. It struck me that if I heard things getting -too heated I should have to intervene. She was just opening the door of -his study as I looked along the passage, and then in a flash the whole -thing seemed to happen. The door shut behind her; there was a pause of -one—perhaps two seconds—and a revolver shot rang out, followed by the -sound of a heavy fall. For a moment I was stunned; then I raced along -the passage as hard as I could, and flung open the door of the study. - -“On the floor lay Henry Granger, doubled up and sprawling, while in the -middle of the room stood his wife staring at him speechlessly. At her -feet on the carpet was a revolver, an automatic Colt. I stood there by -the door staring foolishly, and after a while she spoke. - -“‘There’s been an accident,’ she whispered. ‘Is he dead?’ - -“I went up to the body and turned it over. Through the shirt front was a -small hole; underneath the left shoulder blade was another. Henry -Granger had been shot through the heart from point-blank range; death -must have been absolutely instantaneous. - -“‘My God, Ruth!’ I muttered. ‘How did it happen?’ - -“‘Happen?’ she answered vaguely. ‘There was a man . . . the window.’ - -“And then she fainted. The butler, with a couple of footmen, by this -time had appeared at the door, and I pulled myself together. - -“‘Her ladyship’s maid at once,’ I said. ‘Sir Henry has been shot. Ring -up a doctor, and ask him to come round immediately.’ - -“The butler rushed off, but I kept the two footmen. - -“‘Wait a moment,’ I cried, picking up the revolver. ‘A man did it. Pull -back the two curtains by the window, and I’ll cover him.’ - -“They did as I told them, pulled back the two heavy black curtains that -were in front of the window. It was set back in a sort of alcove, and I -had the revolver ready pointed to cover the murderer. I covered empty -air; there was no one there. Then I walked over to the window and looked -out. It was wide open, and there was a sheer drop of forty feet to the -deserted area below. I looked upwards—I looked sideways: plain -brickwork without footing for a cat.” - -“‘Go down to the room below,’ I cried; ‘he may have got in there.’ - -“They rushed away to come back and tell me that not only were the -windows bolted, but that they were shuttered as well. And I thought they -looked at me curiously.” - -He paused to relight his cigar; then he continued thoughtfully: - -“I don’t quite know when I first began to feel suspicious about this -mysterious man. The thing had been so sudden that for a while my brain -refused to work; then gradually my legal training reasserted itself, and -I started to piece things together. Ruth had come-to again, and I put -one or two questions to her. She was still very dazed, but she answered -them quite coherently: - -“A man in evening clothes—at least, she thought he had on evening -clothes—had been in the room as she came in. She heard a shot; the -light went out and the window was thrown up. And then she had turned on -the light just before I came in to see her husband lying dead on the -floor. She knew no more. I suppose I must have looked a bit thoughtful, -for she suddenly got up from her chair and came up to me. - -“‘You believe me, Bill, don’t you?’ she said, staring at me. - -“‘Of course, of course,’ I answered hurriedly. ‘Go and lie down now, -Ruth, because we shall have to send for the police.’ - -“Without another word she left the room with her maid, and, after -telling the footmen to wait downstairs till they were wanted, I sat down -to think. Now, this isn’t a detective story; such as it is, it concerns -a more interesting study than the mere detection of crime. It concerns -the struggle in the soul of an upright man between love and duty. And -the man was Sir Edward Shoreham. - -“Unknown to me she sent for him—asked him to come at once—and he came. -He was shown by the butler into the study, where I was still sitting at -the desk, and he stopped motionless by the door staring at the body, -which had not been moved. I was waiting for the doctor, and I got up -surprised. - -“‘The butler told me he had been shot,’ he said a little jerkily. ‘How -did it happen?’ - -“‘I wasn’t expecting you, Sir Edward,’ I answered slowly. ‘But I’m glad -that you’ve come. I’d like another opinion.’ - -“‘What do you mean?’ he cried. ‘Is there any mystery?’ - -“‘I’ll tell you exactly what happened as far as I know the facts,’ I -said. ‘Lady Granger and her husband had a very bad quarrel to-night. -Then she came to bed, and so did I. Shortly afterwards her husband came -along into this room. Now, my bedroom is in the passage you have just -come along, and about ten minutes after Sir Henry came in here, his wife -followed him. I opened my door, because I was afraid they might start -quarrelling again, and he had been drinking. I saw her come in; there -was a pause, and then a revolver shot rang out.’ - -“‘Was this door shut?’ he snapped. - -“‘Yes,’ I answered, ‘it was. I rushed along the passage and came in. I -found her standing, with the revolver at her feet, staring at her -husband, who was lying where he is now. She said: ‘There’s been an -accident.’ And then she muttered something about a man and the window -before she fainted. I went to the window, and there was no one there. I -looked out; will you do the same?’ - -“I waited while he walked over and looked out, and after what seemed an -interminable time he came back again. - -“‘How long was it after the shot before you looked out?’ His voice was -very low as he asked the question. - -“‘Not a quarter of a minute,’ I answered, and we both stood staring at -one another in silence. - -“‘Good God!’ he said at length, ‘what are you driving at?’ - -“‘I’m not driving at anything, Sir Edward,’ I answered. ‘At least, I’m -trying not to drive at it. But the man is dead, and the police must be -sent for. What are we going to say?’ - -“‘The truth, of course,’ he answered instantly. - -“‘Quite,’ I said slowly. ‘But what is the truth?’ - -“He turned very white, and leant against one of the old suits of armour, -of which the dead man had a wonderful collection all over the house. - -“‘Did Lady Granger see this man go out of the window?’ he asked at -length. - -“‘No, she only heard him open it. You see, she says he switched off the -light. It was on when I rushed in.’ - -“‘A rope,’ he suggested. - -“‘Impossible in the time,’ I said; ‘utterly impossible. Such a -suggestion would be laughed out of court.’ - -“He came over and sat down heavily in a chair, and his face was haggard. - -“‘Sir Edward,’ I went on desperately, ‘the doctor will be here shortly; -the police must be sent for. We’ve got to decide something. This man -didn’t go out by the door or I’d have seen him; only a fly could have -gone out by the window. We’ve got to face the facts.’ - -“‘You don’t believe there was a man here at all,’ he said slowly. - -“‘Heaven help me! I don’t,’ I answered. ‘It’s all so easy to -reconstruct. The poor girl was driven absolutely desperate by what -happened to-night, and by the last thing he said to her after their -quarrel.’ I looked at him for a moment before going on. ‘He accused her -of being in love with you.’ I said it deliberately, and he caught his -breath sharply. - -“‘Can’t you see it all?’ I continued. ‘She came in here, and she shot -him; and when she’d done it her nerves gave, and she said the first -thing to me that came into her head.’ - -“‘If you’re right,’ he said heavily, ‘it means that Ruth will be tried -for murder!’ He got up with his hands to his temples. ‘My God! -Stratton,’ he cried, ‘this is awful. Premeditated murder, too—not done -blindly in the middle of a quarrel, but a quarter of an hour after it -was over.’ - -“‘That’s how it would strike a jury,’ I answered gravely. - -“‘Supposing she had done it suddenly, blindly’—he was talking half to -himself—‘snatched the revolver off the table as he tried to make love -to her, let’s say.’ And then he stopped and stared at me. - -“‘Supposing that had happened, it would be better for her to say so at -once,’ I said. - -“‘But it didn’t happen,’ he answered; ‘it couldn’t have.’ - -“‘No,’ I agreed. ‘It didn’t happen; it couldn’t have. But supposing it -had, Sir Edward, what then?’ - -“‘Stop, Stratton,’ he cried. ‘For Heaven’s sake, stop!’ - -“‘There’s no good stopping,’ I said. ‘We haven’t any time for argument. -Your legal knowledge has suggested the same solution as occurred to me. -If _now_, at once, when we send for the police, she says it was an -accident—gives a complete story, chapter and verse——’ - -“‘Invents it, you mean,’ he interrupted. - -“‘Call it what you like,’ I said, ‘but, unless she does that and -substantiates the story, she will be tried for the premeditated and -wilful murder of her husband. She’ll have to be tried anyway, but if she -makes a voluntary confession—makes a story out of it that will appeal -to sentiment—they will acquit her. It’s the only chance.’ - -“‘But it’s monstrous, man,’ he muttered—only now his eyes were fixed on -me questioningly. - -“‘Look here, Sir Edward,’ I said, ‘let’s discuss this matter calmly. -Humanly speaking, we know what happened. Ruth came along that passage, -opened this door, and shot her husband dead through the heart—that is -the case as I should put it to the jury, the plain issue shorn of all -its trappings. What is going to be the verdict?’ - -“Shoreham plucked at his collar as if he were fighting for breath. - -“‘If, on the other hand, the shot was not immediate—and I am the only -witness as to that; if I had heard his voice raised in anger; if he had -sprung at her, tried to kiss her, and she blindly, without thought, had -snatched up the first thing that came to her hand, the revolver, not -even knowing it was loaded—what then? The servants can be squared. She -was talking wildly when she mentioned this man—didn’t know what she was -saying. And then, when she got back to her room she realised that the -truth was best, and rang you up, a Judge. What better possible proof -could any jury have of her desire to conceal nothing? And you with your -reputation on the Bench——’ - -“‘Ah, don’t, don’t!’ he cried hoarsely. ‘You’re driving me mad! -You’re—you’re——!’ - -“‘Why, Ned, what’s the matter?’ - -“We both swung round. Ruth had come in, unnoticed by us, and was staring -at Shoreham with wonder in her eyes. Then, with a shudder, she stepped -past her husband’s body and came into the room. - -“‘They’ve just told me you were here,’ she said, and then she gave a -little cry. ‘Ned, why are you looking like that? Ned! you don’t -think—you don’t think I did it?’ - -“She cowered back, looking first at him and then at me. - -“‘You _can’t_ think I did it,’ she whispered. ‘I tell you there was a -man here—the man who shot him. Oh! they’ll believe me, won’t they?’ - -“‘Ruth,’ I said, ‘I want you to realise that we’re both of us your -friends.’ Which is the sort of fatuous remark one does make when the -tension is a bit acute. She never even glanced at me as I spoke; with a -sort of sick horror in her eyes, she was staring at Shoreham, and I -blundered on: ‘When you talked about this man you were -unnerved—distraught; you didn’t know what you were saying. We both -realise that. But now we’ve got to think of the best way of—of helping -you. You see, the police must be sent for—we ought to have sent for -them sooner—and——’ - -“She walked past me and went over to Shoreham. - -“‘Do you believe I did it, Ned?’ she said quietly. ‘If I swear to you -that I didn’t—would that convince you?’ - -“‘But, Ruth,’ he cried desperately, ‘it isn’t me you’ve got to -convince—it’s the police. A man couldn’t have got out of that window in -the time. It’s a physical impossibility. If you told it to the police, -they’d laugh. Tell us the truth, my dear. I beseech you. Tell us the -truth, and we’ll see what can be done.’ - -“She stood very still, with her hands clenched by her sides. And then -quite deliberately she spoke to Shoreham. - -“‘If you don’t believe there was a man here,’ she said, ‘you _must_ -think I shot my husband. There was no one else who could have done it. -Well—supposing I did. You acknowledge no justification for such an -act?’ - -“I started to speak, but she silenced me with an imperative wave of her -hand. - -“‘Please, Bill——Well, Ned—I’m waiting. If I did shoot him—what -then?’” - -The Barrister paused to relight his cigar, and the others waited in -silence. - -“She was staring at Shoreham,” he went on after a while, “with a faint, -half-mocking, wholly tender smile on her lips, and if either he or I had -been less dense that smile should have made us think. But at the moment -I was absorbed in the problem of how to save her; while she was absorbed -in a very different one concerning the mentality of the man she cared -for. And Shoreham—well, he was absorbed in the old, old fight between -love and duty, and the fierceness of the struggle was showing on his -face. - -“There in front of him stood the woman he loved, the woman who had just -shot her husband, and the woman who was now free for him to marry. He -knew as well as I did that in adopting the line I had suggested lay the -best chance of getting her acquitted. He knew as well as I did that the -vast majority of juries would acquit if the story were put to them as we -had outlined it. He could visualise as well as I the scene in court. -Counsel for the defence—I’d already fixed on Grayson in my mind as her -counsel—outlining the whole scene: her late husband’s abominable -conduct culminating in this final outrage at her reception. And then as -he came to the moment of the tragedy, I could picture him turning to the -jury with passionate sincerity in his face—appealing to them as -men—happily married, perhaps, but men, at any rate, to whom home life -was sacred. - -“I could hear his voice—low and earnest—as he sketched for them that -last scene. This poor, slighted, tormented woman—girl, gentlemen, for -she is little more than a girl—went in desperation to the man—well, he -is dead now, and we will leave it at that—to the man who had made her -life a veritable hell. She pleaded with him, gentlemen, to allow her to -divorce him—pleaded for some remnant of decent feelings in him. And -what was his answer—what was the answer of this devil who was her -husband? Did he meet her half-way? Did he profess the slightest sorrow -for his despicable conduct? - -“No, gentlemen—not one word. His sole response was to spring at her in -his drunken frenzy and endeavour to fix his vile attentions on her. And -she, mad with terror and fright, snatched up the revolver which was -lying on the desk. It might have been a ruler—anything; she was not -responsible at the moment for what she did. Do you blame her, gentlemen? -You have daughters of your own. She no more knew what she had in her -hand than a baby would. To keep him away—that was her sole idea. And -then—suddenly—it happened. The revolver went off—the man fell dead. - -“What did this girl do, gentlemen, after that? Realising that he was -dead, did she make any attempt to conceal what she had done—to conceal -her share in the matter? No—exactly the reverse. Instantly she rang up -Sir Edward Shoreham, whose views on such matters are well known to you -all. And then and there she told him everything—concealing nothing, -excusing nothing. Sir Edward Shoreham of all people, who, with due -deference to such a distinguished public man, has at times been regarded -as—well—er—not lenient in his judgments. And you have heard what Sir -Edward said in the box. . . .” - -Once again the Barrister paused and smiled faintly. - -“I’d got as far as that, you see, before Shoreham answered her. And he -had got as far as that, too, I think. He saw it all, built on a -foundation of lies—built on the foundation of his dishonour. No one -would ever know except us three—but that doesn’t make a thing easier -for the Edward Shorehams of the world. - -“And then he spoke—in a low, tense voice: - -“‘If you shot him, dear,’ he said, ‘nothing matters save getting you -off.’ - -“Some people,” pursued the Barrister, “might call it a victory—some -people would call it a defeat. Depends on one’s outlook; depends on how -much one really believes in the ‘Could not love you half so much, loved -I not honour more’ idea. But certainly the murderer himself was very -pleased.” - -“The murderer?” cried the Ordinary Man sitting up suddenly. - -“The murderer,” returned the Barrister. “That’s why I mentioned about my -cigarette-case this morning. He had been standing behind the suit of -armour in the corner the whole time. He came out suddenly, and we all -stared at him speechlessly, and then he started coughing—a dreadful -tearing cough—which stained his handkerchief scarlet. - -“‘I must apologise,’ he said when he could speak, ‘but there was another -thing besides shooting Granger that I wanted to do before I died. That -was why I didn’t want to be caught to-night. However, a man must cough -when he’s got my complaint. But I’m glad I restrained myself long enough -to hear your decision, Sir Edward. I congratulate you on it.’ - -“‘You scoundrel!’ began Shoreham, starting forward, ‘why didn’t you -declare yourself sooner?’ - -“‘Because there’s another thing I wanted to do,’ he repeated wearily. -‘In Paris, in the Rue St. Claire, there lives a woman. She was beautiful -once—to me she is beautiful now. She was _my_ woman until——’ And his -eyes sought the dead body of Henry Granger. - -“Ruth took a deep breath. ‘Yes—until?’ she whispered. - -“‘Until he came,’ said the man gravely. ‘And God will decide between him -and me. But I would have liked to look on her once more, and hold her -hand, and tell her, yet again, that I understood—absolutely.’ - -“It was then Ruth Granger crossed to him. - -“‘What is her name and the number of the house?’ she said. - -“‘Sybil Deering is her name,’ he answered slowly, ‘and the number is -fourteen.’ - -“‘Will you leave it to me?’ she asked. - -“For a moment he stared at her in silence, then he bowed. - -“‘From the bottom of my heart I thank you, Lady Granger, and I hope you -will have all the happiness you deserve.’ He glanced at Shoreham and -smiled. ‘When a man loves everything else goes to the wall, doesn’t it? -Remember that in the future, Sir Edward, when they’re standing before -you, wondering, trying to read their fate. Someone loves them, just as -you love her.’” - -The Barrister rose and drained his glass. - -“And that is the conclusion of your suffering,” he remarked. - -“Was the man hanged?” asked the Soldier. - -“No, he died a week later of galloping consumption.” - -“And what of the other two?” demanded the Actor. - -“They married, and are living happily together to-day, doing fruit -farming as a hobby.” - -“Fruit farming!” echoed the Doctor. “Why fruit farming?” - -“Something to do,” said the Barrister. “You see, Sir Edward has never -tried another case. Some men are made that way.” - - - - - - -_III_ _The Doctor’s Story, being Sentence of Death_ - - - -“SOONER or later,” began the Doctor, settling himself comfortably in his -chair, “it comes to most of us. Sooner or later a man or a woman comes -to consult us on what they imagine to be some trifling malady, and when -we make our examination we find that it isn’t trifling. And occasionally -we find that not only is the matter not trifling, but that—well, you -all have seen Collier’s picture, ‘The Sentence of Death.’ - -“It’s a thing, incidentally, which requires careful thought—just how -much you will tell. Different people take things different ways, and -where it might be your duty to tell one man the half-truth, to another -it might be just as much your duty to lie. But broadly speaking, I, -personally, have always maintained that, unless the circumstances are -quite exceptional, it is a doctor’s duty to tell a patient the truth, -however unpleasant it may be. What would a man say if his lawyer or his -stockbroker lied to him? - -“Which brings me to the opening of my story. It was in the May before -the War that a man came into my consulting-room—a man whom I will call -Jack Digby. I motioned him to a chair on the other side of my desk, so -placed that the light from the window fell on his face. I put him down -as a man of about three-and-thirty who was used to an outdoor life. His -face was bronzed, his hands were sunburnt, and the whole way he carried -himself—the set of his shoulders, the swing of his arms as he walked -across the room—indicated the athlete in good condition. In fact, he -was an unusual type to find in a Harley Street consulting-room, and I -told him so by way of opening the conversation. - -“He grinned, a very pleasant, cheery grin, and put his hat on the floor. - -“‘Just a matter of form, Doctor,’ he said, leaning back in his chair and -crossing his legs. ‘I’m thinking of entering for the matrimonial stakes, -and before saddling-up I thought I’d just get you to certify me sound in -wind and limb.’ - -“Now he spoke very easily and naturally, but something—I don’t quite -know what—made me look at him a little more closely. The study of human -nature is a vital necessity if the study of human ailments is to be -successful—and one gets plenty of opportunity for it if one is a -consulting physician. And I suddenly wondered if it was ‘just a matter -of form’ in his mind. The ordinary young, healthy man doesn’t usually -take the trouble to be overhauled by a doctor merely because he is going -to be married. - -“However, at that stage of the proceedings my thoughts were my own, and -I answered him in the same vein. And while he was taking off his coat -and shirt we talked casually on various topics. Then I started my -examination. And within half a minute I knew that something was very, -very wrong. - -“‘I would like you to take off your vest, please, Mr. Digby,’ I said, -and for a moment he stared at me in silence. I was watching him quietly, -and it was then I knew that my first surmise was correct. In his eyes -there was a look of dreadful fear. - -“He stripped his vest off, and I continued my examination. And after I’d -finished I walked over to my desk. - -“‘You can put on your clothes again,’ I said gravely, to swing round as -I felt his hand like a vice on my shoulder. - -“‘What is it?’ he muttered. ‘Tell me.’ - -“‘It was not altogether a matter of form with you, was it, Mr. Digby?’ I -answered. ‘Put on your clothes; I want to ask you a few questions.’ - -“‘Hang it, man!’ he cried. ‘I can’t wait. What have you found?’ - -“‘I would like to have another opinion before telling you.’ I was -fencing for time, but he was insistent. - -“‘You can have another opinion—you can have fifty other opinions,’ he -cried, still gripping me by the shoulder—‘but I want to know what you -think _now_. Can I marry?’ - -“‘You cannot,’ I said gravely, and his hand fell to his side. Then he -slowly walked across the room and stood with his back to me, staring out -of the window. Once his shoulders shook a little, but except for that he -stood quite motionless. And after a while he picked up his clothes and -started to dress. - -“I said nothing until he had finished; with a man of his type talking is -a mistake. It was not until he again sat down in the chair opposite me -that I broke the silence. - -“‘You asked me a specific question, Mr. Digby,’ I said quietly, ‘and I -answered as a man of your type would like to be answered. But I now want -to modify my reply slightly. And I will put it this way. If I had a -daughter, I would not allow a man whose heart was in the condition that -yours is to marry her. It would not be fair to her; it would certainly -not be fair to any possible children.’ - -“He nodded gravely, though he didn’t speak. - -“‘You feared something of this sort when you came to me?’ I asked. - -“‘My mother died of it,’ he answered quietly. ‘And once or twice lately, -after exercise, I’ve had an agonising twinge of pain.’ And then, under -his breath, he added: ‘Thank God, she doesn’t know!’ - -“‘But I would like another opinion,’ I continued. ‘There are men, as you -know, who are entirely heart specialists, and I will give you the -address of one.’ - -“‘Confirmation of the death sentence,’ he laughed grimly. ‘No -saddling-up for me—eh, Doctor?’ - -“‘Not as you are at present, Mr. Digby.’ I was writing the address of -the biggest heart man on a piece of paper, though I felt it was useless. -It didn’t require an expert to diagnose this trouble. - -“‘Is there any chance of getting better?’ he cried eagerly, and I -stopped writing and looked at him. There was hope—a dawning hope in his -eyes—and for a moment I hesitated. - -“My own opinion was that there was no chance: that he might, with care -and luck, live for two or three years—perhaps more—but that he might -equally well drop dead at any moment. It was enough—that momentary -hesitation; the eager look in his eyes faded, and he sat back wearily in -his chair. - -“‘Don’t bother,’ he said slowly; ‘I see how it is.’ - -“‘No, you don’t, Mr. Digby,’ I answered. ‘You see how I think it is. -Which is an altogether different matter. There is always a chance.’ - -“‘That’s juggling with words,’ he said, with a twisted little smile. -‘The great point is that I’m not in a position to ask this girl to marry -me.’ - -“He glanced at the slip of paper I handed to him, then he rose. - -“‘I would like you to go and see him,’ I said quietly. ‘You see I feel -the gravity of what I’ve had to tell you this morning very much, and in -fairness to myself as well as to you, my dear fellow, I’d like you to go -to Sir John.’ - -“For a few seconds he stood there facing me, then he grinned as he had -done at the beginning of the interview. - -“‘All right, Doctor,’ he cried. ‘I’ll go, and Sir John shall drive the -nail right in.’ - -“‘I’m sorry,’ I said—‘infernally sorry. You’ve taken it, if I may say -so, like a very brave man.’ - -“He turned away abruptly. ‘What the deuce is the good of whining?’ he -cried. ‘If it’s the same as in my mother’s case, the end will be very -abrupt.’ - -“The next moment he was gone—a man under sentence of death. And the -pitiful tragedy of it hit one like a blow. He was so essentially the -type of man who should have married some charming girl and have -children. He was just a first-class specimen of the sporting Englishman, -but——” The Doctor paused and looked at the Soldier. “The type that -makes a first-class squadron-leader,” and the Soldier nodded. - -“It was in the afternoon,” continued the Doctor after a while, “that Sir -John Longworth rang me up. Digby had been to him, and the result was as -I expected. Two years, or possibly two days, and as for marriage, out of -the question entirely. He had merely confirmed my own diagnosis of the -case, and there for a time the matter rested. In the stress of work Jack -Digby passed from my mind, until Fate decreed that we should meet again -in what were to prove most dramatic circumstances. - -“It was two months later—about the beginning of July—that I decided to -take a short holiday. I couldn’t really spare the time, but I knew that -I ought to take one. So I ran down for a long week-end to stop with some -people I knew fairly well in Dorsetshire. They had just taken a big -house a few miles from Weymouth, and I will call them the Maitlands. -There were Mr. and Mrs. Maitland, and a son, Tom, up at the ’Varsity, -and a daughter, Sybil. When I arrived I found they had a bit of a -house-party, perhaps a dozen in all, and after tea the girl, whom I’d -met once or twice before, took me round the place. - -“She was a charming girl, very, very pretty, of about twenty-two or -three, and we chattered on aimlessly as we strolled through the gardens. - -“‘You’re quite a big party,’ I laughed, ‘and I thought I was coming for -a quiet week-end.’ - -“‘We’ve got two or three more arriving to-night,’ she said. ‘At least I -think so. One of them is a most elusive person.’ She was staring -straight in front of her as she spoke, and for the moment she seemed to -have forgotten my existence. - -“‘Male or female—the elusive one?’ I asked lightly. - -“‘A man,’ she answered abruptly, and changed the conversation. - -“But being an old and wary bird, I read into her harmless remark a -somewhat deeper significance than was perhaps justified, and it struck -me very forcibly that if I were the man I would not be elusive in the -circumstances. She surely was most amazingly pretty.” - -“With great deductive ability,” murmured the Actor, as the Doctor paused -to refill his pipe, “we place the elusive man as Jack Digby.” - -“You go to blazes!” laughed the teller of the story. “I haven’t got to -that yet. Of course you’re quite right—he was; though when I found it -out a little later it came as a complete surprise to me. I’d almost -forgotten his existence. - -“It was her father who first mentioned his name. I was having a sherry -and bitters with him in his study before going up to dress for dinner, -and the conversation turned on the girl. I think I said how -extraordinarily pretty I thought she was, and remarked that I supposed -somebody would soon be walking off with her. - -“Joe Maitland’s face clouded a little. - -“‘As a matter of fact,’ he said, ‘both her mother and I have been -expecting it for some time. A most charming man, and Sybil is in love -with him, I’m sure. We all thought that he was in love with her,’ and -then he exploded—‘damn it, it isn’t a question of thinking, I _know_ -he’s in love with her! And for some extraordinary reason he won’t tell -her so. He’s kept away from her for the last two months, after having -lived in her pocket. And he’s not the type that monkeys round and makes -a girl fond of him for no reason. He’s coming here to-night, and——’ - -“My host, still frowning slightly, lit a cigarette. So evidently this -was the elusive man, I thought, putting down my glass. It was no -business of mine, and then suddenly I stood very still as I heard him -speak again. - -“‘Jack Digby is as white as they’re made,’ he was saying, but I didn’t -hear any more. Luckily my back was towards him, so he couldn’t see my -face. Jack Digby! Poor devil! With Sybil Maitland, the girl, in his -mind, the blow I’d given him must have been even crueller than I’d -thought. And what a strange coincidence that I should be going to meet -him again in such circumstances. Maitland was still rambling on, but I -was paying no attention to him. I could, of course, say nothing unless -Digby gave me permission; but it struck me that if I told him how the -land lay—if I told him that not only was his silence being completely -misconstrued, but that it was making the girl unhappy, he might allow me -to tell her father the truth. After all, the truth was far better; there -was nothing to be ashamed of in having a rotten heart. - -“And it was just as I had made up my mind to see Digby that night that -the door opened and Tom, the boy, came in. I hadn’t seen him since he -was quite a child, and the first thing that struck me about him was that -he was almost as good-looking as his sister. He’d got the same eyes, the -same colouring, but—there was the devil of a but. Whereas his sister -gave one the impression of being utterly frank and fearless, the boy -struck me immediately as being the very reverse. That he was the apple -of his mother’s eye, I knew—but that signifies nothing. Thank God! -mothers are made that way. And as I stood watching him talking to his -father I recalled certain vague rumours that I’d heard recently and had -paid scant attention to at the time. Rumours of wild extravagance up at -Oxford—debts well into the four figures. . . . They came back to my -mind, those idle bits of gossip, and they assumed a definite -significance as I studied the boy’s face. It was weak—utterly weak; he -gave one the impression of having no mental or moral stamina whatever. -He poured himself out a glass of sherry, and his hand wasn’t quite -steady, which is a bad sign in a boy of under twenty-one. And he was a -little frightened of his father, which is bad in a boy of any age when -the father is a man like Joe Maitland. And that wasn’t all, either. -There was something more—something much bigger on his mind: I was sure -of it. There was fear in his heart; you could see it lurking round his -eyes—round his mouth. I glanced at Joe, but he seemed quite oblivious -of it, and then I left them and went up to dress for dinner. I remember -wondering as I turned into my room whether the boy had got into another -scrape—then I dismissed him from my mind. Jack Digby was a more -interesting and more pressing problem. - -“I met him in the hall as I came down, and he gave a sudden start of -astonishment. - -“‘Why, Doctor,’ he said quietly as we shook hands, ‘this is a surprise. -I’d no idea you were to be here.’ - -“‘Nor I that you were coming,’ I answered, ‘until Mr. Maitland happened -to mention it a little while ago.’ - -“‘You haven’t said anything to him, have you?’ he cried anxiously. - -“‘My dear fellow,’ I said, ‘you ought to know that doctors don’t.’ He -muttered an apology, and I went on: ‘You know, Digby, I can’t help -thinking you’re making a mistake in not telling the truth.’ - -“He shook his head vigorously. ‘I’m sure I’m not,’ he answered. ‘The -mistake I’ve made has been in coming here at all. I haven’t seen her -since the day—when you told me. And I oughtn’t to have come now. It’s -the last—I swear that. I couldn’t help it; I had to see her once again. -I’m going to Africa in August—big game shooting.’ - -“I stared at him gravely, and after a while he went on: - -“‘No one knows better than you,’ he said gravely, ‘my chance of -returning. And when I don’t come back—she’ll forget me.’ I saw his -hands clench at his side. ‘But if I tell her now—why, she’ll want me to -stop in England—to go to specialists—to eke out life to the full two -or three years. It’ll be hell—hell! Hell for both of us. Every day -she’ll be wondering if she is going to hear I’m dead; it’ll ruin her -life. Whereas Africa, if she doesn’t know about my heart, will be -sudden. You see, Doctor, she is the only one to be considered—the only -one.’ - -“I drew a deep breath; truly Joe Maitland had been right. This man was -white clean through. And then he gave a little choking gasp, and, -turning round, I saw the girl coming towards us across the hall. - -“‘I didn’t know you’d come, old man,’ I heard her say, and then I moved -away and left them. It was one of those occasions when you say it’s the -smoke that has got into your eyes—and you lie.” - -For a while the Doctor was silent; then he gave a short laugh. - -“They sat next to one another at dinner, opposite me, and I’m afraid my -partner must have thought I was a little wanting in intellect. They were -such a perfectly ideal couple; and I noticed old Joe Maitland watching -them every now and then. But gradually, as the meal progressed, a -puzzled look began to creep into the girl’s eyes, and once she bit her -lip suddenly and turned abruptly to the man on her other side. It was -then that Digby looked across the table at me, and in that moment I -realised that he was right. For him to remain in England would be -impossible for both of them; the end, quick and sudden in an African -jungle—if he ever got as far—was the only way out. - -“‘My God! Doctor,’ he said as he came round and sat down next to me -after the ladies had gone, ‘I knew I was a fool to come, but I didn’t -think it was going to be as bad as this.’ - -“‘When are you going to start?’ I asked. - -“‘As soon as I can get things fixed up at home, here, and make some sort -of arrangements for carriers and people the other end. One must act, I -suppose, even though it’s the last appearance.’ He gave a mirthless -laugh. ‘I’ve always wanted to go South from Khartoum—I wonder how far -I’ll get.’ Then he began to drum on the table with his fingers. ‘And -what I wonder still more,’ he went on slowly, ‘is how in Heaven’s name -I’ll get through this evening. You see, though I didn’t actually propose -in so many words before I came to see you, I’d—I’d let things drift to -such a position that a proposal was hardly necessary. That’s the devil -of it. . . . She knows I worship the ground she walks on—and I know she -cares too.’ - -“‘How long are you going to stop here?’ I asked. - -“‘I accepted for the week-end,’ he said abruptly. ‘I shall go first -thing to-morrow. I can’t stand it.’ - -“At that we left it, and I didn’t speak to him again until the thing -occurred which even now—though seven years have slipped by—is as -clearly imprinted on my brain as if it had happened last night. - -“I couldn’t sleep very well that night, and at about two I switched on -my light, with the idea of reading. I was just reaching out for a book -when I heard the sound of voices from a room almost opposite. I listened -for a moment, then I got up and went to the door. For the voices were -excited and angry; something unusual was evidently happening. For a -moment or two I hesitated; then I slipped on a dressing-gown and looked -out. Across the passage the door of a room was open, and through it the -light was streaming out. And then I heard Joe Maitland speak, and his -words literally rooted me to the ground with amazement. - -“‘So, Mr. Digby, you’re just a common damned thief. The gentleman -crook—what? The amateur cracksman. That’s what they call them on the -stage, I believe. Sounds better. But I prefer the more homely name of -thief.’ - -“It was then that I appeared in the door, and Maitland swung round. - -“‘Oh, it’s you, is it, Tranton?’ He had a revolver in his hand, and he -lowered it when he saw who it was. ‘A pretty tableau, isn’t it? It -appears that a second edition of—what was the gentleman’s -name—Raffles, wasn’t it?—has been honouring me with his presence. -Unfortunately, Tom and I both happened to hear him.’ - -“But I was paying no attention to what he was saying; my eyes were fixed -on Digby and—Tom. Digby, with a quiet smile on his face and his hands -in his pockets, was standing beside an open safe. He was still in -evening clothes, and once he glanced my way. Then he looked back again -at his host, and I looked at Tom. He was in his dressing-gown, and he -was shivering as if he had the ague. He was standing close to his -father, and a little behind him—and Joe Maitland was too engrossed with -Digby to notice the condition he was in. - -“‘Can you advance any reason, Mr. Digby,’ he demanded, ‘why I shouldn’t -call up the local police?’ - -“‘None whatever, Mr. Maitland,’ he answered gravely. ‘Your son caught me -fair and square.’ - -“And it seemed to me that Tom made an effort to speak, though no words -came from his lips. - -“‘You damned scoundrel!’ cried Maitland. ‘You come to my house—you make -love to my daughter—and then you abuse my hospitality by trying to -steal my wife’s jewellery!’ - -“It was at that moment that the girl came in. I saw Digby catch his -breath and lean against the wall for support; then he straightened up -and faced his host again. Just once had he glanced at her, with her -glorious hair falling over her shoulders and a startled look of wonder -in her great eyes. Then resolutely he looked away. - -“‘What’s happened, Daddy?’ she whispered. ‘I heard your voice and——’ - -“‘This has happened, my dear,’ said Maitland grimly. ‘We have been -privileged to discover Mr. Digby’s method of earning a livelihood.’ He -pointed to the open safe. ‘He apparently ingratiates himself with people -for the express purpose of stealing their valuables. In other words, a -common thief.’ - -“‘I don’t believe it!’ she flashed out, imperiously. ‘Jack—a thief! How -can you say such a thing?’ - -“‘Then may I ask what he was doing when your brother discovered him by -the open safe? Besides, he admits it himself.’ - -“‘Jack!’ The cry seemed to come from the very depths of her soul. ‘Say -it’s a lie!’ - -“For one second he hesitated; then he spoke quite steadily, though he -didn’t look at her. - -“‘I am afraid, Miss Maitland—that I can’t say it’s untrue.’ - -“And then there fell one of those silences that can be felt. She was -staring at Jack Digby, was the girl—staring at him with a great -amazement dawning on her face. - -“‘Jack,’ she whispered, ‘look at me!’ - -“He raised his eyes and looked at her, and a little pulse was beating -just above his jaw. Then, after what seemed an interminable time, she -gave a little laugh that was half a sob and turned away. - -“‘I see,’ she said below her breath. ‘I see.’ - -“But what it was she saw, I didn’t at the moment realise. It was to be -made clear a little later.” - -The Doctor paused and threw a log on the fire. - -“Yes, I found out later what she thought,” he went on after a while, -“and for the first and probably the last time in my life I was guilty of -a breach of professional confidence. It was about half an hour later -that I went round to Jack Digby’s room. Maitland, after thinking it -over—and it is possible that I had something to do with his -decision—had dismissed the idea of sending for the police. Digby was to -clear out by the first train next morning, and was never to make an -attempt to communicate with the girl again. And Jack Digby had bowed in -silence and gone to his own room. He wouldn’t look at me as he passed; I -think he knew that he hadn’t deceived me. - -“He was sitting by the open window when I went in, still in his evening -clothes, and he looked round with a start as I entered. His face was -drawn and grey. - -“‘My dear chap,’ I said, before he could speak, ‘is it worth while?’ - -“‘I don’t understand what you mean, Doctor,’ he said slowly. - -“‘Oh, yes, you do!’ I answered. ‘You deceived Mr. Maitland all -right—you didn’t deceive me. It was Tom who opened the safe—not you.’ - -“For a moment I thought he was going to deny it; then he gave a little -mirthless laugh. - -“‘Perfectly correct,’ he said. ‘As you say, it was Tom who opened the -safe. I caught him absolutely in the act. And then Mr. Maitland came.’ - -“‘But—good God!’ I cried, ‘what an unutterable young waster he must be -to let you shoulder the blame!’ - -“Digby faced me steadily. ‘I made him. You see, I saw it was the chance -I had been looking for.’ - -“‘You mean you told him about your heart?’ - -“‘No,’ he answered quietly. ‘But I told him I was entangled with another -woman, and that the best way of saving his sister’s feelings was to let -her think——’ - -“And then the boy broke down utterly. With his hands on my shoulders he -stood there facing me, and he made me swear I wouldn’t tell the girl. - -“‘She must never know, Doctor. I’ve done it for her. She must never -know.’ - -“And even as he spoke, the words died away on his lips, and he stood -motionless, staring past me at the door. Without looking round I knew -what had happened—I could smell the faint scent she used. - -“‘What have you done for me, Jack, and why must I never know?’ - -“She came steadily up to him, and his hands fell to his side. - -“‘Why, you’ve been crying, dear,’ she said. ‘What’s the matter?’ - -“True to his purpose, he started some fantastic story about sorrow at -having been found out, but she cut him short. - -“‘Don’t lie, Jack—not now,’ she whispered. ‘I know it wasn’t you who -opened the safe. I know it was Tom. But what I want to know is why you -said you did it.’ - -“It was then I made up my mind. - -“‘I’m going to tell her, Digby, whether you like it or not,’ and she -looked at me quickly. He didn’t say anything; things had got beyond him. -And very briefly I told her the truth about his heart. - -“She listened to me in absolute silence, and when I’d finished she just -turned round to him and held out both her arms. - -“‘Thank God! I know, my darling,’ she whispered. ‘I thought it was -because you’d got fond of another woman. I thought—oh! Heaven knows -what I thought! But now—oh! you stupid, wonderful boy!’ - -“I went to the window and looked out! It must have been five minutes -later that I found the girl at my side. - -“‘Is it absolutely hopeless?’ she asked. - -“‘Humanly speaking,’ I answered, ‘yes.’ - -“‘How long?’ and she put her hand on my arm. - -“‘Two days; two months; at the utmost, two years,’ I said gravely. - -“‘And why shouldn’t I look after him for those two years?’ she demanded -fiercely. - -“‘I’m thinking of a possible child,’ I said quietly, and she began to -tremble a little. - -“‘That’s ridiculous,’ she cried—‘quite ridiculous.’” - -The Doctor was carefully cleaning out the bowl of his pipe. “In the -morning Jack Digby had gone, leaving behind him a note for her. She -showed it to me later. - -“‘The Doctor is right, my darling,’ it ran. ‘It’s just Fate, and there’s -not much use kicking. I’m glad though that you know the truth—it helps. -Good-bye, dear heart. God bless you.’” - -The Doctor paused. - -“Is that all?” said the Ordinary Man. - -“Very nearly,” answered the Doctor. “I had been right when I said two -months, only the cause of death was not what I expected. How he got -across the water so soon I don’t know. But he did—in a cavalry -regiment. And he stopped one—somewhere up Ypres way.” - -“And the girl?” asked the Soldier. - -“Has not got over it yet,” said the Doctor. - -“And did she ever hear from him again?” demanded the Barrister. - -“Once, from France. Written just before—the end. She didn’t show me -_that_ one. Pass the whisky, Actor-man. Talking makes one’s throat -infernally dry.” - - - - - - -_IV_ _The Ordinary Man’s Story, being The Pipes of Death_ - - - -“ANY of you know Burma?” asked the Ordinary Man, putting out his hand -for the tobacco-jar. - -“I’ve been there,” grunted the Soldier. “Shooting. Years ago. West of -the Irawadi from Rangoon.” - -“It’s years since I was there, too,” said the Ordinary Man. “More than a -score. And if I wasn’t so beastly fat and lazy I’d like to go back for a -visit. Only a visit, mind you. I’ve got to the time of life when I find -that London is quite good enough for my needs. But the story which I -propose to inflict on you fellows to-night concerns Burma, and delving -into the past to get the details right has brought the fascination of -the place back to me. - -“I was about thirty-five at the time—and my benevolent Aunt Jane had -not then expired and endowed me with all her worldly goods. I was -working for a City firm who had considerable interests out -there—chiefly teak, with a strong side-line in rubies. - -“At that time, as you may know, the ruby mines in the Mandalay area were -second to none, and it was principally to give my employers a report on -the many clashing interests in those mines that I went back to England -after a few months in the country. And it was in their office that I met -a youngster, who had just joined the firm, and who, it turned out, was -going out to Burma on the same boat as myself. Jack Manderby was his -name, and I suppose he must have been ten or eleven years younger than -I. He was coming to my district, and somewhat naturally I was a bit -curious to see what sort of a fellow he was. - -“I took to him from the very first moment, and after we’d lunched -together a couple of times my first impression was strengthened. He was -a real good fellow—extraordinarily good-looking and straight as a die, -without being in the least degree a prig. - -“We ran into a good south-westerly gale the instant we were clear of the -Isle of Wight, which necessitated a period of seclusion on my part. In -fact, my next appearance in public was at Gibraltar. - -“And the first person I saw as I came on deck was Jack Manderby. He was -leaning over the side bargaining with some infernal robber below, and at -his side was a girl. In the intervals of haggling he turned to her, and -they both laughed; and as I stood for a few minutes watching them, it -struck me that Master Jack had made good use of the four days since we -left England. Then I strolled over and joined them. - -“‘Hullo, old man!’ he cried, with a twinkle in his eyes. ‘Is the rumour -correct that you’ve been engaged in research work below, and had given -orders not to be disturbed?’ - -“‘Your vulgar jests leave me unmoved,’ I answered with dignity. ‘At any -rate, I appear to have arrived in time to save you being robbed. That -man is a thief and the son of a thief, and all his children are -thieves.’ - -“Jack laughed; then he swung round to the girl. - -“‘By the way, you haven’t met Mr. Walton, have you? This is Miss -Felsted, old boy, who is going out to Rangoon.’ - -“We shook hands, and no more was said at the time. But one thing was -definitely certain. Whatever the girl was going to Rangoon for, the gain -was Rangoon’s. She was an absolute fizzer—looked you straight in the -face with the bluest of eyes that seemed to have a permanent smile -lurking in them. And then, suddenly, I noticed her left hand. On the -third finger was a diamond ring. It couldn’t be Jack she was engaged to, -and I wondered idly who the lucky man was. Because he was -lucky—infernally lucky. - -“I think,” continued the Ordinary Man, pulling thoughtfully at his pipe, -“that I first began to scent complications at Malta. We landed there for -a few hours, and the idea was that Miss Felsted, Jack, and I should -explore Valetta. Now, I don’t quite know how, but we got separated. I -spent a pleasant two hours with a naval pal in the Union Club, while -Jack and the girl apparently went up by the narrow-gauge railway to -Citta Vecchia, in the centre of the island. And since no one in the full -possession of their senses would go on that line for fun, I wondered. I -wondered still more when they came back to the ship. Jack was far too -open and above-board to be very skilful at hiding his feelings. And -something had happened that day. - -“Of course, it was no concern of mine. Jack’s affairs were entirely his -own; so were the girl’s. But a ship is a dangerous place sometimes—it -affords unequalled and unending opportunities for what in those days -were known as flirtations, and to-day, I believe, are known as ‘pashes.’ -And to get monkeying round with another fellow’s fiancée—well, it leads -to complications generally. However, as I said, it was no concern of -mine, until it suddenly became so the evening before we reached Port -Said. - -“I was talking to Jack on deck just before turning in. We were strolling -up and down—the sea like a mill-pond, and almost dazzling with its -phosphorescence. - -“‘Is Miss Felsted going out to get married?’ I asked him casually. - -“‘Yes,’ he answered abruptly. ‘She’s engaged to a man called Morrison.’ - -“‘Morrison,’ I repeated, stopping and staring at him. ‘Not Rupert -Morrison, by any chance?’ - -“‘Yes. Rupert is his name. Do you know him?’ - -“I’d pulled myself together by this time, and we resumed our stroll. - -“‘I know Rupert Morrison quite well,’ I answered. ‘As distance goes in -that country, Jack, he’s a near neighbour of ours’; and I heard him -catch his breath a little quickly. - -“‘What sort of a fellow is he?’ asked Jack quietly, and then he went on, -which saved me the trouble of a reply: ‘She hasn’t seen him for four -years. They got engaged before he left England, and now she’s going out -to marry him.’ - -“‘I see,’ I murmured non-committally, and shortly afterwards I made my -excuse and left him. - -“I didn’t turn in at once when I got to my cabin, I wanted to try and -get things sorted out in my mind. The first point, which was as obvious -as the electric light over the bunk, was that if Jack Manderby was not -in love with Molly Felsted he was as near to it as made no odds. The -second and far more important point was one on which I was in the -dark—was the girl in love with him? If so, it simplified matters -considerably; but if not, if she was only playing the fool, there was -going to be trouble when we got to Burma. And the trouble would take the -form of Rupert Morrison. For the more I thought of it the more amazed -did I become that such a girl could ever have become engaged to such a -man. - -“Of course, four years is a long time, especially when they are passed -in comparative solitude. I had no idea what sort of fellow Morrison had -been when first he arrived in the country, but I had a very shrewd idea -what manner of man he was now. Perhaps it had been the -loneliness—loneliness takes some men worse than others—but, whatever -the cause, Morrison, after four years in Burma, was no fit mate for such -a girl as Molly Felsted. A brooding, sullen man, given to fierce fits of -almost animal rage, a heavy drinker of the type who is never drunk, -and——” - -The Ordinary Man paused and shrugged his shoulders. - -“Well, it’s unfair to mention the last point. After all, most of us did -that without thinking; but the actual arrival of an English girl—a -wife—who was to step, blindly ignorant, into her predecessor’s shoes, -so to speak, made one pause to think. Anyway, that was neither here nor -there. What frightened me was the prospect of the girl marrying the -Morrison of her imagination and discovering, too late, the Morrison of -reality. When that happened, with Jack Manderby not five miles away, the -fat was going to be in the fire with a vengeance. - -“It was after Colombo that matters came to a head. We left the P. & O. -there, and got into another boat going direct to Rangoon. The weather -was glorious—hot as blazes by day, and just right at night. And it was -after dinner one evening a couple of days before we were due in, that -quite inadvertently I butted into the pair of them in a secluded spot on -deck. His arms were round her, and they both sounded a bit incoherent. -Of course, there was no use pretending I hadn’t seen—they both looked -up at me. I could only mutter my apology and withdraw. But I determined, -even at the risk of being told to go to hell, to have a word with young -Jack that night. - -“‘Look here, old man,’ I said to him a bit later, ‘you’ve got a perfect -right to request me to mind my own business, but I’m going to risk that. -I saw you two to-night, kissing to beat the band—confound it all, there -wasn’t a dog’s earthly of not seeing you—and what I want to know is -where Morrison comes in, or if he’s gone out?’ - -“He looked at me a bit shamefacedly, then he lit a cigarette. - -“‘Hugh,’ he said, with a twisted sort of smile, ‘I just worship the -ground that girl walks on.’ - -“‘Maybe you do, Jack,’ I answered. ‘But the point is, what are her -feelings on the matter?’ - -“He didn’t answer, and after a while I went on. - -“‘This show is not my palaver,’ I said ordering two whisky pegs from the -bartender. ‘It’s nothing to do with me, except that you and I are going -to share the same bungalow, which is within easy calling distance of -Morrison’s. Now, Morrison is a funny-tempered fellow, but, apart from -that altogether, the situation seems strained to me. If she breaks off -her engagement with him and marries you, well and good. But if she isn’t -going to do that, if she still intends to marry Morrison—well, then, -old man, although I hold no brief for him, you’re not playing the game. -I’m no sky pilot, but do one thing or the other. Things are apt to -happen, you know, Jack, when one’s at the back of beyond and a fellow -gets playing around with another fellow’s wife—things which might make -an English court of justice sit up and scratch its head.’ - -“He heard me out in silence, then he nodded his head. - -“‘I know it must seem to you that I wasn’t playing the game,’ he said -quietly. ‘But, believe me, it’s not for want of asking on my part that -Molly won’t marry me. And I believe that she’s as fond of me—almost—as -I am of her.’ - -“‘Then why the——?’ I began, but he stopped me with a weary little -gesture of his hand. - -“‘She feels that she’s bound to him in honour,’ he went on. ‘I’ve told -her that there can’t be much question of honour if she doesn’t love him -any more, but she seems to think that, as he has waited four years for -her, she can’t break her bargain. And she’s very fond of him; if it -hadn’t been for fate chucking us together she would never have thought -of not marrying him. To-night we both forgot ourselves, I suppose; it -won’t occur again.’ - -“He sat back staring out of the port-hole. The smoke-room was empty, and -I fairly let myself go. - -“‘You very silly idiot,’ I exploded, ‘do you imagine I’ve been -delivering a homily on the sins of kissing another man’s fiancée. What I -want to get into your fat head is this. You’re going to a place where -the only white woman you’ll see from year’s end to year’s end is that -girl, if she marries Morrison. You can prattle about honour, and -forgetting yourselves, and not letting it occur again, and it’s worth -the value of that used match. Sooner or later it will occur again, and -it won’t stop at kissing next time. And then Morrison will probably kill -you, or you’ll kill him, and there’ll be the devil to pay. For Heaven’s -sake, man, look the thing square in the face. Either marry the girl, or -cut her right out of your life. And you can only do that by cabling the -firm—or I’ll cable them for you from Rangoon—asking to be posted to -another district. I shall be sorry, but I’d far rather lose you than sit -on the edge of a young volcano.’ - -“I left him to chew over what I’d said and went to bed, feeling -infernally sorry for both of them. But the one fact over which there was -no doubt whatever in my mind was that if Morrison married Molly Felsted, -then Jack Manderby would have to be removed as far as geographically -possible from temptation. - -“My remarks apparently had some effect, because the next day Jack -buttonholed me on deck. - -“‘I’ve told Molly what you said last night, old man, and we’ve been -talking it over. Morrison is meeting her apparently at Rangoon, and she -has agreed to tell him what has happened. And when he knows how the land -lies it’s bound to be all right. Of course, I’m sorry for him, poor -devil, but——’ and he went babbling on in a way common to those in -love. - -“I’m afraid I didn’t pay much attention; I was thinking of Morrison and -wondering whether Jack’s optimism was justified. Apart from his -moroseness and drinking, there were other stories about the man—stories -which are not good to hear about a white man. I’d never paid any heed to -them before, but now they came back to me—those rumours of strange -things, which only the ignorant sceptic pretends to scorn; strange -things done in secret with native priests and holy men; strange things -it is not well for the white man to dabble in. And someone had it that -Rupert Morrison did more than dabble.” - -The Ordinary Man paused and sipped his whisky. - -“He met the boat at Rangoon,” he continued after a while, “and came on -board. Evidently the girl wasted no time in telling him what had -occurred, because it was barely ten minutes before I saw him coming -towards Jack and myself. There was a smouldering look in his eyes, but -outwardly he seemed quite calm. He gave me a curt nod, then he addressed -himself exclusively to Jack. - -“‘Miss Felsted has just made a somewhat unexpected announcement to me,’ -he remarked. - -“Jack bowed gravely. ‘I am more than sorry, Mr. Morrison,’ he said, ‘if -it should appear to you that I have acted in any way caddishly.’ He -paused a little constrainedly and I moved away. The presence of a third -person at such an interview helps nobody. But once or twice I glanced at -them during the next quarter of an hour, and it seemed to me that, -though he was trying to mask it, the look of smouldering fury in -Morrison’s eyes was growing more pronounced. From their attitude it -struck me that Jack was protesting against some course of action on -which the other was insisting, and I turned out to be right. - -“‘Morrison has made the following proposal,’ he said irritably to me -when their conversation had finished. ‘That Molly should be left here in -Rangoon with the English chaplain and his wife—apparently he’d fixed -that already—and that we—he and I—should both go up country for a -month or six weeks. Neither of us to see her during that time, and at -the end of it she to be free to choose. As he pointed out, I suppose -quite rightly, he had been engaged to her for more than four years, and -it was rather rough on him to upset everything for what might prove only -a passing fancy, induced by being thrown together on board ship. Of -course, I pointed out to him that this was no question of a passing -fancy—but he insisted.’ - -“‘And you agreed?’ I asked. - -“‘What else could I do?’ he cried. ‘Heaven knows I didn’t want to—it’s -such awful rot and waste of time. But I suppose it is rather rough luck -on the poor devil, and if it makes it any easier for him to have the -agony prolonged a few weeks, it’s up to me to give him that -satisfaction.’ - -“He went off to talk to the girl, leaving me smoking a cigarette -thoughtfully; for, try as I would, I could not rid my mind of the -suspicion that there was something behind this suggestion of -Morrison’s—something sinister. Fortunately, Jack would be under my -eye—in my bungalow; but even so, I felt uneasy. Morrison had been too -quiet for safety, bearing in mind what manner of man he was. - -“We landed shortly after and I went round to the club. I didn’t see -Morrison—he seemed to have disappeared shortly after his interview with -Jack; but he had given the girl full directions as to how to get to the -chaplain’s house. Jack took her there, and I’d arranged with him that he -should come round after and join me. - -“The first man I ran into was McAndrew—a leather-faced Scotsman from up -my part of the country—who was down in Rangoon on business. - -“‘Seen the bridegroom?’ he grunted as soon as he saw me. - -“‘Travelled out with the bride,’ I said briefly, not over-anxious to -discuss the matter. - -“‘And what sort of a lassie is she?’ he asked curiously. - -“‘Perfectly charming,’ I answered, ringing the bell for a waiter. - -“‘Is that so?’ he said slowly, and our eyes met. ‘Man,’ he added still -more slowly, ‘it should not be, it should not be. Poor lassie! Poor -lassie!’ - -“And then Jack Manderby came in, and I introduced him to two or three -other fellows. I’d arranged to go up country that evening—train to -Mandalay, and ride from there the following morning—and Jack, of -course, was coming with me. He had said good-bye to the girl; he wasn’t -going to see her again before he went up country, and we spent the -latter part of the afternoon pottering round Rangoon. And it was as we -were strolling down one of the native bazaars that he suddenly caught my -arm. - -“‘Look—there’s Morrison!’ he muttered. ‘I distinctly saw his face -peering out of that shop.’ - -“I looked in the direction he was pointing. It was an ordinary native -shop where one could buy ornaments and musical instruments and trash -like that—but of Morrison I could see no sign. - -“‘I don’t see him,’ I said; ‘and anyway there is no reason why he -shouldn’t be in the shop if he wants to.’ - -“‘But he suddenly vanished,’ persisted Jack, ‘as if he didn’t want to be -seen.’ He walked on with me slowly. ‘I don’t like that man, Hugh; I hate -the swine. And it’s not because of Molly, either.’ - -“He shut up at that, and I did not pursue the topic. It struck me that -we should have quite enough of Morrison in the next few weeks.” - -The Ordinary Man paused and lit a cigarette; then he smiled a little -grimly. - -“I don’t know what I expected,” he continued thoughtfully: “I certainly -never said a word to Jack as to my vague suspicions. But all the time -during the first fortnight, while he was settling down into the job, I -had the feeling that there was danger in the air. And then, when nothing -happened, my misgivings began to go. - -“After all, I said to myself, what could happen, anyway? And perhaps I -had misjudged Rupert Morrison. On the two or three occasions that we met -him he seemed perfectly normal; and though, somewhat naturally, he was -not over effusive to Jack, that was hardly to be wondered at. - -“And then one morning Jack came to breakfast looking as if he hadn’t -slept very well. I glanced at him curiously, but made no allusion to his -appearance. - -“‘Did you hear that music all through the night?’ he said irritably, -half-way through the meal. ‘Some infernal native playing a pipe or -something just outside my window.’ - -“‘Why didn’t you shout at him to stop?’ I asked. - -“‘I did. And I got up and looked.’ He took a gulp of tea; then he looked -at me as if he were puzzled. - -“‘There was no one there that I could see. Only something black that -moved over the compound, about the size of a kitten.’ - -“‘He was probably just inside the jungle beyond the clearing,’ I said. -‘Heave half a brick at him if you hear it again.’ - -“We said no more, and I dismissed the matter from my mind. I was on the -opposite side of the bungalow, and it would take more than a native -playing on a pipe to keep me awake. But the following night the same -thing happened—and the next, and the next. - -“‘What sort of a noise is it?’ I asked him. ‘Surely to Heaven you’re -sufficiently young and healthy not to be awakened by a bally fellow -whistling?’ - -“‘It isn’t that that wakes me, Hugh,’ he answered slowly. ‘I wake before -it starts. Each night about the same time I suddenly find myself wide -awake—listening. Sometimes it’s ten minutes before it starts—sometimes -almost at once; but it always comes. A faint, sweet whistle—three or -four notes, going on and on—until I think I’ll go mad. It seems to be -calling me.’ - -“‘But why the devil don’t you go and see what it is?’ I cried peevishly. - -“‘Because’—and he stared at me with a shamefaced expression in his -eyes—‘because I daren’t.’ - -“‘Rot!’ I said angrily. ‘Look here, young fellow, nerves are bad things -anywhere—here they’re especially bad. You pull yourself together.’ - -“He flushed all over his face, and shut up like an oyster, which made me -rather sorry I’d spoke so sharply. But one does hear funny noises in the -jungle, and it doesn’t do to become fanciful. - -“And then one evening McAndrew came over to dinner. It was during the -meal that I mentioned Jack’s nocturnal serenader, expecting that Mac -would treat it as lightly as I did. - -“‘Seven times you’ve heard him, Jack, haven’t you,’ I said, ‘and always -the same tune?’ - -“‘Always the same tune,’ he answered quietly. - -“‘Can you whistle it now?’ asked McAndrew, laying down his knife and -fork and staring at Jack. - -“‘Easily,’ said Jack. ‘It goes like this’—and he whistled about six -notes. ‘On and on it goes—never varying——Why, McAndrew, what the -devil is the matter?’ - -“I glanced at McAndrew in amazement; then out of the corner of my eye I -saw the native servant, who was shivering like a jelly. - -“‘Man—are you sure?’ said Mac, and his face was white. - -“‘Of course I’m sure,’ answered Jack quietly. ‘Why?’ - -“‘That tune you whistled—is not good for a white man to hear.’ The -Scotsman seemed strangely uneasy. ‘And ye’ve heard it seven nights? Do -you know it, Walton?’ - -“‘I do not,’ I said grimly. ‘What’s the mystery?’ - -“But McAndrew was shaking his head dourly, and for a while he did not -answer. - -“‘Mind ye,’ he said at length, ‘I’m not saying there’s anything in it at -all, but I would not care to hear that whistled outside my window. I -heard it once—years ago—when I was ’way up in the Arakan Mountains. -Soft and sweet it was—rising and falling in the night air, and going on -ceaselessly. ’Way up above me was a monastery, one into which no white -man has ever been. And the noise was coming from there. I had to go; my -servants wouldn’t stop. And when I asked them why, they told me that the -priests were calling for a sacrifice. If they stopped, they told me, it -might be one of us. That no one could tell how Death would come, or to -whom, but come it must—when the Pipes of Death were heard. And the tune -you whistled, Manderby, was the tune the Pipes of Death were playing.’ - -“‘But that’s all bunkum, Mac,’ I said angrily. ‘We’re not in the Arakans -here.’ - -“‘Maybe,’ he answered doggedly. ‘But I’m a Highlander, and—I would not -care to hear that tune.’ - -“I could see Jack was impressed; as a matter of fact I was myself—more -than I cared to admit. Sounds rot here, I know, but out there, with the -dim-lit forest around one, it was different. - -“McAndrew was stopping with us that night. Jack, with the stubbornness -of the young, had flatly refused to change his room, and turned in -early, while Mac and I sat up talking. And it was not till we went to -bed ourselves that I again alluded to the whistle. - -“‘You don’t really think it meant anything, Mac, do you?’ I asked him, -and he shrugged his shoulders. - -“‘Maybe it is just a native who has heard it,’ he said guardedly, and -further than that he refused to commit himself. - -“I suppose it was about two o’clock when I was awakened by a hand being -thrust through my mosquito curtains. - -“‘Walton, come at once!’ It was McAndrew’s voice, and it was shaking. -‘There’s devil’s work going on, I tell you—devil’s work.’ - -“I was up in a flash, and together we crept along the passage towards -Jack’s room. Almost instinctively I’d picked up a gun, and I held it -ready as we paused by the door. - -“‘Do you hear it?’ whispered Mac a little fearfully, and I nodded. Sweet -and clear the notes rose and fell, on and on and on in the same cadence. -Sometimes the whistler seemed to be far away, at others almost in the -room. - -“‘It’s the tune,’ muttered McAndrew, as we tiptoed towards the bed. ‘The -Pipes of Death. Are ye awake, boy?’ - -“And then he gave a little cry and gripped my arm. - -“‘In God’s name,’ he whispered, ‘what’s that on the pillow beside his -head?’ - -“For a while in the dim light I couldn’t make out. There was something -big and black and motionless on the white pillow, and I crept nearer to -see what it was. And then suddenly seemed to stand still. I saw two -beady, unwinking eyes staring at Jack’s face close by; I saw Jack’s eyes -wide open and sick with terror, staring at the thing which shared his -bed. And still the music went on outside. - -“‘What is it?’ I muttered through dry lips. - -“‘Give me your gun, man,’ whispered McAndrew hoarsely. ‘If the pipes -stop, the boy’s doomed.’ - -“Slowly he raised the gun an inch at a time, pushing the muzzle forward -with infinite care towards the malignant, glowing eyes, until at last -the gun was almost touching its head. And at that moment the music died -away and stopped altogether. I had the momentary glimpse of two black -feelers shooting out towards Jack’s face—then came the crack of the -gun. And with a little sob Jack rolled out of bed and lay on the floor -half-fainting, while the black mass on the pillow writhed and writhed -and then grew still. - -“We struck a light, and stared at what was left of the thing in silence. -And it was Jack who spoke first. - -“‘I woke,’ he said unsteadily, ‘to feel something crawling over me on -the bed. Outside that infernal whistling was going on, and at last I -made out what was—what was——My God!’ he cried thickly, ‘what was it, -Mac—what was it?’ - -“‘Steady, boy!’ said McAndrew. ‘It’s dead now, anyway. But it was touch -and go. I’ve seen ’em bigger than that up in the Arakans. It’s a -bloodsucking, poisonous spider. They’re sacred to some of the sects.’ - -“Suddenly out of the jungle came one dreadful, piercing cry. - -“‘What was that?’ Jack muttered, and McAndrew shook his head. - -“‘Well find out to-morrow,’ he said. ‘There are strange things abroad -to-night.’ - -“We saw the darkness out—the three of us—round a bottle of whisky. - -“‘They’ve been trying to get you for a week, Manderby,’ said the -Scotsman. ‘To-night they very near succeeded.’ - -“‘But why?’ cried Jack. ‘I’ve never done ’em any harm.’ - -“McAndrew shrugged his shoulders. - -“‘Don’t ask me that,’ he answered. ‘Their ways are not our ways.’ - -“‘Has that brute been in my room every night?’ the boy asked. - -“‘Every night,’ answered McAndrew gravely. ‘Probably two of them. They -hunt them in pairs. They starve ’em, and then, when the music stops, -they feed.’ He thoughtfully poured out some more whisky. - -“And then at last came the dawn, and we went out to investigate. It was -Jack who found him. The face was puffed and horrible, and as we -approached, something black, about the size of a big kitten, moved away -from the body and shambled sluggishly into the undergrowth. - -“‘You’re safe, boy,’ said McAndrew slowly. ‘It was not the priests at -all. Just murder—plain murder.’ - -“And with that he took his handkerchief and covered the dreadful, -staring eyes of Rupert Morrison.” - - - - - - -_V_ _The Soldier’s Story, being A Bit of Orange Peel_ - - - -“YOU can set your minds at rest about one thing, you fellows,” began the -Soldier, with a grin. “My yarn isn’t about the war. There have been -quite enough lies told already about that performance without my adding -to the number. No; my story concerns peace soldiering, and, strangely -enough, I had an ocular demonstration when dining at the Ritz two nights -ago that everything had finished up quite satisfactorily, in the -approved story-book manner. At least, when I say quite -satisfactorily—there was a price, and it was paid by one of the -principal actors. But that is the unchangeable rule: one can but shrug -one’s shoulders and pay accordingly. - -“The regiment—I was a squadron-leader at the time—was quartered at -Murchester. Not a bad station at all: good shooting, very fair hunting, -especially if you didn’t scorn the carted stag, polo, and most excellent -cricket. Also some delightful houses in the neighbourhood; and as we’d -just come home from our foreign tour we found the place greatly to our -liking. London was an hour and a bit by train; in fact, there are many -worse stations in England than the spot I have labelled Murchester. - -“The only fly in the ointment when we first arrived was a fairly natural -one, and a thing which only time could cure. The men were a bit restive. -We’d been abroad, don’t forget, for more than ten years—India, Egypt, -South Africa—and the feel of the old country under their feet unsettled -’em temporarily. Nothing very bad, but an epidemic of absence without -leave and desertion broke out, and the officers had to settle down to -pull things together. Continual courts-martial for desertion don’t do a -regiment any good with the powers that be, and we had to stop it. - -“Of course, one of the first things to look to, when any trouble of that -sort is occurring, is the general type and standard of your N.C.O.’s. In -my squadron they were good, though just a little on the young side. I -remember one day I discussed the matter pretty thoroughly with the -squadron sergeant-major—an absolute top-notcher. - -“‘They’re all right, sir,’ he said. ‘In another two or three years there -will be none better in the British Army. Especially Trevor.’ - -“‘Ah! Sergeant-Major,’ I said, looking him straight in the face, ‘you -think Trevor is a good man, do you?’ - -“‘The best we’ve got, sir,’ he answered quietly, and he stared straight -back at me. - -“‘You weren’t so sure when he first came,’ I reminded him. - -“‘Well, I reckon there was a bit of jealousy, sir,’ he replied, ‘his -coming in from the link regiment over a good many of the chaps’ heads. -But he’s been with us now three months—and we know him better.’ - -“‘I wish I could say the same,’ I answered. ‘He defeats me, does -Sergeant Trevor.’ - -“The Sergeant-Major smiled quietly. ‘Does he, sir? I shouldn’t have -thought he would have. That there bloke Kipling has written about the -likes of Trevor.’ - -“‘Kipling has written a good deal about the Army,’ I said, with an -answering smile. ‘Mulvaney and Co. are classics.’ - -“‘It’s not Mulvaney I’m meaning, sir,’ he answered. ‘But didn’t he write -a little bit of poetry about “Gentlemen-rankers out on the spree”?’ - -“‘Why, yes, he did.’ I lit a cigarette thoughtfully. ‘I’d guessed that -much, Manfield. Is Trevor his real name?’ - -“‘I don’t know, sir,’ and at that moment the subject of our discussion -walked past and saluted. - -“‘Sergeant Trevor,’ I called after him, on the spur of the moment, and -he came up at the double. I hadn’t anything really to say to him, but -ever since he’d joined us he’d puzzled me, and though, as the -sergeant-major said, the other non-commissioned officers might know him -better, I certainly didn’t. - -“‘You’re a bit of a cricketer, aren’t you?’ I said, as he came up. - -“A faint smile flickered across his face at my question. ‘I used to play -quite a lot, sir,’ he answered. - -“‘Good; we want to get games going really strong.’ I talked with them -both—squadron ‘shop’—a bit longer, and all the time I was trying to -probe behind the impassive mask of Trevor’s face. Incidentally, I think -he knew it; once or twice I caught a faint gleam of amusement in his -eyes—a gleam that seemed to me a little weary. And when I left them and -went across the parade ground towards the mess, his face haunted me. I -hadn’t probed—not the eighth of an inch; he was still as much a mystery -as ever. But he’d got a pair of deep blue eyes, and though I wasn’t a -girl to be attracted by a man’s eyes, I couldn’t get his out of my mind. -They baffled me; the man himself baffled me—and I’ve always disliked -being baffled. - -“It was a few nights after, in mess, that the next piece in the puzzle -came along. We had in the regiment—he was killed in the war, poor -devil!—a fellow of the name of Blenton, a fairly senior captain. He -wasn’t in my squadron, and his chief claim to notoriety was as a -cricketer. Had he been able to play regularly he would have been easily -up to first-class form—as it was he periodically turned out for the -county; but he used to go in first wicket down for the Army. So you can -gather his sort of form. - -“It was over the port that the conversation cropped up, and it -interested me because it was about Trevor. As far as cricket was -concerned I hardly knew which end of a bat one held. - -“‘Dog-face has got a winner,’ I heard Blenton say across the table. I -may say that I answered to that tactful sobriquet, for reasons into -which we need not enter. ‘One Sergeant Trevor in your squadron, old -boy,’ he turned to me. ‘I was watching him at the nets to-night.’ - -“‘Is he any good?’ I said. - -“‘My dear fellow,’ answered Blenton, deliberately, ‘he is out and away -the best bat we’ve had in the regiment for years. He’s up to Army form!’ - -“‘Who’s that?’ demanded the commanding officer, sitting up and taking -notice at once. - -“‘Sergeant Trevor in B squadron, Colonel,’ said Blenton. ‘I was watching -him this evening at nets. Of course, the bowling was tripe, but he’s in -a completely different class to the average soldier cricketer.’ - -“‘Did you talk to him?’ I asked, curiously. - -“‘I did. And he struck me as being singularly uncommunicative. Asked him -where he learnt his cricket, and he hummed and hawed, and finally said -he’d played a lot in his village before joining the Army. I couldn’t -quite make him out, Dog-face. And why the devil didn’t he play for us -out in Jo’burg?’ - -“‘Because he only joined a couple of months before we sailed,’ I -answered. ‘Came with that last draft we got.’ - -“‘Well, I wish we had a few more trained in his village,’ said Blenton. -‘We could do with them.’ - -“After mess, I tackled Philip Blenton in the ante-room. - -“‘What’s your candid opinion of Trevor, Philip?’ I demanded. - -“He stopped on his way to play bridge, and bit the end off his cigar. - -“‘As a cricketer,’ he said, ‘or as a man?’ - -“‘Both,’ I answered. - -“‘Well, my candid opinion is that he learned his game at a first-class -public school,’ he replied. ‘And I am further of the opinion, from the -few words I spoke to him, that one would have expected to find him here -and not in the Sergeants’ Mess. What’s his story? Do you know?’ - -“‘I don’t,’ I shook my head. ‘Haven’t an idea. But you’ve confirmed my -own impressions.’ - -“And there I had to leave it for some months. Periodically I talked to -Trevor, deliberately tried to trap him into some admission which would -give me a clue to his past, but he was as wary as a fox and as close as -an oyster. I don’t know why I took the trouble—after all, it was his -business entirely, but the fellow intrigued me. He was such an -extraordinarily fine N.C.O., and there was never a sign of his hitting -the bottle, which is the end of a good many gentlemen-rankers. Moreover, -he didn’t strike me as a fellow who had come a cropper, which is the -usual cause of his kind. - -“And then one day, when I least expected it, the problem began to solve -itself. Philip Blenton rang me up in the morning after breakfast, from a -house in the neighbourhood, where he was staying for a couple of two-day -matches. Could I possibly spare Sergeant Trevor for the first of them? -Against the I Z., who had brought down a snorting team, and Carter—the -Oxford blue—had failed the local eleven at the last moment. If I -couldn’t they’d have to rake in one of the gardeners, but they weren’t -too strong as it was. - -“So I sent for Trevor, and asked him if he’d care to play. I saw his -eyes gleam for a moment; then he shook his head. - -“‘I think not, thank you, sir,’ he said, quietly. - -“‘It’s not quite like you to let Captain Blenton down, Trevor,’ I -remarked. ‘He’s relying on you.’ - -“I knew it was the right note to take with him, and I was very keen on -his playing. I was going out myself that afternoon to watch, and I -wanted to see him in different surroundings. We argued for a bit—I knew -he was as keen as mustard in one way to play—and after a while he said -he would. Then he went out of the office, and as it happened I followed -him. There was an old cracked mirror in the passage outside, and as I -opened the door he had just shut behind him, I had a glimpse of Sergeant -Trevor examining his face in the glass. He’d got his hand so placed that -it blotted out his moustache, and he seemed very intent on his -reflection. Then he saw me, and for a moment or two we stared at one -another in silence. Squadron-leader and troop-sergeant had gone; we were -just two men, and the passage was empty. And I acted on a sudden -impulse, and clapped him on the back. - -“‘Don’t be a fool, man,’ I cried. ‘Is there any reason why you shouldn’t -be recognised?’ - -“‘Nothing shady, Major,’ he answered, quietly. ‘But if one starts on a -certain course, it’s best to go through with it!’ - -“At that moment the pay-sergeant appeared, and Trevor pulled himself -together, saluted smartly, and was gone. - -“I suppose these things are planned out beforehand,” went on the -Soldier, thoughtfully. “To call it all blind chance seems a well-nigh -impossible solution to me. And yet the cynic would assuredly laugh at -connecting a child eating an orange in a back street in Oxford, and the -death while fishing in Ireland of one of the greatest-hearted men that -ever lived. But unless that child had eaten that orange, and left the -peel on the pavement for Carter, the Oxford blue, to slip on and sprain -his ankle, the events I am going to relate would, in all probability, -never have taken place. However, since delving too deeply into cause and -effect inevitably produces insanity, I’d better get on with it. - -“I turned up about three o’clock at Crosby Hall, along with four or five -other fellows from the regiment. Usual sort of stunt—marquee and -lemonade, with whisky in the background for the hopeless cases. The I Z. -merchants were in the field, and Trevor was batting. There was an Eton -boy in with him, and the score was two hundred odd for five wickets. -Philip Blenton lounged up as soon as he saw me, grinning all over his -face. - -“‘Thank Heaven you let him come, old man! He’s pulled eighty of the best -out of his bag already, and doesn’t look like getting out.’ - -“‘He wouldn’t come at first, Philip,’ I said, and he stared at me in -surprise. ‘I think he was afraid of being recognised.’ - -“A burst of applause greeted a magnificent drive past cover-point, and -for a while we watched the game in silence, until another long round of -cheering announced that Sergeant Trevor had got his century. As I’ve -said before, I’m no cricketer, but there was no need to be an expert to -realise that he was something out of the way. He was treating the -by-no-means-indifferent I Z. bowling with the utmost contempt, and old -Lord Apson, our host, was beside himself with joy. He was a cricket -maniac; his week was an annual fixture; and for the first time for many -years he saw his team really putting it across the I Z. And it was just -as I was basking in a little reflected glory that I saw a very dear old -friend of mine arrive in the enclosure, accompanied by a perfectly -charming girl. - -“‘Why, Yeverley, old man!’ I cried, ‘how are you?’ - -“‘Dog-face, as I live!’ he shouted, seizing me by both hands. -‘Man-alive, I’m glad to see you. Let me introduce you to my wife; Doris, -this is Major Chilham—otherwise Dog-face.’ - -“I shook hands with the girl, who was standing smiling beside him, and -for a while we stopped there talking. He was fifteen years or so older -than I, and had left the service as a Captain, but we both came from the -same part of the country, and in days gone by I’d known him very well -indeed. His marriage had taken place four years previously while I was -abroad, and now, meeting his wife for the first time, I recalled bit by -bit the gossip I’d heard in letters I got from home. How to everyone’s -amazement he’d married a girl young enough to be his daughter; how -everybody had prophesied disaster, and affirmed that she was not half -good enough for one of the elect like Giles Yeverley; how she’d been -engaged to someone else and thrown him over. And yet as I looked at them -both it struck me that the Jeremiahs had as usual been completely wrong: -certainly nothing could exceed the dog-like devotion in Giles’s eyes -whenever he looked at his wife. - -“We strolled over to find some easy chairs, and he fussed round her as -if she was an invalid. She took it quite naturally and calmly with a -faint and charming smile, and when he finally bustled away to talk to -Apson, leaving me alone with her, she was still smiling. - -“‘You know Giles well?’ she said. - -“‘Awfully well,’ I answered. ‘And having now returned from my sojourn in -the wilds, I hope I shall get to know his wife equally well.’ - -“‘That’s very nice of you, Dog-face’—she turned and looked at me—and, -by Jove, she was pretty. ‘If you’re anything like Giles—you must be a -perfect dear.’ - -“Now I like that sort of a remark when it’s made in the right way. It -establishes a very pleasant footing at once, with no danger of -miconstruction—like getting on good terms with a new horse the moment -you put your feet in the irons, instead of messing around for half the -hunt. Anyway, for the next ten minutes or so I didn’t pay very much -attention to the cricket. I gathered that there was one small son—Giles -junior—who was the apple of his father’s eye; and that at the moment a -heavy love affair was in progress between the young gentleman aged three -and the General’s daughter, who was as much as four, and showed no shame -over the matter whatever. Also that Giles and she were stopping with the -General and his wife for a week or ten days. - -“And it was at that stage of the proceedings that a prolonged burst of -applause made us look at the cricket. Sergeant Trevor was apparently -out—how I hadn’t an idea—and was half-way between the wickets and the -tent next to the one in which we were sitting, and which Apson always -had erected for the local villagers and their friends. I saw them put up -one hundred and twenty-five on the board as Trevor’s score, and did my -share in the clapping line. - -“‘A fine player—that fellow,’ I said, following him with my eyes. -‘Don’t know much about the game myself, but the experts tell me——’ And -at that moment I saw her face, and stopped abruptly. She had gone very -white, and her knuckles were gleaming like the ivory on the handle of -her parasol. - -“‘Major Chilham,’ she said—and her voice was the tensest thing I’ve -ever heard—‘who is that man who has just come out?’ - -“‘Trevor is his name,’ I answered, quietly. ‘He’s one of the -troop-sergeants in my squadron.’ I was looking at her curiously, as the -colour slowly came back to her face. ‘Why? Did you think you knew him?’ - -“‘He reminded me of someone I knew years ago,’ she said, sitting back in -her chair. ‘But of course I must have been mistaken.’ - -“And then rather abruptly she changed the conversation, though every now -and then she glanced towards the next tent, as if trying to see Trevor. -And sitting beside her I realised that there was something pretty -serious in the wind. She was on edge, though she was trying not to show -it—and Trevor was the cause, or the man who called himself Trevor. All -my curiosity came back, though I made no allusion to him; I was content -to await further developments. - -“They weren’t long in coming. The house team, with the respectable total -of three hundred and fifty odd, were all out by tea-time, and both -elevens forgathered in the tent behind. All, that is, except Trevor, who -remained in the other until Apson himself went and pulled him out. I -watched the old man, with his cheery smile, take Trevor by the elbow and -literally drag him out of his chair; I watched Trevor in his blue -undress jacket, smart as be damned, coming towards us with our host. And -then very deliberately I looked at Giles Yeverley’s wife. She was -staring over my head at the two men; then she lowered her parasol. - -“‘So you weren’t mistaken after all, Mrs. Giles,’ I said, quietly. - -“‘No, Dog-face, I wasn’t,’ she answered. ‘Would you get hold of Giles -for me, and tell him I’d like to get back. Say I’m not feeling very -well.’ - -“I got up at once and went in search of her husband. I found him talking -to the Zingari captain and Sergeant Trevor. He seemed quite excited, -appealing as he spoke to the I Z. skipper, while Trevor stood by -listening with a faint smile. - -“‘What he says is quite right, Sergeant Trevor,’ remarked the Zingari -man as I came up. ‘If you cared to consider it—you are absolutely up to -the best county form. Of course, I don’t know about your residential -qualifications, but that can generally be fixed.’ - -“‘Dog-face,’ cried Yeverley, as soon as he saw me, ‘he’s in your -squadron, isn’t he? Well, it’s so long since I left the Army that I’ve -forgotten all about discipline—but I tell you here—right now in front -of him—that Sergeant Trevor ought to chuck soldiering and take up -professional cricket. Bimbo here agrees with me.’ - -“‘Giles, you’ll burst your waistcoat if you get so excited,’ I remarked, -casually. ‘And, incidentally, Mrs. Yeverley wants to go home.’ - -“As I said the name I looked at Trevor, and my last doubt vanished. He -gave a sudden start, which Giles, who had immediately torn off to his -wife, didn’t see, and proceeded to back into the farthest corner of the -tea-tent. But once again old Apson frustrated him. Not for him the -endless pauses and waits of first-class cricket; five minutes to roll -the pitch and he was leading his team into the field. Trevor had to go -from his sanctuary, and there was only one exit from the enclosure in -front of the tent. - -“They met—Mrs. Giles and Trevor—actually at that exit. By the irony of -things, I think it was Giles who caused the meeting. He hurried forward -as he saw Trevor going out, and caught him by the arm; dear old -chap!—he was cricket mad if ever a man was. And so blissfully -unconscious of the other, bigger thing going on right under his nose. - -“‘Don’t you forget what I said, Trevor,’ he said, earnestly. ‘Any county -would be glad to have you. I’m going to talk to Major Chilham about it -seriously.’ - -“And I doubt if Trevor heard a word. Over Giles’s shoulder he was -staring at Giles’s wife—and she was staring back at him, while her -breast rose and fell in little gasps, and it seemed to me that her lips -were trembling. Then it was over; Trevor went out to field—Giles -bustled back to his wife. And I, being a hopeless case, went in search -of alcohol.” - -The Soldier paused to light another cigar. - -“He carried out his threat, did Giles with regard to me. Two or three -days later I lunched with the General, and it seemed to me that we never -got off the subject of Trevor. It wasn’t only his opinion; had not Bimbo -Lawrence, the I Z. captain, and one of the shrewdest judges of cricket -in England, agreed with him? And so on without cessation about Trevor, -the cricketer, while on the opposite side of the table, next to me, sat -his wife, who could not get beyond Trevor, the man. Once or twice she -glanced at me appealingly, as if to say: ‘For God’s sake, stop -him!’—but it was a task beyond my powers. I made one or two abortive -attempts, and then I gave it up. The situation was beyond me; one could -only let him ramble on and pray for the end of lunch. - -“And then he left the cricket and came to personalities. - -“‘Know anything about him, Dog-face?’ he asked. ‘Up at old Apson’s place -he struck me as being a gentleman. Anyway, he’s a darned nice fellow. -Wonder why he enlisted?’ - -“‘Oh, Giles, for goodness’ sake, let’s try another topic?’ said his -wife, suddenly. ‘We’ve had Sergeant Trevor since lunch began.’ - -“Poor old Giles looked at her in startled surprise, and she gave him a -quick smile which robbed her words of their irritability. But I could -see she was on the rack, and though I didn’t know the real facts, it -wasn’t hard to make a shrewd guess as to the cause. - -“It was just before we rose from the table, I remember, that she said to -me under the cover of the general conversation: ‘My God! Dog-face—it’s -not fair.’ - -“‘Will you tell me?’ I answered. ‘I might help.’ - -“‘Perhaps I will some day,’ she said, quietly. ‘But you can’t help; no -one can do that. It was my fault all through, and the only thing that -matters now is that Giles should never know.’ - -“I don’t quite know why she suddenly confided in me, even to that -extent. I suppose with her woman’s intuition she realised that I’d -guessed something, and it helps to get a thing off one’s chest at times. -Evidently it had been an unexpected meeting, and I cursed myself for -having made him play. And yet how could one have foretold? It was just a -continuation of the jig-saw started by that damned bit of orange peel. -As she said, all that mattered was that Giles—dear old chap!—should -never know.” - -The Soldier smiled a little sadly. “So do the humans propose; but the -God that moves the pieces frequently has different ideas. He did—that -very afternoon. It was just as I was going that two white-faced nurses -clutching two scared children appeared on the scene and babbled -incoherently. And then the General’s groom hove in sight—badly cut -across the face and shaky at the knees—and from him we got the story. - -“They’d started off in the General’s dogcart to go to some children’s -party, and something had frightened the horse, which had promptly -bolted. I knew the brute—a great raking black, though the groom, who -was a first-class whip, generally had no difficulty in managing him. But -on this occasion apparently he’d got clean away along the road into the -town. He might have got the horse under control after a time, when, to -his horror, he saw that the gates were closed at the railway crossing in -front. And it was at that moment that a man—one of the sergeants from -the barracks—had dashed out suddenly from the pavement and got to the -horse’s head. He was trampled on badly, but he hung on—and the horse -had ceased to bolt when they crashed into the gates. The shafts were -smashed, but nothing more. And the horse wasn’t hurt. And they’d carried -away the sergeant on an improvised stretcher. No; he hadn’t spoken. He -was unconscious. - -“‘Which sergeant was it?’ I asked, quietly—though I knew the answer -before the groom gave it. - -“‘Sergeant Trevor, sir,’ he said. ‘B squadron.’ - -“‘Is he—is he badly hurt?’ said the girl, and her face was ashen. - -“‘I dunno, mum,’ answered the groom. ‘They took ’im off to the -’orspital, and I was busy with the ’orse.’ - -“‘I’ll ring up, if I may, General,’ I said, and he nodded. - -“I spoke to Purvis, the R.A.M.C. fellow, and his voice was very grave. -They’d brought Trevor in still unconscious, and, though he wouldn’t -swear to it at the moment, he was afraid his back was broken. But he -couldn’t tell absolutely for certain until he came to. I hung up the -receiver and found Mrs. Giles standing behind me. She said nothing—but -just waited for me to speak. - -“‘Purvis doesn’t know for certain,’ I said, taking both her hands in -mine. ‘But there’s a possibility, my dear, that his back is broken.’ - -“She was a thoroughbred, that girl. She didn’t make a fuss or cry out; -she just looked me straight in the face and nodded her head once or -twice. - -“‘I must go to him, of course,’ she said, gravely. ‘Will you arrange it -for me, please?’ - -“‘He’s unconscious still,’ I told her. - -“‘Then I must be beside him when he comes to,’ she answered. ‘Even if -there was nothing else—he’s saved my baby’s life.’ - -“‘I’ll take you in my car,’ I said, when I saw that she was absolutely -determined. ‘Leave it all to me.’ - -“‘I must see him alone, Dog-face.’ She paused by the door, with her -handkerchief rolled into a tight little ball in her hand. ‘I want to -know that he’s forgiven me.’ - -“‘You shall see him alone if it’s humanly possible,’ I answered gravely, -and at that she was gone. - -“I don’t quite know how I did it, but somehow or other I got her away -from the General’s house without Giles knowing. Giles junior was quite -unhurt, and disposed to regard the entire thing as an entertainment got -up especially for his benefit. And when she’d made sure of that, and -kissed him passionately to his intense disgust, she slipped away with me -in the car. - -“‘You mustn’t be disappointed,’ I warned her as we drove along, ‘if you -can’t see him alone. He may have been put into a ward with other men.’ - -“‘Then they must put some screens round him,’ she whispered. ‘I must -kiss him before—before——.’ She didn’t complete the sentence; but it -wasn’t necessary. - -“We didn’t speak again until I turned in at the gates of the hospital. -And then I asked her a question which had been on the tip of my tongue a -dozen times. - -“‘Who is he—really?’ - -“‘Jimmy Dallas is his name,’ she answered, quietly. ‘We were engaged. -And then his father lost all his money. He thought that was why—why I -was beastly to him—but oh! Dog-face, it wasn’t at all. I thought he was -fond of another girl—and it was all a mistake. I found it out too late. -And then Jimmy had disappeared—and I’d married Giles. Up at that -cricket match was the first time I’d seen him since my wedding.’ - -“We drew up at the door, and I got out. It’s the little tragedies, the -little misunderstandings, that are so pitiful, and in all conscience -this was a case in point. A boy and a girl—each too proud to explain, -or ask for an explanation; and now the big tragedy. God! it seemed so -futile. - -“I left her sitting in the car, and went in search of Purvis. I found -him with Trevor—I still thought of him under that name—and he was -conscious again. The doctor looked up as I tiptoed in, and shook his -head at me warningly. So I waited, and after a while Purvis left the bed -and drew me out into the passage. - -“‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘He’s so infernally bruised and messed about. -His left arm is broken in two places, and three ribs—and I’m afraid his -back as well. He seems so numb. But I can’t be certain.’ - -“‘Mrs. Yeverley is here,’ I said. ‘The mother of one of the kids he -saved. She wants to see him.’ - -“‘Out of the question,’ snapped Purvis. ‘I absolutely forbid it.’ - -“‘But you mustn’t forbid it, Doctor.’ We both swung round, to see the -girl herself standing behind us. ‘I’ve got to see him. There are other -reasons besides his having saved my baby’s life.’ - -“‘They must wait, Mrs. Yeverley,’ answered the Doctor. ‘In a case of -this sort the only person I would allow to see him would be his wife.’ - -“‘If I hadn’t been a fool,’ she said deliberately, ‘I should have been -his wife,’ and Purvis’s jaw dropped. - -“Without another word she swept past him into the ward, and Purvis stood -there gasping. - -“‘Well, I’m damned!’ he muttered, and I couldn’t help smiling. It was -rather a startling statement to come from a woman stopping with the -G.O.C. about a sergeant in a cavalry regiment. - -“And then, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, came the final turn in the -wheel. I was strolling up and down outside with Purvis, who was a sahib -as well as a Doctor and had asked no questions. - -“‘If his back is broken it can’t hurt him,’ he had remarked, ‘and if it -isn’t it will do him good.’ - -“At that we had left it, when suddenly, to my horror, I saw Giles -himself going into the hospital. - -“‘Good Lord, Doc!’ I cried, sprinting after him, ‘that’s her husband. -And he doesn’t know she’s here.’ - -“But a lot can happen in a few seconds, and I was just a few seconds too -late. As I got to the door I saw Giles in front of me—standing at the -entrance to the ward as if he had been turned to stone. A big screen hid -the bed from sight—but a screen is not sound proof. He looked at me as -I came up, and involuntarily I stopped as I saw his face. And then quite -clearly from the room beyond came his wife’s voice. - -“‘My darling, darling boy!—it’s you and only you for ever and ever!’ - -“I don’t quite know how much Giles had guessed before. I think he knew -about her previous engagement, but I’m quite sure he had never -associated Trevor with it. A year or two later she told me that when she -married him she had made no attempt to conceal the fact that she had -loved another man—and loved him still. And Giles had taken her on those -terms. But at the time I didn’t know that: I only knew that a very dear -friend’s world had crashed about his head with stunning suddenness. It -was Giles who pulled himself together first—Giles, with a face grey and -lined, who said in a loud voice to me: ‘Well, Dog-face, where is the -invalid?’ - -“And then he waited a moment or two before he went round the screen. - -“‘Ah! my dear,’ he said, quite steadily, as he saw his wife, ‘you here?’ - -“He played his part for ten minutes, stiff-lipped and without a falter; -then he went, and his wife went with him to continue the play in which -they were billed for life. Trevor’s back was not broken—in a couple of -months he was back at duty. And so it might have continued for the -duration, but for Giles being drowned fishing in Ireland.” - -The Soldier stared thoughtfully at the fire. - -“He was a first-class fisherman and a wonderful swimmer, was Giles -Yeverley, and sometimes—I wonder. They say he got caught in a -bore—that perhaps he got cramp. But, as I say, sometimes—I wonder. - -“I saw them—Jimmy Dallas, sometime Sergeant Trevor, and his wife—at -the Ritz two nights ago. They seemed wonderfully in love, though they’d -been married ten years, and I stopped by their table. - -“‘Sit down, Dog-face,’ she ordered, ‘and have a liqueur.’ - -“So I sat down and had a liqueur. And it was just as I was going that -she looked at me with her wonderful smile, and said, very softly: ‘Thank -God! dear old Giles never knew; and now, if he does, he’ll understand.’” - -The Soldier got up and stretched himself. - -“A big result for a bit of yellow peel.” - - - - - - -_VI_ _The Writer’s Story, being The House at Appledore_ - - - -“I’M not certain, strictly speaking, that my story can be said to -concern my trade,” began the Writer, after he had seen his guests were -comfortable. “But it happened—this little adventure of mine—as the -direct result of pursuing my trade, so I will interpret the rule -accordingly. - -“My starting-point is the Largest Pumpkin Ever Produced in Kent. It was -the sort of pumpkin which gets a photograph all to itself in the -illustrated papers—the type of atrocity which is utterly useless to any -human being. And yet that large and unpleasant vegetable proved the -starting-point of the most exciting episode in my somewhat prosaic life. -In fact, but for very distinct luck, that pumpkin would have been -responsible for my equally prosaic funeral.’ The Writer smiled -reminiscently. - -“It was years ago, in the days before a misguided public began to read -my books and supply me with the necessary wherewithal to keep the wolf -from the door. But I was young and full of hope, and Fleet Street seemed -a very wonderful place. From which you can infer that I was a -journalist, and candour compels me to admit—a jolly bad one. Not that I -realised it at the time. I regarded my Editor’s complete lack of -appreciation of my merits as being his misfortune, not my fault. -However, I pottered around, doing odd jobs and having the felicity of -seeing my carefully penned masterpieces completely obscured by blue -pencil and reduced to two lines. - -“Then one morning I was sent for to the inner sanctuary. Now, although I -had the very lowest opinion of the Editor’s abilities, I knew sufficient -of the office routine to realise that such a summons was unlikely to -herald a rise of screw with parchment certificate of appreciation for -services rendered. It was far more likely to herald the order of the -boot—and the prospect was not very rosy. Even in those days Fleet -Street was full of unemployed journalists who knew more than their -editors. - -“The news editor was in the office when I walked in, and he was a kindly -man, was old Andrews. He looked at me from under his great bushy -eyebrows for a few moments without speaking; then he pointed to a chair. - -“‘Graham,’ he remarked in a deep bass voice, ‘are you aware that this -paper has never yet possessed a man on its staff that writes such -unutterable slush as you do?’ - -“I remained discreetly silent; to dissent seemed tactless, to agree, -unnecessary. - -“‘What do you propose to do about it?’ he continued after a while. - -“I told him that I hadn’t realised I was as bad as all that, but that I -would do my best to improve my style and give satisfaction in the -future. - -“‘It’s not so much your style,’ he conceded. ‘Years ago I knew a man -whose style was worse. Only a little—but it was worse. But it’s your -nose for news, my boy—that’s the worst thing that ever came into Fleet -Street. Now, what were you doing yesterday?’ - -“‘I was reporting that wedding at the Brompton Oratory, sir,’ I told -him. - -“‘Just so,’ he answered. ‘And are you aware that in a back street not -three hundred yards from the church a man died through eating a surfeit -of winkles, as the result of a bet? Actually while you were there did -that man die by the winkle-barrow—and you knew nothing about it. I’m -not denying that your report on the wedding isn’t fair—but the public -is entitled to know about the dangers of winkle-eating to excess. Not -that the rights of the public matter in the least, but it’s the -principle I want to impress on you—the necessity of keeping your eyes -open for other things beside the actual job you’re on. That’s what makes -the good journalist.’ - -“I assured him that I would do so in future, and he grunted -non-committally. Then he began rummaging in a drawer, while I waited in -trepidation. - -“‘We’ll give you a bit longer, Graham,’ he announced at length, and I -breathed freely again. ‘But if there is no improvement you’ll have to -go. And in the meantime I’ve got a job for you this afternoon. Some -public-spirited benefactor has inaugurated an agricultural fête in Kent, -somewhere near Ashford. From what I can gather, he seems partially -wanting in intelligence, but it takes people all ways. He is giving -prizes for the heaviest potato and the largest egg—though I am unable -to see what the hen’s activity has to do with her owner. And I want you -to go down and write it up. Half a column. Get your details right. I -believe there is a treatise on soils and manures in the office -somewhere. And put in a paragraph about the paramount importance of the -Englishman getting back to the land. Not that it will have any effect, -but it might help to clear Fleet Street.’ - -“He was already engrossed in something else, and dismissed me with a -wave of his hand. And it was just as I got to the door that he called -after me to send Cresswill to him—Cresswill, the star of all the -special men. His reception, I reflected a little bitterly as I went in -search of him, would be somewhat different from mine. For he had got to -the top of the tree, and was on a really big job at the time. He did all -the criminal work—murder trials and so forth, and how we youngsters -envied him! Perhaps, in time, one might reach those dazzling heights, I -reflected, as I sat in my third-class carriage on the way to Ashford. -Not for him mammoth tubers and double-yolkers—but the things that -really counted. - -“I got out at Ashford, where I had to change. My destination was -Appledore, and the connection on was crowded with people obviously -bound, like myself, for the agricultural fête. It was a part of Kent to -which I had never been, and when I got out at Appledore station I found -I was in the flat Romney Marsh country which stretches inland from -Dungeness. Houses are few and far between, except in the actual villages -themselves—the whole stretch of land, of course, must once have been -below sea-level—and the actual fête was being held in a large field on -the outskirts of Appledore. It was about a mile from the station, and I -proceeded to walk. - -“The day was warm, the road was dusty—and I, I am bound to admit, was -bored. I felt I was destined for better things than reporting on bucolic -flower shows, much though I loved flowers. But I like them in their -proper place, growing—not arranged for show in a stuffy tent and -surrounded by perspiring humanity. And so when I came to the gates of a -biggish house and saw behind them a garden which was a perfect riot of -colour, involuntarily I paused and looked over. - -“The house itself stood back about a hundred yards from the road—a -charming old place covered with creepers, and the garden was lovely. A -little neglected, perhaps—I could see a respectable number of weeds in -a bed of irises close to the drive—but then it was quite a large -garden. Probably belonged to some family that could not afford a big -staff, I reflected, and that moment I saw a man staring at me from -between some shrubs a few yards away. - -“There was no reason why he shouldn’t stare at me—he was inside the -gate and presumably had more right to the garden than I had—but there -was something about him that made me return the stare, in silence, for a -few moments. Whether it was his silent approach over the grass and -unexpected appearance, or whether it was that instinctively he struck me -as an incongruous type of individual to find in such a sleepy locality, -I can’t say. Or, perhaps, it was a sudden lightning impression of -hostile suspicion on his part, as if he resented anyone daring to look -over his gate. - -“Then he came towards me, and I felt I had to say something. But even as -I spoke the thought flashed across my mind that he would have appeared -far more at home in a London bar than in a rambling Appledore garden. - -“‘I was admiring your flowers,’ I said as he came up. ‘Your irises are -wonderful.’ - -“He looked vaguely at some lupins, then his intent gaze came back to me. - -“‘The garden is well known locally,’ he remarked. ‘Are you a member of -these parts?’ - -“‘No,’ I answered, ‘I come from London,’ and it seemed to me his gaze -grew more intent. - -“‘I am only a bird of passage, too,’ he said easily. ‘Are you just down -for the day?’ - -“I informed him that I had come down to write up the local fête; being -young and foolish, I rather think I implied that only the earnest -request of the organiser for me in particular had persuaded the editor -to dispense with my invaluable services even for a few hours. And all -the time his eyes, black and inscrutable, never left my face. - -“‘The show is being held in a field about a quarter of a mile farther -on,’ he said when I had finished. ‘Good morning.’ - -“He turned abruptly on his heels and walked slowly away towards the -house, leaving me a little annoyed, and with a feeling that not only had -I been snubbed, but, worse still, had been seen through. I felt that I -had failed to convince him that editors tore their hair and bit their -nails when they failed to secure my services; I felt, indeed, just that -particular type of ass that one does feel when one has boasted -vaingloriously, and been listened to with faintly amused boredom. I know -that as I resumed my walk towards the agricultural fête I endeavoured to -restore my self-respect by remembering that he was merely a glorified -yokel, who probably knew no better.” - -The Writer leant back in his chair with a faint smile. - -“That awful show still lives in my memory,” he continued after a while. -“There were swing boats, and one of those ghastly shows where horses go -round and round with a seasick motion and ‘The Blue Bells of Scotland’ -emerges without cessation from the bowels of the machine. There were -coco-nut shies and people peering through horse-collars to have their -photographs taken, and over everything an all-pervading aroma of -humanity unsuitably clad in its Sunday best on a warm day. However, the -job had to be done, so I bravely plunged into the marquees devoted to -the competing vegetables. I listened to the experts talking around me -with the idea of getting the correct local colour, but as most of their -remarks were incomprehensible, I soon gave that up as a bad job and -began looking about me. - -“There were potatoes and carrots and a lot of things which I may have -eaten, but completely failed to recognise in a raw state. And then -suddenly, through a gap in the asparagus, I saw a vast yellowy-green -object. It seemed about four times the size of an ordinary Rugby -football, and a steady stream of people circled slowly round it and an -ancient man, who periodically groomed it with a vast coloured -handkerchief. So I steered a zigzag course between a watery-eyed duck on -my right and a hand-holding couple on my left, and joined the stream. At -close quarters it seemed even vaster than when viewed from the other -side of the tent, and after I’d made the grand tour twice, I thought I’d -engage the ancient man in conversation. Unfortunately, he was stone -deaf, and his speech was a little indistinct owing to a regrettable -absence of teeth, so we managed between us to rivet the fascinated -attention of every human being in the tent. In return for the -information that it was the largest pumpkin ever produced in Kent, I -volunteered that I had come from London specially to write about it. He -seemed a bit hazy about London, but when I told him it was larger than -Appledore he appeared fairly satisfied that his pumpkin would obtain -justice. - -“He also launched into a voluble discourse, which was robbed of much of -its usefulness by his habit of holding his false teeth in position with -his thumb as he spoke. Luckily a local interpreter was at hand, and from -him I gathered that the old man was eighty-five, and had never been -farther afield than Ashford, forty-eight years ago. Also that he was -still gardener at Cedarlime, a house which I must have passed on my way -from the station. Standing well back it was: fine flower gardens—‘but -not what they was. Not since the new gentleman come—a year ago. Didn’t -take the same interest—not him. A scholard, they said ’e was; crates -and crates of books had come to the house—things that ’eavy that they -took three and four men to lift them.’ - -“He rambled on did that interpreter, while the ancient man polished the -pumpkin in the time-honoured manner, and wheezed spasmodically. But I -wasn’t paying much attention, because it had suddenly come back to me -that Cedarlime was the name of the house where I had spoken to the -inscrutable stranger. Subconsciously I had noticed it as I crossed the -road; now it was brought back to my memory. - -“‘Is the owner of Cedarlime a youngish, man?’ I asked my informant. -‘Dark hair; rather sallow face?’ - -“He shook his head. The owner of Cedarlime was a middle-aged man with -grey hair, but he often had friends stopping with him who came from -London, so he’d heard tell—friends who didn’t stop long—just for the -week-end, maybe, or four or five days. Probably the man I meant was one -of these friends. - -“My informant passed on to inspect a red and hairy gooseberry, and I -wandered slowly out of the stuffy tent. Probably a friend—in fact, -undoubtedly a friend. But try as I would to concentrate on that -confounded flower show, my thoughts kept harking back to Cedarlime. For -some reason or other, that quiet house and the man who had come so -silently out of the bushes had raised my curiosity. And at that moment I -narrowly escaped death from a swing boat, which brought me back to the -business in hand. - -“I suppose it was about three hours later that I started to stroll back -to the station. I was aiming at a five o’clock train, and intended to -write my stuff on the way up to Town. But just as I was getting to the -gates of the house that interested me, who should I see in front of me -but the venerable pumpkin polisher. He turned as I got abreast of him -and recognised me with a throaty chuckle. And he promptly started to -talk. I gathered that he had many other priceless treasures in his -garden—wonderful sweet-peas, more pumpkins of colossal dimensions. And -after a while I further gathered that he was suggesting I should go in -and examine them for myself. - -“For a moment I hesitated. I looked at my watch—there was plenty of -time. Then I looked over the gates and made up my mind. I would -introduce this ancient being into my account of the fête; write up, in -his own setting, this extraordinary old man who had never left Appledore -for forty-eight years. And, in addition, I would have a closer look at -the house—possibly even see the scholarly owner. - -“I glanced curiously round as I followed him up the drive. We went about -half-way to the house, then turned off along a path into the kitchen -garden. And finally he came to rest in front of the pumpkins—he was -obviously a pumpkin maniac. I should think he conducted a monologue for -five minutes on the habits of pumpkins while I looked about me. -Occasionally I said ‘Yes’; occasionally I nodded my head portentously; -for the rest of the time I paid no attention. - -“I could see half the front and one side of the house—but there seemed -no trace of any occupants. And I was just going to ask the old man who -lived there, when I saw a man in his shirt-sleeves standing at one of -the windows. He was not the man who had spoken to me at the gate; he was -not a grey-headed man either, so presumably not the owner. He appeared -to be engrossed in something he was holding in his hands, and after a -while he held it up to the light in the same way one holds up a -photographic plate. It was then that he saw me. - -“Now, I have never been an imaginative person, but there was something -positively uncanny in the way that man disappeared. Literally in a flash -he had gone and the window was empty. And my imagination began to stir. -Why had that man vanished so instantaneously at the sight of a stranger -in the kitchen garden? - -“And then another thing began to strike me. Something which had been -happening a moment or two before had abruptly stopped—a noise, faint -and droning, but so steady that I hadn’t noticed it until it ceased. It -had been the sort of noise which, if you heard it to-day, you would say -was caused by an aeroplane a great way off—and quite suddenly it had -stopped. A second or two after the man had seen me and vanished from the -window, that faint droning noise had ceased. I was sure of it, and my -imagination began to stir still more. - -“However, by this time my venerable guide had exhausted pumpkins, and, -muttering strange words, he began to lead me towards another part of the -garden. It was sweet-peas this time, and I must say they were really -magnificent. In fact, I had forgotten the disappearing gentleman at the -window in my genuine admiration of the flowers, when I suddenly saw the -old man straighten himself up, take a firm grip of his false teeth with -his one hand and touch his cap with the other. He was looking over my -shoulder, and I swung round. - -“Three men were standing behind me on the path. One was the man I had -spoken to that morning; one was the man I had seen at the window; the -other was grey-haired, and, I assumed, the owner of the house. It was to -him I addressed myself. - -“‘I must apologise for trespassing,’ I began, ‘but I am reporting the -agricultural fête down here, and your gardener asked me in to see your -sweet-peas. They are really magnificent specimens.’ - -“The elderly man stared at me in silence. - -“‘I don’t quite see what the sweet-peas in my garden have to do with the -fête,’ he remarked coldly. ‘And it is not generally customary, when the -owner is at home, to wander round his garden at the invitation of his -gardener.’ - -“‘Then I can only apologise and withdraw at once,’ I answered stiffly. -‘I trust that I have not irreparably damaged your paths.’ - -“He frowned angrily and seemed on the point of saying something, when -the man I had spoken to at the gate took his arm and whispered something -in his ear. I don’t know what it was he said, but it had the effect of -restoring the grey-haired man to a better temper at once. - -“‘I must apologise,’ he said affably, ‘for my brusqueness. I am a -recluse, Mr.—ah—Mr.——’ - -“‘Graham is my name,’ I answered, partially mollified. - -“He bowed. ‘A recluse, Mr. Graham—and my garden is a hobby of mine. -That and my books. I fear I may have seemed a little irritable when I -first spoke, but I have a special system of my own for growing -sweet-peas, and I guard it jealously. I confess that for a moment I was -unjust and suspicious enough to think you might be trying to pump -information from my gardener.’ - -“I looked at old Methuselah, still clutching his false teeth, and smiled -involuntarily. The elderly man guessed my thoughts and smiled, too. - -“‘I am apt to forget that it takes several months to interpret old -Jake,’ he continued. ‘Those false teeth of his fascinate one, don’t -they? I shall never forget the dreadful occasion he dropped them in the -hot bed. We had the most agonising search, and finally persistence -triumphed. They were rescued unscathed and restored to their rightful -place.’ - -“And so he went on talking easily, until half-unconsciously I found -myself strolling with him towards the house. Every now and then he -stopped to point out some specimen of which he was proud, and, without -my realising it, twenty minutes or so slipped by. It was the sound of a -whistle at the station that recalled me to the passage of time, and I -hurriedly looked at my watch. - -“‘Good Heavens!’ I cried, ‘I’ve missed my train. When is the next?’ - -“‘The next, Mr. Graham. I’m afraid there isn’t a next till to-morrow -morning. This is a branch line, you know.’ - -“Jove! how I swore inwardly. After what old Andrews had said to me only -that morning, to go and fail again would finally cook my goose. You must -remember that it was before the days of motor-cars, and, with the fête -in progress, the chance of getting a cart to drive me some twelve miles -to Ashford was remote—anyway for the fare I could afford to pay. - -“I suppose my agitation showed on my face, for the grey-haired man -became quite upset. - -“‘How stupid of me not to have thought of the time,’ he cried. ‘We must -think of the best thing to do. I know,’ he said suddenly—‘you must -telegraph your report. Stop the night here and telegraph.’ - -“I pointed out to him rather miserably that newspapers did not like the -expense of wiring news unless it was important, and that by no stretch -of imagination could the Appledore Flower Show be regarded as coming -under that category. - -“‘I will pay the cost,’ he insisted, and waved aside my refusal. ‘Mr. -Graham,’ he said, ‘it was my fault. I am a wealthy man; I would not -dream of letting you suffer for my verbosity. You will wire your -article, and I shall pay.’” - -The Writer smiled reminiscently. - -“What could have been more charming,” he continued—“what more -considerate and courteous? My stupid, half-formed suspicions, which had -been growing fainter and fainter as I strolled round the garden with my -host, had by this time vanished completely, and when he found me pens, -ink, and paper, as they say in the French exercise book, I stammered out -my thanks. He cut me short with a smile, and told me to get on with my -article. He would send it to the telegraph office, and tell his servants -to get a room ready for me. And with another smile he left me alone, and -I saw him pottering about the garden outside as I wrote. - -“I don’t know whether it has ever happened to any of you fellows”—the -Writer lit a cigarette—“to harbour suspicions which are gradually -lulled, only to have them suddenly return with redoubled force. There -was I, peacefully writing my account of the Appledore fête, while -outside my host, an enthusiastic gardener, as he had told me, pursued -his hobby. Could anything have been more commonplace and matter of fact? -He was engaged on the roses at the moment, spraying them with some -solution, presumably for green fly, and unconsciously I watched him. No, -I reflected, it couldn’t be for green fly, because he was only spraying -the roots, and even I, though not an expert, knew that green fly occur -round the buds. And at that moment I caught a momentary glimpse of the -two other men. They were roaring with laughter, and it seemed to me that -my host was the cause of the merriment. He looked up and saw them, and -the hilarity ceased abruptly. The next moment they had disappeared, and -my host was continuing the spraying. He went on industriously for a few -minutes, then he crossed the lawn towards the open window of the room -where I was writing. - -“‘Nearly finished?’ he asked. - -“‘Very nearly,’ I answered. ‘Green fly bad this year?’ - -“‘Green fly?’ he said a little vaguely. ‘Oh! so-so.’ - -“‘I thought you must be tackling them on the roses,’ I pursued. - -“‘Er, quite—quite,’ he remarked. ‘Nasty things, aren’t they?’ - -“‘Is it a special system of yours to go for the roots?’ I asked. - -“He gave me one searching look, then he laughed mysteriously. - -“‘Ah, ha! my young friend,’ he answered. ‘Don’t you try and get my -stable secrets out of me.’ - -“And I felt he was lying. Without thinking something made me draw a bow -at a venture, and the arrow went home with a vengeance. - -“‘Wonderful delphiniums you’ve got,’ I remarked, leaning out of the -window and pointing to a bed underneath. - -“‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m very proud of those.’ - -“And the flowers at which I was pointing were irises. So this -enthusiastic gardener did not know the difference between a delphinium -and an iris. Back in an overwhelming wave came all my suspicions; I knew -there was a mystery somewhere. This man wasn’t a gardener; and, if not, -why this pretence? I remember now that every time he had drawn my -attention to a specimen he had taken the attached label in his hand. -Quite unobtrusive it had been, unnoticeable at the time, now it suddenly -became significant. Why was he playing this part—pretending for my -benefit? Futilely spraying the roots of roses, making me miss my train. -I was convinced now that that had been part of the plan—but why? Why -the telegraphing? Why the invitation to stop the night? - -“The old brain was working pretty quickly by this time. No one, whatever -his business, would object to a _bona fide_ journalist writing an -account of a fête, and if the business were crooked, the people engaged -on it would be the first to speed that journalist on his way. People of -that type dislike journalists only one degree less than the police. Then -why—why? The answer simply stuck out—they suspected me of not being a -journalist, or, even if they did not go as far as that, they were taking -no chances on the matter. - -“In fact, I was by this time definitely convinced in my own mind that I -had quite unwittingly stumbled into a bunch of criminals, and it struck -me that the sooner I stumbled out again the better for my health. So I -put my article in my pocket and went to the door. I would wire it off, -and I would not return. - -“The first hitch occurred at the door, which had thoughtfully been -locked. Not being a hero of fiction, I confess it gave me a nasty -shock—that unyielding door. And as I stood there taking a pull at -myself I heard the grey-haired man’s voice outside the window: - -“‘Finished yet, Mr. Graham?’ - -“I walked across the room, and in as steady a voice as I could muster I -mentioned the fact that the door was locked. - -“‘So that you shouldn’t be disturbed, Mr. Graham’—and I thought of the -Wolf in ‘Red Riding Hood,’ with his satisfactory answers to all awkward -questions. - -“‘If someone would open it, I’ll get along to the telegraph office,’ I -remarked. - -“‘I wouldn’t dream of your going to so much trouble,’ he said suavely. -‘I’ve a lazy boy I employ in the garden; he’ll take it.’ - -“For a moment I hesitated, and a glint came into his eyes, which warned -me to be careful. - -“It was then that I had my brainstorm. If I hadn’t had it I shouldn’t be -here now; if the powers that be in the newspaper world were not the -quickest people on the uptake you can meet in a day’s march, I shouldn’t -be here now either. But like a flash of light there came to my mind the -story I had once been told of how a war correspondent in the South -African War, at a time when they were tightening the censorship, got -back full news of a battle by alluding to the rise and fall of certain -stock. And the editor in England read between the lines—substituted -troops for stocks, Canadians for C.P.R., and so on—and published the -only account of the battle. - -“Could I do the same? I hesitated. - -“‘Oh! there’s one thing I’ve forgotten,’ I remarked. ‘I’ll just add it -if the boy can wait.’ - -“So I sat down at the table, and to my report I added the following -sentences: - -“‘There was also some excellent mustard and cress. Will come at once, -but fear to-morrow morning may be too late for me to be of further use -over Ronaldshay affair.’ - -“And then I handed it to the grey-haired man through the window.” - -The Writer leant back in his chair, and the Soldier stared at him, -puzzled. - -“It’s a bit too cryptic for me,” he confessed. - -“Thank God! it wasn’t too cryptic for the office,” said the Writer. -“There was no Ronaldshay affair, so I knew that would draw their -attention. And perhaps you’ve forgotten the name of our star reporter, -who dealt in criminal matters. It was Cresswill. And if you write the -word cress with a capital C and leave out the full stop after it, you’ll -see the message I got through to the office.” - -“It’s uncommon lucky for you his name wasn’t Snooks,” remarked the Actor -with a grin. “What happened?” - -“Well, we had dinner, and I can only suppose that my attempts to appear -at ease had failed to convince my companions. - -“The last thing I remember that night was drinking a cup of coffee—the -old trick—and suddenly realising it was drugged. I staggered to my -feet, while they remained sitting round the table watching me. Then, -with a final glimpse of the grey-haired man’s face, I passed into -oblivion. - -“When I came to I was in a strange room, feeling infernally sick. And I -shall never forget my wild relief when the man by the window turned -round and I saw it was Cresswill himself. He came over to the bed and -smiled down at me. - -“‘Well done, youngster,’ he said, and a glow of pride temporarily -replaced my desire for a basin. ‘Well done, indeed. We’ve got the whole -gang, and we’ve been looking for ’em for months. They were bank-note -forgers on a big scale, but we were only just in time to save you.’ - -“‘How was that?’ I asked weakly. - -“‘I think they had decided that your sphere of usefulness was over,’ he -remarked with a grin. ‘So after having removed suspicion by telegraphing -your report, they gave you a very good dinner, when, as has been known -to happen with young men before, you got very drunk.’ - -“‘I was drugged,’ I said indignantly. - -“‘The point is immaterial,’ he answered quietly. ‘Drunk or drugged, it’s -much the same after you’ve been run over by a train. And we found two of -them carrying you along a lane towards the line at half-past eleven. The -down goods to Hastings passes at twenty to twelve.’ - -“And at that moment Providence was kind. I ceased to _feel_ sick. I -was.” - - - - - - -_VII_ _The Old Dining-Room_ - - - - I - -I DON’T pretend to account for it; I am merely giving the plain -unvarnished tale of what took place to my certain knowledge at Jack -Drage’s house in Kent during the week-end which finished so -disastrously. Doubtless there is an explanation: maybe there are -several. The believers in spiritualism and things psychic will probably -say that the tragedy was due to the action of a powerful influence which -had remained intact throughout the centuries; the materialists will -probably say it was due to indigestion. I hold no brief for either side: -as the mere narrator, the facts are good enough for me. And, anyway, the -extremists of both schools of thought are quite irreconcilable. - -There were six of us there, counting Jack Drage and his wife. Bill -Sibton in the Indian Civil, Armytage in the Gunners, and I—Staunton by -name, and a scribbler of sorts—were the men: little Joan -Neilson—Armytage’s fiancée—supported Phyllis Drage. Ostensibly we were -there to shoot a few pheasants, but it was more than a mere shooting -party. It was a reunion after long years of us four men who had been -known at school as the Inseparables. Bill had been in India for twelve -years, save for the inevitable gap in Mesopotamia; Dick Armytage had -soldiered all over the place ever since he’d left the Shop. And though -I’d seen Jack off and on since our school-days, I’d lost touch with him -since he’d married. Wives play the deuce with bachelor friends though -they indignantly deny it—God bless ’em. At least, mine always does. - -It was the first time any of us had been inside Jack’s house, and -undoubtedly he had the most delightful little property. The house itself -was old, but comfortably modernised by an expert, so that the charm of -it still remained. In fact, the only room which had been left absolutely -intact was the dining-room. And to have touched that would have been -sheer vandalism. The sole thing that had been done to it was to install -central heating, and that had been carried out so skilfully that no -trace of the work could be seen. - -It was a room by itself, standing apart from the rest of the house, with -a lofty vaulted roof in which one could just see the smoky old oak beams -by the light of the candles on the dinner-table. A huge open fireplace -jutted out from one of the longer walls; while on the opposite side a -door led into the garden. And then, at one end, approached by the -original staircase at least six centuries old, was the musicians’ -gallery. - -A wonderful room—a room in which it seemed almost sacrilege to eat and -smoke and discuss present-day affairs—a room in which one felt that -history had been made. Nothing softened the severe plainness of the -walls save a few mediæval pikes and battleaxes. In fact, two old muskets -of the Waterloo era were the most modern implements of the collection. -Of pictures there was only one—a very fine painting of a man dressed in -the fashion of the Tudor period—which hung facing the musicians’ -gallery. - -It was that that caught my eye as we sat down to dinner, and I turned to -Jack. - -“An early Drage?” I asked. - -“As a matter of fact—no relation at all,” he answered. “But a strong -relation to this room. That’s why I hang him there.” - -“Any story attached thereto?” - -“There is; though I can’t really do it justice. The parson here is the -only man who knows the whole yarn.—By the way, old dear,” he spoke to -his wife across the table, “the reverend bird takes tea with us -to-morrow. But he is the only man who has the thing at his finger tips. -The previous owner was a bit vague himself, but having a sense of the -fitness of things, he gave me a chance of buying the picture. Apparently -it’s a painting of one Sir James Wrothley who lived round about the time -of Henry VIII. He was either a rabid Protestant or a rabid Roman -Catholic—I told you I was a bit vague over details—and he used this -identical room as a secret meeting-place for himself and his pals to -hatch plots against his enemies.” - -“Jack _is_ so illuminating, isn’t he?” laughed his wife. - -“Well, I bet you can’t tell it any better yourself,” he retorted with a -grin. “I admit my history is weak. But anyway, about that time, if the -jolly old Protestants weren’t burning the R.C.’s, the R.C.’s were -burning the Protestants. A period calling for great tact, I’ve always -thought. Well, at any rate, this Sir James Wrothley—when his party was -being officially burned—came here and hatched dark schemes to reverse -the procedure. And then, apparently, one day somebody blew the gaff, and -the whole bunch of conspirators in here were absolutely caught in the -act by the other crowd, who put ’em all to death on the spot. Which is -all I can tell you about it.” - -“I must ask the padre to-morrow,” I said to his wife. “I’d rather like -to hear the whole story. I felt when I first came into this room there -was history connected with it.” - -She looked at me rather strangely for a moment; then she gave a little -forced laugh. - -“Do you know, Tom,” she said slowly, “at times I almost hate this room. -All my friends gnash their teeth with envy over it—but sometimes, when -Jack’s been away, and I’ve dined in here by myself—it’s terrified me. I -feel as if—I wasn’t alone: as if—there were people all round -me—watching me. Of course, it’s absurd, I know. But I can’t help it. -And yet I’m not a nervy sort of person.” - -“I don’t think it’s at all absurd,” I assured her. “I believe I should -feel the same myself. A room of this size, which, of necessity, is dimly -lighted in the corners, and which is full of historical associations, -must cause an impression on the least imaginative person.” - -“We used it once for a dance,” she laughed; “with a ragtime band in the -gallery.” - -“And a great show it was, too,” broke in her husband. “The trouble was -that one of the musicians got gay with a bottle of whisky, and very -nearly fell clean through that balustrade effect on to the floor below. -I haven’t had that touched—and the wood is rotten.” - -“I pray you be seated, gentlemen.” A sudden silence fell on the table, -and everybody stared at Bill Sibton. - -“Is it a game, Bill?” asked Jack Drage. “I rather thought we were. And -what about the ladies?” - -With a puzzled frown Bill Sibton looked at him. “Did I speak out loud, -then?” he asked slowly. - -“And so early in the evening too!” Joan Neilson laughed merrily. - -“I must have been day-dreaming, I suppose. But that yarn of yours has -rather got me, Jack; though in the course of a long and evil career I’ve -never heard one told worse. I was thinking of that meeting—all of them -sitting here. And then suddenly that door bursting open.” He was staring -fixedly at the door, and again a silence fell on us all. - -“The thunder of the butts of their muskets on the woodwork.” He swung -round and faced the door leading to the garden. “And on that one, too. -Can’t you hear them? No escape—none. Caught like rats in a trap.” His -voice died away to a whisper, and Joan Neilson gave a little nervous -laugh. - -“You’re the most realistic person, Mr. Sibton. I think I prefer hearing -about the dance.” - -I glanced at my hostess—and it seemed to me that there was fear in her -eyes as she looked at Bill. Sometimes now I wonder if she had some vague -premonition of impending disaster: something too intangible to take hold -of—something the more terrifying on that very account. - -It was after dinner that Jack Drage switched on the solitary electric -light of which the room boasted. It was so placed as to show up the -painting of Sir James Wrothley, and in silence we all gathered round to -look at it. A pair of piercing eyes set in a stern aquiline face stared -down at us from under the brim of a hat adorned with sweeping plumes; -his hand rested on the jewelled hilt of his sword. It was a fine picture -in a splendid state of preservation, well worthy of its place of honour -on the walls of such a room, and we joined in a general chorus of -admiration. Only Bill Sibton was silent, and he seemed -fascinated—unable to tear his eyes away from the painting. - -“As a matter of fact, Bill,” said Dick Armytage, studying the portrait -critically, “he might well be an ancestor of yours. Wash out your -moustache, and give you a fancy-dress hat, and you’d look very much like -the old bean.” - -He was quite right: there was a distinct resemblance, and it rather -surprised me that I had not noticed it myself. There were the same -deep-set piercing eyes, the same strong, slightly hatchet face, the same -broad forehead. Even the colouring was similar: a mere coincidence that, -probably—but one which increased the likeness. In fact, the longer I -looked the more pronounced did the resemblance become, till it was -almost uncanny. - -“Well, he can’t be, anyway,” said Bill abruptly. “I’ve never heard of -any Wrothley in the family.” He looked away from the picture almost with -an effort and lit a cigarette. “It’s a most extraordinary thing, Jack,” -he went on after a moment, “but ever since we came into this room I’ve -had a feeling that I’ve been here before.” - -“Good Lord, man, that’s common enough in all conscience. One often gets -that idea.” - -“I know one does,” answered Bill. “I’ve had it before myself; but never -one-tenth as strongly as I feel it here. Besides, that feeling generally -dies—after a few minutes: it’s growing stronger and stronger with me -every moment I stop in here.” - -“Then let’s go into the drawing-room,” said our hostess. “I’ve had the -card-table put in there.” - -We followed her and Joan Neilson into the main part of the house; and -since neither of the ladies played, for the next two hours we four men -bridged. And then, seeing that it was a special occasion, we sat yarning -over half-forgotten incidents till the room grew thick with smoke and -the two women fled to bed before they died of asphyxiation. - -Bill, I remember, waxed eloquent on the subject of politicians, with a -six weeks’ experience of India, butting in on things they knew less than -nothing about; Dick Armytage grew melancholy on the subject of the block -in promotion. And then the reminiscences grew more personal, and the -whisky sank lower and lower in the tantalus as one yarn succeeded -another. - -At last Jack Drage rose with a yawn and knocked the ashes out of his -pipe. - -“Two o’clock, boys. What about bed?” - -“Lord! is it really?” Dick Armytage stretched himself. “However, no -shooting to-morrow, or, rather, to-day. We might spend the Sabbath -dressing Bill up as his nibs in the next room.” - -A shadow crossed Bill’s face. - -“I’d forgotten that room,” he said, frowning. “Damn you, Dick!” - -“My dear old boy,” laughed Armytage, “you surely don’t mind resembling -the worthy Sir James! He’s a deuced sight better-looking fellow than you -are.” - -Bill shook his head irritably. - -“It isn’t that at all,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking of the picture.” He -seemed to be on the point of saying something else—then he changed his -mind. “Well—bed for master.” - -We all trooped upstairs, and Jack came round to each of us to see that -we were all right. - -“Breakfast provisionally nine,” he remarked. “Night-night, old boy.” - -The door closed behind him, and his steps died away down the passage as -he went to his own room. - - · · · · · - -By all known rules I should have been asleep almost as my head touched -the pillow. A day’s rough shooting, followed by bed at two in the -morning should produce that result if anything can, but in my case that -night it didn’t. Whether I had smoked too much, or what it was, I know -not, but at half-past three I gave up the attempt and switched on my -light. Then I went over, and pulling up an armchair, I sat down by the -open window. There was no moon, and the night was warm for the time of -year. Outlined against the sky the big dining-room stretched out from -the house, and, as I lit a cigarette, Jack Drage’s vague story returned -to my mind. The conspirators, meeting by stealth to hatch some sinister -plot; the sudden alarm as they found themselves surrounded; the -desperate fight against overwhelming odds—and then, the end. There -should be a story in it, I reflected; I’d get the parson to tell me the -whole thing accurately next day. The local colour seemed more -appropriate when one looked at the room from the outside, with an -occasional cloud scudding by over the big trees beyond. Savoured more of -conspiracy and death than when dining inside, with reminiscences of a -jazz band in the musicians’ gallery. - -And at that moment a dim light suddenly filtered out through the -windows. It was so dim that at first I thought I had imagined it; so dim -that I switched off my own light in order to make sure. There was no -doubt about it: faint but unmistakable the reflection showed up on the -ground outside. A light had been lit in the old dining-room: therefore -someone must be in there. At four o’clock in the morning! - -For a moment or two I hesitated: should I go along and rouse Jack? -Someone might have got in through the garden door, and I failed to see -why I should fight another man’s burglar in his own house. And then it -struck me it would only alarm his wife—I’d get Bill, whose room was -opposite mine. - -I put on some slippers and crossed the landing to rouse him. And then I -stopped abruptly. His door was open; his room was empty. Surely it -couldn’t be he who had turned on the light below? - -As noiselessly as possible I went downstairs, and turned along the -passage to the dining-room. Sure enough the door into the main part of -the house was ajar, and the light was shining through the opening. I -tiptoed up to it and looked through the crack by the hinges. - -At first I could see nothing save the solitary electric light over the -portrait of Sir James. And then in the gloom beyond I saw a tall figure -standing motionless by the old oak dining-table. It was Bill—even in -the dim light I recognised that clean-cut profile; Bill clad in his -pyjamas only, with one hand stretched out in front of him, pointing. And -then, suddenly, he spoke. - -“You lie, Sir Henry!—you lie!” - -Nothing more—just that one remark; his hand still pointing inexorably -across the table. Then after a moment he turned so that the light fell -full on his face, and I realised what was the matter. Bill Sibton was -walking in his sleep. - -Slowly he came towards the door behind which I stood, and passed through -it—so close that he almost touched me as I shrank back against the -wall. Then he went up the stairs, and as soon as I heard him reach the -landing above, I quickly turned out the light in the dining-room and -followed him. His bedroom door was closed: there was no sound from -inside. - -There was nothing more for me to do: my burglar had developed into a -harmless somnambulist. Moreover, it suddenly struck me that I had become -most infernally sleepy myself. So I did not curse Bill mentally as much -as I might have done. I turned in, and my nine o’clock next morning was -very provisional. - -So was Bill Sibton’s: we arrived together for breakfast at a quarter to -ten. He looked haggard and ill, like a man who has not slept, and his -first remark was to curse Dick Armytage. - -“I had the most infernal dreams last night,” he grumbled. “Entirely -through Dick reminding me of this room. I dreamed the whole show that -took place in here in that old bird’s time.” - -He pointed to the portrait of Sir James. - -“Did you!” I remarked, pouring out some coffee. “Must have been quite -interesting.” - -“I know I wasn’t at all popular with the crowd,” he said. “I don’t set -any store by dreams myself—but last night it was really extraordinarily -vivid.” He stirred his tea thoughtfully. - -“I can quite imagine that, Bill. Do you ever walk in your sleep?” - -“Walk in my sleep? No.” He stared at me surprised. “Why?” - -“You did last night. I found you down here at four o’clock in your -pyjamas. You were standing just where I’m sitting now, pointing with -your hand across the table. And as I stood outside the door you suddenly -said, ‘You lie, Sir Henry!—you lie!’” - -“Part of my dream,” he muttered. “Sir Henry Brayton was the name of the -man—and he was the leader. They were all furious with me about -something. We quarrelled—and after that there seemed to be a closed -door. It was opening slowly, and instinctively I knew there was -something dreadful behind it. You know the terror of a dream; the -primordial terror of the mind that cannot reason against something -hideous—unknown——” I glanced at him: his forehead was wet with sweat. -“And then the dream passed. The door didn’t open.” - -“Undoubtedly, my lad,” I remarked lightly, “you had one whisky too many -last night.” - -“Don’t be an ass, Tom,” he said irritably. “I tell you—though you -needn’t repeat it—I’m in a putrid funk of this room. Absurd, I know: -ridiculous. But I can’t help it. And if there was a train on this branch -line on Sunday, I’d leave to-day.” - -“But, good Lord, Bill,” I began—and then I went on with my breakfast. -There was a look on his face which it is not good to see on the face of -a man. It was terror: an abject, dreadful terror. - - II - -He and Jack Drage were out for a long walk when the parson came to tea -that afternoon—a walk of which Bill had been the instigator. He had -dragged Jack forth, vigorously protesting, after lunch, and we had -cheered them on their way. Bill had to get out of the house—I could see -that. Then Dick and the girl had disappeared, in the way that people in -their condition _do_ disappear, just before Mr. Williams arrived. And so -only Phyllis Drage was there, presiding at the tea-table, when I -broached the subject of the history of the dining-room. - -“He spoils paper, Mr. Williams,” laughed my hostess, “and he scents -copy. Jack tried to tell the story last night, and got it hopelessly -wrong.” - -The clergyman smiled gravely. - -“You’ll have to alter the setting, Mr. Staunton,” he remarked, “because -the story is quite well known round here. In my library at the vicarage -I have an old manuscript copy of the legend. And indeed, I have no -reason to believe that it is a legend: certainly the main points have -been historically authenticated. Sir James Wrothley, whose portrait -hangs in the dining-room, lived in this house. He was a staunch -Protestant—bigoted to a degree; and he fell very foul of Cardinal -Wolsey, who you may remember was plotting for the Papacy at the time. So -bitter did the animosity become, and so high did religious intoleration -run in those days, that Sir James started counter-plotting against the -Cardinal; which was a dangerous thing to do. Moreover, he and his -friends used the dining-room here as their meeting-place.” - -The reverend gentleman sipped his tea; if there was one thing he loved -it was the telling of this story, which reflected so magnificently on -the staunch no-Popery record of his parish. - -“So much is historical certainty; the rest is not so indisputably -authentic. The times of the meetings were, of course, kept secret—until -the fatal night occurred. Then, apparently, someone turned traitor. And, -why I cannot tell you, Sir James himself was accused by the -others—especially Sir Henry Brayton. Did you say anything, Mr. -Staunton?” - -“Nothing,” I remarked quietly. “The name surprised me for a moment. -Please go on.” - -“Sir Henry Brayton was Sir James’s next-door neighbour, almost equally -intolerant of anything savouring of Rome. And even while, so the story -goes, Wolsey’s men were hammering on the doors, he and Sir Henry had -this dreadful quarrel. Why Sir James should have been suspected, whether -the suspicions were justified or not I cannot say. Certainly, in view of -what we know of Sir James’s character, it seems hard to believe that he -could have been guilty of such infamous treachery. But that the case -must have appeared exceedingly black against him is certain from the -last and most tragic part of the story.” - -Once again Mr. Williams paused to sip his tea; he had now reached that -point of the narrative where royalty itself would have failed to hurry -him. - -“In those days, Mrs. Drage, there was a door leading into the musicians’ -gallery from one of the rooms of the house. It provided no avenue of -escape if the house was surrounded—but its existence was unknown to the -men before whose blows the other doors were already beginning to -splinter. And suddenly through this door appeared Lady Wrothley. She had -only recently married Sir James: in fact, her first baby was then on its -way. Sir James saw her, and at once ceased his quarrel with Sir Henry. -With dignity he mounted the stairs and approached his girl-wife—and in -her horror-struck eyes he saw that she, too, suspected him of being the -traitor. He raised her hand to his lips; and then as the doors burst -open simultaneously and Wolsey’s men rushed in—he dived headforemost on -to the floor below, breaking his neck and dying instantly. - -“The story goes on to say,” continued Mr. Williams, with a diffident -cough, “that even while the butchery began in the room below—for most -of the Protestants were unarmed—the poor girl collapsed in the gallery, -and shortly afterwards the child was born. A girl baby, who survived, -though the mother died. One likes to think that if she had indeed -misjudged her husband, it was a merciful act on the part of the Almighty -to let her join him so soon. Thank you, I will have another cup of tea. -One lump, please.” - -“A most fascinating story, Mr. Williams,” said Phyllis. “Thank you so -much for having told us. Can you make anything out of it, Tom?” - -I laughed. - -“The criminal reserves his defence. But it’s most interesting, Padre, -most interesting, as Mrs. Drage says. If I may, I’d like to come and see -that manuscript.” - -“I shall be only too delighted,” he murmured with old-fashioned -courtesy. “Whenever you like.” - -And then the conversation turned on things parochial until he rose to -go. The others had still not returned, and for a while we two sat on -talking as the spirit moved us in the darkening room. At last the -servants appeared to draw the curtains, and it was then that we heard -Jack and Bill in the hall. - -I don’t know what made me make the remark; it seemed to come without my -volition. - -“If I were you, Phyllis,” I said, “I don’t think I’d tell the story of -the dining-room to Bill.” - -She looked at me curiously. - -“Why not?” - -“I don’t know—but I wouldn’t.” In the brightly lit room his fears of -the morning seemed ridiculous; yet, as I say, I don’t know what made me -make the remark. - -“All right; I won’t,” she said gravely. “Do you think——” - -But further conversation was cut short by the entrance of Bill and her -husband. - -“Twelve miles if an inch,” growled Drage, throwing himself into a chair. -“You awful fellow.” - -Sibton laughed. - -“Do you good, you lazy devil. He’s getting too fat, Phyllis, isn’t he?” - -I glanced at him as he, too, sat down: in his eyes there remained no -trace of the terror of the morning. - - III - -And now I come to that part of my story which I find most difficult to -write. From the story-teller’s point of view pure and simple, it is the -easiest; from the human point of view I have never tackled anything -harder. Because, though the events I am describing took place months -ago—and the first shock is long since past—I still cannot rid myself -of a feeling that I was largely to blame. By the cold light of reason I -can exonerate myself; but one does not habitually have one’s being in -that exalted atmosphere. Jack blames himself; but in view of what -happened the night before—in view of the look in Bill’s eyes that -Sunday morning—I feel that I ought to have realised that there were -influences at work which lay beyond my ken—influences which at present -lie not within the light of reason. And then at other times I wonder if -it was not just a strange coincidence and an—accident. God knows: -frankly, I don’t. - -We spent that evening just as we had spent the preceding one, save that -in view of shooting on Monday morning we went to bed at midnight. This -time I fell asleep at once—only to be roused by someone shaking my arm. -I sat up blinking: it was Jack Drage. - -“Wake up, Tom,” he whispered. “There’s a light in the dining-room, and -we’re going down to investigate. Dick is getting Bill.” - -In an instant I was out of bed. - -“It’s probably Bill himself,” I said. “I found him down there last night -walking in his sleep.” - -“The devil you did!” muttered Jack, and at that moment Dick Armytage -came in. - -“Bill’s room is empty,” he announced; and I nodded. - -“It’s Bill right enough,” I said. “He went back quite quietly last -night. And, for Heaven’s sake, you fellows, don’t wake him. It’s very -dangerous.” - -Just as before the dining-room door was open, and the light filtered -through into the passage as we tiptoed along it. Just as before we saw -Bill standing by the table—his hand outstretched. - -Then came the same words as I had heard last night. - -“You lie, Sir Henry!—you lie!” - -“What the devil——” muttered Jack; but I held up my finger to ensure -silence. - -“He’ll come to bed now,” I whispered. “Keep quite still.” - -But this time Bill Sibton did not come to bed; instead, he turned and -stared into the shadows of the musicians’ gallery. Then, very slowly, he -walked away from us and commenced to mount the stairs. And still the -danger did not strike us. - -Dimly we saw the tall figure reach the top and walk along the gallery, -as if he saw someone at the end—and at that moment the peril came to -the three of us. - -To Dick and Jack the rottenness of the balustrade; to me—_the end of -the vicar’s story_. What they thought I know not; but to my dying day I -shall never forget my own agony of mind. In that corner of the -musicians’ gallery—though we could see her not—stood Lady Wrothley; to -the man walking slowly towards her the door was opening slowly—the door -which had remained shut the night before—the door behind which lay the -terror. - -And then it all happened very quickly. In a frenzy we raced across the -room, to get at him—but we weren’t in time. There was a rending of -wood—a dreadful crash—a sprawling figure on the floor below. To me it -seemed as if he had hurled himself against the balustrade, had literally -dived downwards. The others did not notice it—so they told me later. -But I did. - -And then we were kneeling beside him on the floor. - -“Dear God!” I heard Drage say in a hoarse whisper. “He’s dead; he’s -broken his neck.” - - · · · · · - -Such is my story. Jack Drage blames himself for the rottenness of the -woodwork, but I feel it was my fault. Yes—it was my fault. I ought to -have known, ought to have done something. Even if we’d only locked the -dining-room door. - -And the last link in the chain I haven’t mentioned yet. The vicar -supplied that—though to him it was merely a strange coincidence. - -The baby-girl—born in the gallery—a strange, imaginative child, so run -the archives, subject to fits of awful depression and, at other times, -hallucinations—married. She married in 1551, on the 30th day of -October, Henry, only son of Frank Sibton and Mary his wife. - -God knows: I don’t. It may have been an accident. - - - - - - -_VIII_ _When Greek meets Greek_ - - - - I - -“BUT, Bill, I don’t understand. How much did you borrow from this man?” - -Sybil Daventry looked at her brother, sitting huddled up in his chair, -with a little frown. - -“I borrowed a thousand,” he answered, sulkily. “And like a fool I didn’t -read the thing he made me sign—at least, not carefully. Hang it, I’ve -only had the money six months, and now he’s saying that I owe him over -two. I saw something about twenty-five per cent., and now I find it was -twenty-five per cent. a month. And the swine is pressing for payment -unless——” He broke off and stared into the fire shamefacedly. - -“Unless what?” demanded his sister. - -“Well, you see, it’s this way.” The boy stammered a little, and refused -to look at her. “I was jolly well up the spout when this blighter told -me what I owed him, and I suppose I must have showed it pretty clearly. -Anyway, I was propping up the bar at the Cri., getting a cocktail, when -a fellow standing next me started gassing. Not a bad sort of cove at -all; knows you very well by sight.” - -“Knows me?” said the girl, bewildered. “Who was he?” - -“I’m coming to that later,” went on her brother. “Well, we had a couple -more and then he suggested tearing a chop together. And I don’t know—he -seemed so decent and all that—that I told him I was in the soup. Told -him the whole yarn and asked his advice sort of business. Well, as I -say, he was bally sporting about it all, and finally asked me who the -bird was who had tied up the boodle. I told him, and here’s the lucky -part of the whole show—this fellow Perrison knew him. Perrison was the -man I was lunching with.” - -He paused and lit a cigarette, while the girl stared at him gravely. - -“Well,” she said at length, “go on.” - -“It was after lunch that he got busy. He said to me: ‘Look here, -Daventry, you’ve made a bally fool of yourself, but you’re not the -first. I’ll write a note to Messrs. Smith and Co.’—those are the -warriors who gave me the money—‘and try and persuade them to give you -more time, or even possibly reduce the rate of interest.’ Of course, I -was all on this, and I arranged to lunch with him again next day, after -Smith and Co. had had time to function. And sure enough they did. Wrote -a letter in which they were all over me; any friend of Mr. Perrison’s -was entitled to special treatment, and so on and so forth. Naturally I -was as bucked as a dog with two tails, and asked Perrison if I couldn’t -do something more material than just thank him. And—er—he—I mean it -was then he told me he knew you by sight.” - -He glanced at his sister, and then quickly looked away again. - -“He suggested—er—that perhaps I could arrange to introduce him to you; -that it would be an honour he would greatly appreciate, and all that -sort of rot.” - -The girl was sitting very still. “Yes,” she said, quietly, “and -you—agreed.” - -“Well, of course I did. Hang it, he’s quite a decent fellow. Bit Cityish -to look at, and I shouldn’t think he knows which end of a horse goes -first. But he’s got me out of the devil of a hole, Sybil, and the least -you can do is to be moderately decent to the bird. I mean it’s not -asking much, is it? I left the governor looking at him in the hall as if -he was just going to tread on his face, and that long slab—your pal—is -gazing at him through his eyeglasses as if he was mad.” - -“He’s not my pal, Bill.” Sybil Daventry’s colour heightened a little. - -“Well, you asked him here, anyway,” grunted the boy. Then with a sudden -change of tone he turned to her appealingly. “Syb, old girl—for the -Lord’s sake play the game. You know what the governor is, and if he -hears about this show—especially as it’s—as it’s not the first -time—there’ll be the deuce to pay. You know he said last time that if -it happened again he’d turn me out of the house. And the old man is as -stubborn as a mule. I only want you to be a bit decent to Perrison.” - -She looked at him with a grave smile. “If Mr. Perrison is satisfied with -my being decent to him, as you put it, I’m perfectly prepared to play -the game. But——” She frowned and rose abruptly. “Come on, and I’ll -have a look at him.” - -In silence they went downstairs. Tea had just been brought in, and the -house-party was slowly drifting into the hall. But Sybil barely noticed -them; her eyes were fixed on the man talking to her father. Or rather, -at the moment, her father was talking to the man, and his remark was -painfully audible. - -“There is a very good train back to London at seven-thirty, -Mr.—ah—Mr.——” - -Her brother stepped forward. “But I say, Dad,” he said, nervously, “I -asked Perrison to stop the night. I’ve just asked Sybil, and she says -she can fix him up somewhere.” - -“How do you do, Mr. Perrison?” With a charming smile she held out her -hand. “Of course you must stop the night.” - -Then she moved away to the tea-table, feeling agreeably relieved; it was -better than she had expected. The man was well-dressed; perhaps, to her -critical eye, a little too well-dressed—but still quite presentable. - -“You averted a catastrophe, Miss Daventry.” A lazy voice beside her -interrupted her thoughts, and with a smile she turned to the speaker. - -“Dad is most pestilentially rude at times, isn’t he? And Bill told me he -left _you_ staring at the poor man as if he was an insect.” - -Archie Longworth laughed. - -“He’d just contradicted your father flatly as you came downstairs. And -on a matter concerning horses. However—the breeze has passed. But, tell -me,” he stared at her gravely, “why the sudden invasion?” - -Her eyebrows went up a little. “May I ask why not?” she said, coldly. -“Surely my brother can invite a friend to the house if he wishes.” - -“I stand corrected,” answered Longworth, quietly. “Has he known him -long?” - -“I haven’t an idea,” said the girl. “And after all, Mr. Longworth, I -hadn’t known you very long when I asked you.” - -And then, because she realised that there was a possibility of -construing rather more into her words than she had intended, she turned -abruptly to speak to another guest. So she failed to see the sudden -inscrutable look that came into Archie Longworth’s keen blue eyes—the -quick clenching of his powerful fists. But when a few minutes later she -again turned to him, he was just his usual lazy self. - -“Do you think your logic is very good?” he demanded. “You might have -made a mistake as well.” - -“You mean that you think my brother has?” she said, quickly. - -“It is visible on the surface to the expert eye,” he returned, gravely. -“But, in addition, I happen to have inside information.” - -“Do you know Mr. Perrison, then?” - -He nodded. “Yes, I have—er—met him before.” - -“But he doesn’t know you,” cried the girl. - -“No—at least—er—we’ll leave it at that. And I would be obliged, Miss -Daventry, in case you happen to be speaking to him, if you would refrain -from mentioning the fact that I know him.” He stared at her gravely. - -“You’re very mysterious, Mr. Longworth,” said the girl, with an attempt -at lightness. - -“And if I may I will prolong my visit until our friend departs,” -continued Longworth. - -“Why, of course,” she said, bending over the tea-tray. “You weren’t -thinking of going—going yet, were you?” - -“I was thinking after lunch that I should have to go to-morrow,” he -said, putting down his tea-cup. - -“But why so soon?” she asked, and her voice was low. “Aren’t you -enjoying yourself?” - -“In the course of a life that has taken me into every corner of the -globe,” he answered, slowly, “I have never dreamed that I could be so -utterly and perfectly happy as I have been here. It has opened my mind -to a vista of the Things that Might Be—if the Things that Had Been were -different. But as you grow older, Sybil, you will learn one bitter -truth: no human being can ever be exactly what he seems. Masks? just -masks! And underneath—God and that being alone know.” - -He rose abruptly, and she watched him bending over Lady Granton with his -habitual lazy grace. The indolent smile was round his lips—the -irrepressible twinkle was in his eyes. But for the first time he had -called her Sybil; for the first time—she _knew_. The vague forebodings -conjured up by his words were swamped by that one outstanding fact; she -_knew_. And nothing else mattered. - - II - -It was not until Perrison joined her in the conservatory after dinner -that she found herself called on to play the part set her by her -brother. - -She had gone there—though nothing would have induced her to admit the -fact—in the hope that someone else would follow: the man with the lazy -blue eyes and the eyeglass. And then instead of him had come Perrison, -with a shade too much deference in his manner, and a shade too little -control of the smirk on his face. With a sudden sick feeling she -realised at that moment exactly where she stood. Under a debt of -obligation to this man—under the necessity of a _tête-à-tête_ with him, -one, moreover, when, if she was to help Bill, she must endeavour to be -extra nice. - -For a while the conversation was commonplace, while she feverishly -longed for someone to come in and relieve the tension. But Bridge was in -progress, and there was Snooker in the billiard-room, and at length she -resigned herself to the inevitable. Presumably she would have to thank -him for his kindness to Bill; after all he undoubtedly had been very -good to her brother. - -“Bill has told me, Mr. Perrison, how kind you’ve been in the way you’ve -helped him in this—this unfortunate affair.” She plunged valiantly, and -gave a sigh of relief as she cleared the first fence. - -Perrison waved a deprecating hand. “Don’t mention it, Miss Daventry, -don’t mention it. But—er—of course, something will have to be done, -and—well, there’s no good mincing matters—done very soon.” - -The girl’s face grew a little white, but her voice was quite steady. - -“But he told me that you had arranged things with these people. Please -smoke, if you want to.” - -Perrison bowed his thanks and carefully selected a cigarette. The moment -for which he had been playing had now arrived, in circumstances even -more favourable than he had dared to hope. - -“Up to a point that is quite true,” he remarked, quietly. “Messrs. Smith -and Co. have many ramifications of business—money-lending being only -one of the irons they have in the fire. And because I have had many -dealings with the firm professionally—over the sale of precious stones, -I may say, which is my own particular line of work—they were disposed -to take a lenient view about the question of the loan. Not press for -payment, and perhaps—though I can’t promise this—even be content with -a little less interest. But—er—Miss Daventry, it’s the other thing -where the trouble is going to occur.” - -The girl stared at him with dilated eyes. “What other thing, Mr. -Perrison?” - -“Hasn’t your brother told you?” said Perrison, surprised. “Oh, well, -perhaps I—er—shouldn’t have mentioned it.” - -“Go on, please.” Her voice was low. “What is this other thing?” - -For a moment he hesitated—a well-simulated hesitation. Then he shrugged -his shoulders slightly. - -“Well—if you insist. As a matter of fact, your brother didn’t tell me -about it, and I only found it out in the course of my conversation with -one of the Smith partners. Apparently some weeks ago he bought some -distinctly valuable jewellery—a pearl-necklace, to be exact—from a -certain firm. At least, when I say he bought it—he did not pay for it. -He gave your father’s name as a reference, and the firm considered it -satisfactory. It was worth about eight hundred pounds, this necklace, -and your very stupid brother, instead of giving it to the lady whom, -presumably, he had got it for, became worse than stupid. He became -criminal.” - -“What do you mean?” The girl was looking at him terrified. - -“He pawned this necklace which he hadn’t paid for, Miss Daventry, which -is, I regret to say, a criminal offence. And the trouble of the -situation is that the firm he bought the pearls from has just found it -out. He pawned it at a place which is one of the ramifications of Smith -and Co., who gave him, I believe, a very good price for it—over five -hundred pounds. The firm, in the course of business, two or three days -ago—and this is the incredibly unfortunate part of it—happened to show -this self-same necklace, while they were selling other things, to the -man it had originally come from. Of course, being pawned, it wasn’t for -sale—but the man recognised it at once. And then the fat was in the -fire.” - -“Do you mean to say,” whispered the girl, “that—that they might send -him to prison?” - -“Unless something is done very quickly, Miss Daventry, the matter will -certainly come into the law courts. Messrs. Gross and Sons”—a faint -noise from the darkness at the end of the conservatory made him swing -round suddenly, but everything was silent again—“Messrs. Gross and Sons -are very difficult people in many ways. They are the people it came from -originally, I may tell you. And firms, somewhat naturally, differ, like -human beings. Some are disposed to be lenient—others are not. I’m sorry -to say Gross and Sons are one of those who are not.” - -“But couldn’t you see them, or something, and explain?” - -“My dear Miss Daventry,” said Perrison, gently, “I must ask you to be -reasonable. What can I explain? Your brother wanted money, and he -adopted a criminal method of getting it. That I am afraid—ugly as it -sounds—is all there is to it.” - -“Then, Mr. Perrison—can nothing be done?” She bent forward eagerly, her -hands clasped, her lips slightly parted; and once again came that faint -noise from the end of the conservatory. - -But Mr. Perrison was too engrossed to heed it this time; the nearness, -the appeal of this girl, who from the time he had first seen her six -months previously at a theatre had dominated his life, was making his -senses swim. And with it the veneer began to drop; the hairy heel began -to show, though he made a tremendous endeavour to keep himself in check. - -“There is one thing,” he said, hoarsely. “And I hope you will understand -that I should not have been so precipitate—except for the urgency of -your brother’s case. If I go to Messrs. Gross and say to them that a -prosecution by them would affect me personally, I think I could persuade -them to take no further steps.” - -Wonder was beginning to dawn in the girl’s eyes. “Affect you -personally?” she repeated. - -“If, for instance, I could tell them that for family reasons—urgent, -strong family reasons—they would be doing me a great service by letting -matters drop, I think they would do it.” - -She rose suddenly—wonder replaced by horror. She had just realised his -full meaning. - -“What on earth are you talking about, Mr. Perrison?” she said, -haughtily. - -And then the heel appeared in all its hairiness. “If I may tell them,” -he leered, “that I am going to marry into the family I’ll guarantee they -will do nothing more.” - -“Marry you?” The biting scorn in her tone changed the leer to a snarl. - -“Yes—marry me, or see your brother jugged. Money won’t save him—so -there’s no good going to your father. Money will square up the Smith -show—it won’t square the other.” And then his tone changed. “Why not, -little girl? I’m mad about you; have been ever since I saw you at a -theatre six months ago. I’m pretty well off even for these days, -and——” He came towards her, his arms outstretched, while she backed -away from him, white as a sheet. Her hands were clenched, and it was -just as she had retreated as far as she could, and the man was almost on -her, that she saw red. One hand went up; hit him—hit the brute—was her -only coherent thought. And the man, realising it, paused—an ugly look -in his eyes. - -Then occurred the interruption. A strangled snort, as of a sleeper -awakening, came from behind some palms, followed by the creaking of a -chair. With a stifled curse Perrison fell back and the girl’s hand -dropped to her side as the branches parted and Archie Longworth, rubbing -his eyes, stepped into the light. - -“Lord save us, Miss Daventry, I’ve been asleep,” he said, stifling a -yawn. “I knew I oughtn’t to have had a third glass of port. Deuced bad -for the liver, but very pleasant for all that, isn’t it, Mr.—Mr. -Perrison?” - -He smiled engagingly at the scowling Perrison, and adjusted his -eyeglass. - -“You sleep very silently, Mr. Longworth,” snarled that worthy. - -“Yes—used to win prizes for it at an infant school. Most valuable asset -in class. If one snores it disconcerts the lecturer.” - -Perrison swung round on his heel. “I would like an answer to my -suggestion by to-morrow, Miss Daventry,” he said, softly. “Perhaps I -might have the pleasure of a walk where people don’t sleep off the -effects of dinner.” - -With a slight bow he left the conservatory, and the girl sat down -weakly. - -“Pleasant type of bird, isn’t he?” drawled Longworth, watching -Perrison’s retreating back. - -“He’s a brute—an utter brute,” whispered the girl, shakily. - -“I thought the interview would leave you with that impression,” agreed -the man. - -She sat up quickly. “Did you hear what was said?” - -“Every word. That’s why I was there.” He smiled at her calmly. - -“Then why didn’t you come out sooner?” she cried, indignantly. - -“I wanted to hear what he had to say, and at the same time I didn’t want -you to biff him on the jaw—which from your attitude I gathered you were -on the point of doing.” - -“Why not? I’d have given anything to have smacked his face.” - -“I know. I’d have given anything to have seen you do it. But—not yet. -In fact, to-morrow you’ve got to go for a walk with him.” - -“I flatly refuse!” cried Sybil Daventry. - -“More than that,” continued Longworth, calmly, “you’ve got to keep him -on the hook. Play with him; let him think he’s got a chance.” - -“But why?” she demanded. “I loathe him.” - -“Because it is absolutely essential that he should remain here until the -day after to-morrow at the earliest.” - -“I don’t understand.” She looked at him with a puzzled frown. - -“You will in good time.” It seemed to her his voice was just a little -weary. “Just now it is better that you shouldn’t. Do you trust me enough -to do that, Sybil?” - -“I trust you absolutely,” and she saw him wince. - -“Then keep him here till I come back.” - -“Are you going away, Archie?” Impulsively she laid her hand on his arm. - -“To-morrow, first thing. I shall come back as soon as possible.” - -For a moment or two they stood in silence, then, with a gesture -strangely foreign to one so typically British, he raised her hand to his -lips. And the next instant she was alone. - -A little later she saw him talking earnestly to her brother in a corner; -then someone suggested billiard-fives. An admirable game, but not one in -which it is wise to place one’s hand on the edge of the table with the -fingers over the cushion. Especially if the owner of the hand is not -paying attention to the game. It was Perrison’s hand, and the agony of -being hit on the fingers by a full-sized billiard ball travelling fast -must be experienced to be believed. Of course it was an accident: -Longworth was most apologetic. But in the middle of the hideous scene -that followed she caught his lazy blue eye and beat a hasty retreat to -the hall. Unrestrained mirth in such circumstances is not regarded as -the essence of tact. - - III - -It was about ten o’clock on the morning of the next day but one that a -sharp-looking, flashily-dressed individual presented himself at the door -of Messrs. Gross and Sons. He was of the type that may be seen by the -score any day of the week propping up the West-end bars and discoursing -on racing form in a hoarse whisper. - -“Mornin’,” he remarked. “Mr. Johnson here yet?” - -“What do you want to see him about?” demanded the assistant. - -“To tell him that your hair wants cutting,” snapped the other. “Hop -along, young fellah; as an ornament you’re a misfit. Tell Mr. Johnson -that I’ve a message from Mr. Perrison.” - -The youth faded away, to return in a minute or two with a request that -the visitor would follow him. - -“Message from Perrison? What’s up?” Mr. Johnson rose from his chair as -the door closed behind the assistant. - -The flashy individual laughed and pulled out his cigarette-case. - -“He’s pulled it off,” he chuckled. “At the present moment our one and -only Joe is clasping the beauteous girl to his bosom.” - -“Strike me pink—he hasn’t, has he?” Mr. Johnson slapped his leg -resoundingly and shook with merriment. - -“That’s why I’ve come round,” continued the other. “From Smith, I am. -Joe wants to give her a little present on account.” He grinned again, -and felt in his pocket. “Here it is—and he wants a receipt signed by -you—acknowledging the return of the necklace which was sent out—on -approval.” He winked heavily. “He’s infernally deep, is Joe.” He watched -the other man as he picked up the pearls, and for a moment his blue eyes -seemed a little strained. “He wants to give that receipt to the girl—so -as to clinch the bargain.” - -“Why the dickens didn’t he ’phone me direct?” demanded Johnson, and once -again the other grinned broadly. - -“Strewth!” he said, “I laughed fit to burst this morning. The ’phone at -his girl’s place is in the hall, as far as I could make out, and Joe was -whispering down it like an old woman with lumbago. ‘Take ’em round to -Johnson,’ he said. ‘Approval—approval—you fool.’ And then he turned -away and I heard him say—‘Good morning, Lady Jemima.’ Then back he -turns and starts whispering again. ‘Do you get me, Bob?’ ‘Yes,’ I says, -‘I get you. You want me to take round the pearls to Johnson and get a -receipt from him. And what about the other thing—you know, the money -the young boob borrowed?’ ‘Put it in an envelope and send it to me here, -with the receipt,’ he says. ‘I’m going out walking this morning.’ Then -he rings off, and that’s that. Lord! think of Joe walking.” - -The grin developed into a cackling laugh, in which Mr. Johnson joined. - -“He’s deep—you’re right,” he said, admiringly. “Uncommonly deep. I -never thought he’d pull it off. Though personally, mark you, I think -he’s a fool. They’ll fight like cat and dog.” He rang a bell on his desk -then opening a drawer he dropped the necklace inside. - -“Bring me a formal receipt form,” he said to the assistant. “Have you -got the other paper?” he asked, as he affixed the firm’s signature to -the receipt, and the flashy individual produced it from his pocket. - -“Here it is,” he announced. “Put ’em both in an envelope together and -address it to Joe. I’m going along; I’ll post it.” - -“Will you have a small tiddley before you go?” Mr. Johnson opened a -formidable-looking safe, disclosing all the necessary-looking -ingredients for the manufacture of small tiddleys. - -“I don’t mind if I do,” conceded the other. “Here’s the best—and to the -future Mrs. Joe.” - -A moment or two later he passed through the outer office and was -swallowed up in the crowd. And it was not till after lunch that day that -Mr. Johnson got the shock of his life—when he opened one of the early -evening papers. - - “DARING ROBBERY IN WELL-KNOWN CITY FIRM. - - “_A most daring outrage was carried out last night at the office - of Messrs. Smith and Co., the well-known financial and insurance - brokers. At a late hour this morning, some time after work was - commenced, the night watchman was discovered bound and securely - gagged in a room at the top of the premises. Further - investigation revealed that the safe had been opened—evidently - by a master hand—and the contents rifled. The extent of the - loss is at present unknown, but the police are believed to - possess several clues._” - -And at the same time that Mr. Johnson was staring with a glassy stare at -this astounding piece of news, a tall, spare man with lazy blue eyes, -stretched out comfortably in the corner of a first-class carriage, was -also perusing it. - -“Several clues,” he murmured. “I wonder! But it was a very creditable -job, though I say it myself.” - -Which seemed a strange soliloquy for a well-dressed man in a first-class -carriage. And what might have seemed almost stranger, had there been any -way of knowing such a recondite fact, was that in one of the mail bags -reposing in the back of the train, a mysterious transformation had taken -place. For a letter which had originally contained two documents and had -been addressed to J. Perrison, Esq., now contained three and was -consigned to Miss Sybil Daventry. Which merely goes to show how careful -one should be over posting letters. - - IV - -“Good evening, Mr. Perrison. All well, and taking nourishment, so to -speak?” - -Archie Longworth lounged into the hall, almost colliding with the other -man. - -“You look pensive,” he continued, staring at him blandly. “_Agitato, -fortissimo._ Has aught occurred to disturb your masterly composure?” - -But Mr. Perrison was in no mood for fooling: a message he had just -received over the telephone had very considerably disturbed his -composure. - -“Let me have a look at that paper,” he snapped, making a grab at it. - -“Tush! Tush!” murmured Archie. “Manners, laddie, manners! You’ve -forgotten that little word.” - -And then at the far end of the hall he saw the girl, and caught his -breath. For the last two days he had almost forgotten her in the stress -of other things; now the bitterness of what had to come rose suddenly in -his throat and choked him. - -“There is the paper. Run away and play in a corner.” - -Then he went forward to meet her with his usual lazy smile. - -“What’s happened?” she cried, a little breathlessly. - -“Heaps of things,” he said, gently. “Heaps of things. The principal one -being that a very worthless sinner loves a very beautiful girl—as he -never believed it could be given to man to love.” His voice broke and -faltered: then he went on steadily. “And the next one—which is really -even more important—is that the very beautiful girl will receive a -letter in a long envelope by to-night’s mail. The address will be typed, -the postmark Strand. I do not want the beautiful girl to open it except -in my presence. You understand?” - -“I understand,” she whispered, and her eyes were shining. - -“Have you seen this?” Perrison’s voice—shaking with rage—made -Longworth swing round. - -“Seen what, dear lad?” he murmured, taking the paper. “Robbery in -City—is that what you mean? Dear, dear—what dastardly outrages do go -unpunished these days! Messrs. Smith and Co. Really! Watchman bound and -gagged. Safe rifled. Work of a master hand. Still, though I quite -understand your horror as a law-abiding citizen at such a thing, why -this thusness? I mean—altruism is wonderful, laddie; but it seems to me -that it’s jolly old Smith and Co. who are up the pole.” - -He burbled on genially, serenely unconscious of the furious face of the -other man. - -“I’m trying to think where I’ve met you before, Mr. Longworth,” snarled -Perrison. - -“Never, surely,” murmured the other. “Those classic features, I feel -sure, would have been indelibly printed on my mind. Perhaps in some -mission, Mr. Perrison—some evangelical revival meeting. Who knows? And -there, if I mistake not, is the mail.” - -He glanced at the girl, and she was staring at him wonderingly. Just for -one moment did he show her what she wanted to know—just for one moment -did she give him back the answer which was to him the sweetest and at -the same time the most bitter in the world. Then he crossed the hall and -picked up the letters. - -“A business one for you, Miss Daventry,” he murmured, mildly. “Better -open it at once, and get our business expert’s advice. Mr. Perrison is a -wonderful fellah for advice.” - -With trembling fingers she opened the envelope, and, as he saw the -contents, Perrison, with a snarl of ungovernable fury, made as if to -snatch them out of her hand. The next moment he felt as if his arm was -broken, and the blue eyes boring into his brain were no longer lazy. - -“You forgot yourself, Mr. Perrison,” said Archie Longworth, gently. -“Don’t do that again.” - -“But I don’t understand,” cried the girl, bewildered. “What are these -papers?” - -“May I see?” Longworth held out his hand, and she gave them to him at -once. - -“They’re stolen.” Perrison’s face was livid. “Give them to me, curse -you.” - -“Control yourself, you horrible blighter,” said Longworth, icily. -“This,” he continued, calmly, “would appear to be a receipt from Messrs. -Gross and Sons for the return of a pearl-necklace—sent out to Mr. -Daventry on approval.” - -“But you said he’d bought it and pawned it.” She turned furiously on -Perrison. - -“So he did,” snarled that gentleman. “That’s a forgery.” - -“Is it?” said Longworth. “That strikes me as being Johnson’s signature. -Firm’s official paper. And—er—he has the necklace, I—er—assume.” - -“Yes—he has the necklace. Stolen last night by—by——” His eyes were -fixed venomously on Longworth. - -“Go on,” murmured the other. “You’re being most entertaining.” - -But a sudden change had come over Perrison’s face—a dawning -recognition. “By God!” he muttered, “you’re—you’re——” - -“Yes. I’m—who? It’ll come in time, laddie—if you give it a chance. And -in the meantime we might examine these other papers. Now, this appears -to my inexperienced eye to be a transaction entered into on the one part -by Messrs. Smith and Co. and on the other by William Daventry. And it -concerns filthy lucre. Dear, dear. Twenty-five per cent. per month. -Three hundred per cent. Positive usury, Mr. Perrison. Don’t you agree -with me? A rapacious bloodsucker is Mr. Smith.” - -But the other man was not listening: full recollection had come to him, -and with a cold look of triumph he put his hands into his pockets and -laughed. - -“Very pretty,” he remarked. “Very pretty indeed. And how, in your -vernacular, do you propose to get away with the swag, Mr. Flash Pete? I -rather think the police—whom I propose to call up on the ’phone in one -minute—will be delighted to see such an old and elusive friend.” - -He glanced at the girl, and laughed again at the look on her face. - -“What’s he mean, Archie?” she cried, wildly. “What’s he mean?” - -“I mean,” Perrison sneered, “that Mr. Archie Longworth is what is -generally described as a swell crook with a reputation in certain -unsavoury circles extending over two or three continents. And the -police, whom I propose to ring up, will welcome him as a long-lost -child.” - -He walked towards the telephone, and with a little gasp of fear the girl -turned to Archie. - -“Say it’s not true, dear—say it’s not true.” - -For a moment he looked at her with a whimsical smile; then he sat down -on the high fender round the open fire. - -“I think, Mr. Perrison,” he murmured, gently, “that if I were you I -would not be too precipitate over ringing up the police. The engaging -warrior who sent this letter to Miss Daventry put in yet one more -enclosure.” - -Perrison turned round: then he stood very still. - -“A most peculiar document,” continued the man by the fire, in the same -gentle voice, “which proves very conclusively that amongst their other -activities Messrs. Smith and Co. are not only the receivers of stolen -goods, but are mixed up with illicit diamond buying.” - -In dead silence the two men stared at one another; then Longworth spoke -again. - -“I shall keep these three documents, Mr. Perrison, as a safeguard for -your future good behaviour. Mr. Daventry can pay a certain fair sum or -not as he likes—that is his business: and I shall make a point of -explaining exactly to him who and what you are—and Smith—and Gross. -But should you be disposed to make any trouble over the necklace—or -should the idea get abroad that Flash Pete was responsible for the -burglary last night—it will be most unfortunate for you—most. This -document would interest Scotland Yard immensely.” - -Perrison’s face had grown more and more livid as he listened, and when -the quiet voice ceased, unmindful of the girl standing by, he began to -curse foully and hideously. The next moment he cowered back, as two iron -hands gripped his shoulders and shook him till his teeth rattled. - -“Stop, you filthy swine,” snarled Longworth, “or I’ll break every bone -in your body. Quite a number of men are blackguards, Perrison—but -you’re a particularly creeping and repugnant specimen. Now—get out—and -do it quickly. The nine-thirty will do you nicely. And don’t forget what -I’ve just said: because, as there’s a God above, I mean it.” - -“I’ll be even with you for this some day, Flash Pete,” said the other -venomously over his shoulder. “And then——” - -“And then,” said Longworth, contemptuously, “we will resume this -discussion. Just now—get out.” - - V - -“Yes: it is quite true.” She had known it was—and yet, womanlike, she -had clung to the hope that there was some mistake—some explanation. And -now, alone with the man she had grown to love, the faint hope died. With -his lazy smile, he stared down at her—a smile so full of sorrow and -pain that she could not bear to see it. - -“I’m Flash Pete—with an unsavoury reputation, as our friend so kindly -told you, in three continents. It was I who broke open the safe at -Smith’s last night, I who got the receipt from Gross. You see, I spotted -the whole trick from the beginning; as I said, I had inside information. -And Perrison is Smith and Co.; moreover he’s very largely Gross as -well—and half a dozen other rotten things in addition. The whole thing -was worked with one end in view right from the beginning: the girl your -brother originally bought the pearls for was in it; it was she who -suggested the pawning. Bill told me that the night before last.” He -sighed and paced two or three times up and down the dim-lit -conservatory. And after a while he stopped in front of her again, and -his blue eyes were very tender. - -“Just a common sneak-thief—just a common worthless sinner. And he’s -very, very glad that he has been privileged to help the most beautiful -girl in all the world. Don’t cry, my dear, don’t cry: there’s nothing -about that sinner’s that’s worth a single tear of yours. You must forget -his wild presumption in falling in love with that beautiful girl: his -only excuse is that he couldn’t help it. And maybe, in the days to come, -the girl will think kindly every now and then of a man known to some as -Archie Longworth—known to others as Flash Pete—known to himself -as—well, we won’t bother about that.” - -He bent quickly and raised her hand to his lips; then he was gone almost -before she had realised it. And if he heard her little gasping -cry—“Archie, my man, come back—I love you so!” he gave no sign. - -For in his own peculiar code a very worthless sinner must remain a very -worthless sinner to the end—and he must run the course alone. - - - - - - -_IX_ _Jimmy Lethbridge’s Temptation_ - - - - I - -“WHAT a queer little place, Jimmy!” The girl glanced round the tiny -restaurant with frank interest, and the man looked up from the menu he -was studying with a grin. - -“Don’t let François hear you say that, or you’ll be asked to leave.” The -head-waiter was already bearing down on them, his face wreathed in an -expansive smile of welcome. “To him it is the only restaurant in -London.” - -“Ah, m’sieur! it is long days since you were here.” The little Frenchman -rubbed his hands together delightedly. “And mam’selle—it is your first -visit to Les Coquelins, n’est-ce-pas?” - -“But not the last, I hope, François,” said the girl with a gentle smile. - -“Ah, mais non!” Outraged horror at such an impossible idea shone all -over the head-waiter’s face. “My guests, mam’selle, they come here once -to see what it is like—and they return because they know what it is -like.” - -Jimmy Lethbridge laughed. - -“There you are, Molly,” he cried. “Now you know what’s expected of you. -Nothing less than once a week—eh, François?” - -“Mais oui, m’sieur. There are some who come every night.” He produced -his pencil and stood waiting. “A few oysters,” he murmured. “They are -good ce soir: real Whitstables. And a bird, M’sieur Lethbridge—with an -omelette aux fines herbes——” - -“Sounds excellent, François,” laughed the man. “Anyway, I know that once -you have decided—argument is futile.” - -“It is my work,” answered the waiter, shrugging his shoulders. “And a -bottle of Corton—with the chill just off. Toute de suite.” - -François bustled away, and the girl looked across the table with a -faintly amused smile in her big grey eyes. - -“He fits the place, Jimmy. You must bring me here again.” - -“Just as often as you like, Molly,” answered the man quietly, and after -a moment the girl turned away. “You know,” he went on steadily, “how -much sooner I’d bring you to a spot like this, than go to the Ritz or -one of those big places. Only I was afraid it might bore you. I love it: -it’s so much more intimate.” - -“Why should you think it would bore me?” she asked, drawing off her -gloves and resting her hands on the table in front of her. They were -beautiful hands, ringless save for one plain signet ring on the little -finger of her left hand. And, almost against his will, the man found -himself staring at it as he answered: - -“Because I can’t trust myself, dear; I can’t trust myself to amuse you,” -he answered slowly. “I can’t trust myself not to make love to you—and -it’s so much easier here than in the middle of a crowd whom one knows.” - -The girl sighed a little sadly. - -“Oh, Jimmy, I wish I could! You’ve been such an absolute dear. Give me a -little longer, old man, and then—perhaps——” - -“My dear,” said the man hoarsely, “I don’t want to hurry you. I’m -willing to wait years for you—years. At least”—he smiled -whimsically—“I’m not a little bit willing to wait years—really. But if -it’s that or nothing—then, believe me, I’m more than willing.” - -“I’ve argued it out with myself, Jimmy.” And now she was staring at the -signet ring on her finger. “And when I’ve finished the argument, I know -that I’m not a bit further on. You can’t argue over things like that. -I’ve told myself times out of number that it isn’t fair to you——” - -He started to speak, but she stopped him with a smile. - -“No, dear man, it is not fair to you—whatever you like to say. It isn’t -fair to you even though you may agree to go on waiting. No one has a -right to ask another person to wait indefinitely, though I’m thinking -that is exactly what I’ve been doing. Which is rather like a woman,” and -once again she smiled half sadly. - -“But I’m willing to wait, dear,” he repeated gently. “And then I’m -willing to take just as much as you care to give. I won’t worry you, -Molly; I won’t ask you for anything you don’t feel like granting me. You -see, I know now that Peter must always come first. I had hoped that -you’d forget him; I still hope, dear, that in time you will——” - -She shook her head, and the man bit his lip. - -“Well, even if you don’t, Molly,” he went on steadily, “is it fair to -yourself to go on when you know it’s hopeless? There can be no doubt now -that he’s dead; you know it yourself—you’ve taken off your engagement -ring—and is it fair to—you? Don’t worry about me for the moment—but -what is the use? Isn’t it better to face facts?” - -The girl gave a little laugh that was half a sob. - -“Of course it is, Jimmy. Much better. I always tell myself that in my -arguments.” Then she looked at him steadily across the table. “You’d be -content, Jimmy—would you?—with friendship at first.” - -“Yes,” he answered quietly. “I would be content with friendship.” - -“And you wouldn’t bother me—ah, no! forgive me, I know you wouldn’t. -Because, Jimmy, I don’t want there to be any mistake. People think I’ve -got over it because I go about; in some ways I have. But I seem to have -lost something—some part of me. I don’t think I shall ever be able to -_love_ a man again. I like you, Jimmy—like you most frightfully—but I -don’t know whether I’ll ever be able to love you in the way I loved -Peter.” - -“I know that,” muttered the man. “And I’ll risk it.” - -“You dear!” said the girl—and her eyes were shining. “That’s where the -unfairness comes in. You’re worth the very best—and I can’t promise to -give it to you.” - -“You are the very best, whatever you give me,” answered the man quietly. -“I’d sooner have anything from you than everything from another woman. -Oh, my dear!” he burst out, “I didn’t mean to worry you to-night—though -I knew this damned restaurant would be dangerous—but can’t you say yes? -I swear you’ll never regret it, dear—and I—I’ll be quite content to -know that you care just a bit.” - -For a while the girl was silent; then with a faint smile she looked at -him across the table. - -“All right, Jimmy,” she said. - -“You mean you will, Molly?” he cried, a little breathlessly. - -And the girl nodded. - -“Yes, old man,” she answered steadily. “I mean I will.” - - · · · · · - -It was two hours later when Molly Daventry went slowly upstairs to her -room and shut the door. Jimmy Lethbridge had just gone; she had just -kissed him. And the echo of his last whispered words—“My dear! my very -dear girl!”—was still sounding in her ears. - -For a while she stood by the fireplace smiling a little sadly. Then she -crossed the room and switched on a special light. It was so placed that -it shone directly on the photograph of an officer in the full dress of -the 9th Hussars. And at length she knelt down in front of the table on -which the photograph stood, so that the light fell on her own face -also—glinting through the red-gold of her hair, glistening in the -mistiness of her eyes. For maybe five minutes she knelt there, till it -seemed to her as if a smile twitched round the lips of the officer—a -human smile, an understanding smile. - -“Oh, Peter!” she whispered, “he was your pal. Forgive me, my -love—forgive me. He’s been such a dear.” - -And once again the photograph seemed to smile at her tenderly. - -“It’s only you, Peter, till Journey’s End—but I must give him the next -best, mustn’t I? It’s only fair, isn’t it?—and you hated unfairness. -But, dear God! it’s hard.” - -Slowly she stretched out her left hand, so that the signet ring touched -the big silver frame. - -“Your ring, Peter,” she whispered, “your dear ring.” - -And with a sudden little choking gasp she raised it to her lips. - - II - -It was in a side-street close to High Street, Kensington, that it -happened—the unbelievable thing. Fate decided to give Jimmy two months -of happiness; cynically allowed him to come within a fortnight of his -wedding, and then—— - -For a few seconds he couldn’t believe his eyes; he stood staring like a -man bereft of his senses. There on the opposite side of the road, -playing a barrel-organ, was Peter himself—Peter, who had been reported -“Missing, believed killed,” three years before. Peter, whom a sergeant -had categorically said he had seen killed with his own eyes. And there -he was playing a barrel-organ in the streets of London. - -Like a man partially dazed Jimmy Lethbridge went over towards him. As he -approached the player smiled genially, and touched his cap with his free -hand. Then after a while the smile faded, and he stared at Jimmy -suspiciously. - -“My God, Peter!” Lethbridge heard himself say, “what are you doing this -for?” - -And as he spoke he saw a girl approaching—a girl who placed herself -aggressively beside Peter. - -“Why shouldn’t I?” demanded the player. “And who the hell are you -calling Peter?” - -“But,” stammered Jimmy, “don’t you know me, old man?” - -“No!” returned the other truculently. “And I don’t want to, neither.” - -“A ruddy torf, ’e is, Bill,” chimed in the girl. - -“Good God!” muttered Lethbridge, even then failing to understand the -situation. “You playing a barrel-organ!” - -“Look here, ’op it, guv’nor.” Peter spoke with dangerous calmness. “I -don’t want no blinking scenes ’ere. The police ain’t too friendly as it -is, and this is my best pitch.” - -“But why didn’t you let your pals know you were back, old man?” said -Jimmy feebly. “Your governor, and all of us?” - -“See ’ere, mister,” the girl stepped forward, “’e ain’t got no -pals—only me. Ain’t that so, Billy?” she turned to the man, who nodded. - -“I looks after him, I do, d’yer see?” went on the girl. “And I don’t -want no one coming butting their ugly heads in. It worries ’im, it -does.” - -“But do you mean to say——” began Jimmy dazedly, and then he broke off. -At last he understood, something if not all. In some miraculous way -Peter had not been killed; Peter was there in front of him—but a new -Peter; a Peter whose memory of the past had completely gone, whose mind -was as blank as a clean-washed slate. - -“How long have you been doing this?” he asked quietly. - -“Never you mind,” said the girl sharply. “He ain’t nothing to you. I -looks after ’im, I do.” - -Not for a second did Jimmy hesitate, though deep down inside him there -came a voice that whispered—“Don’t be a fool! Pretend it’s a mistake. -Clear off! Molly will never know.” And if for a moment his hands -clenched with the strength of the sudden hideous temptation, his voice -was calm and quiet as he spoke. - -“That’s where you’re wrong.” He looked at her gently. “He is something -to me—my greatest friend, whom I thought was dead.” - -And now Peter was staring at him fixedly, forgetting even to turn the -handle of the machine. - -“I don’t remember yer, guv’nor,” he said, and Jimmy flinched at the -appalling accent. “I’ve kind o’ lost my memory, yer see, and Lizzie ’ere -looks after me.” - -“I know she does,” continued Jimmy quietly. “Thank you, Lizzie, thank -you a thousand times. But I want you both to come to this house -to-night.” He scribbled the address of his rooms on a slip of paper. “We -must think what is best to be done. You see, Lizzie, it’s not quite fair -to him, is it? I want to get a good doctor to see him.” - -“I’m quite ’appy as I am, sir,” said Peter. “I don’t want no doctors -messing about with me.” - -“Yer’d better go, Bill.” The girl turned to him. “The gentleman seems -kind. But”—she swung round on Jimmy fiercely—“you ain’t going to take -’im away from me, guv’nor? ’E’s mine, yer see—mine——” - -“I want you to come with him to-night, Lizzie,” said Lethbridge gravely. -“I’m not going to try and take him away from you. I promise that. But -will you promise to come? It’s for his sake I ask you to bring him.” - -For a while she looked at him half fearfully; then she glanced at Peter, -who had apparently lost interest in the matter. And at last she muttered -under her breath: “Orl right—I’ll bring him. But ’e’s mine—mine. An’ -don’t yer go forgetting it.” - -And Jimmy, walking slowly into the main street, carried with him the -remembrance of a small determined face with the look on it of a mother -fighting for her young. That and Peter; poor dazed memory-lost -Peter—his greatest pal. - -At first, as he turned towards Piccadilly, he grasped nothing save the -one stupendous fact that Peter was not dead. Then, as he walked on, -gradually the realisation of what it meant to him personally came to his -mind. And with that realisation there returned with redoubled force the -insidious tempting voice that had first whispered: “Molly will never -know.” She would never know—could never know—unless he told her. And -Peter was happy; he’d said so. And the girl was happy—Lizzie. And -perhaps—in fact most likely—Peter would never recover his memory. So -what was the use? Why say anything about it? Why not say it was a -mistake when they came that evening? And Jimmy put his hand to his -forehead and found it was wet with sweat. - -After all, if Peter didn’t recover, it would only mean fearful -unhappiness for everyone. He wouldn’t know Molly, and it would break her -heart, and the girl’s, and—but, of course, _he_ didn’t count. It was -the others he was thinking of—not himself. - -He turned into the Park opposite the Albert Hall, and passers-by eyed -him strangely, though he was supremely unaware of the fact. But when all -the demons of hell are fighting inside a man, his face is apt to look -grey and haggard. And as he walked slowly towards Hyde Park Corner, -Jimmy Lethbridge went through his Gethsemane. They thronged him; -pressing in on him from all sides, and he cursed the devils out loud. -But still they came back, again and again, and the worst and most -devilish of them all was the insidious temptation that by keeping silent -he would be doing the greatest good for the greatest number. Everyone -was happy now—why run the risk of altering things? - -And then, because it is not good that man should be tempted till he -breaks, the Fate that had led him to Peter, led him gently out of the -Grim Garden into Peace once more. He gave a short hard laugh which was -almost a sob, and turning into Knightsbridge he hailed a taxi. It was as -it drew up at the door of Molly’s house that he laughed again—a laugh -that had lost its hardness. And the driver thought his fare’s “Thank -you” was addressed to him. Perhaps it was. Perhaps it was the first time -Jimmy had prayed for ten years. - -“Why, Jimmy, old man—you’re early, I’m not dressed yet.” Molly met him -in the hall, and he smiled at her gravely. - -“Do you mind, dear,” he said, “if I cry off to-night? I’ve got a very -important engagement—even more important than taking you out to dinner, -if possible.” - -The smile grew whimsical, and he put both his hands on her shoulders. - -“It concerns my wedding present for you,” he added. - -“From the bridegroom to the bride?” she laughed. - -“Something like that,” he said, turning away abruptly. - -“Of course, dear,” she answered. “As a matter of fact, I’ve got a bit of -a head. Though what present you can be getting at this time of day, I -can’t think.” - -“You mustn’t try to,” said Jimmy. “It’s a surprise, Molly—a surprise. -Pray God you like it, and that it will be a success!” - -He spoke low under his breath, and the girl looked at him curiously. - -“What’s the matter, dear?” she cried. “Has something happened?” - -Jimmy Lethbridge pulled himself together; he didn’t want her to suspect -anything yet. - -“Good heavens, no!” he laughed. “What should have? But I want to borrow -something from you, Molly dear, and I don’t want you to ask any -questions. I want you to lend me that photograph of Peter that you’ve -got—the one in full dress.” - -And now she was staring at him wonderingly. - -“Jimmy,” she said breathlessly, “does it concern the present?” - -“Yes; it concerns the present.” - -“You’re going to have a picture of him painted for me?” - -“Something like that,” he answered quietly. - -“Oh, you dear!” she whispered, “you dear! I’ve been thinking about it -for months. I’ll get it for you.” - -She went upstairs, and the man stood still in the hall staring after -her. And he was still standing motionless as she came down again, the -precious frame clasped in her hands. - -“You’ll take care of it, Jimmy?” she said, and he nodded. - -Then for a moment she laid her hand on his arm. - -“I don’t think, old man,” she said quietly, “that you’ll have to wait -very long with friendship only.” - -The next moment she was alone with the slam of the front-door echoing in -her ears. It was like Fate to reserve its most deadly arrow for the end. - - III - -“You say he has completely lost his memory?” - -Mainwaring, one of the most brilliant of London’s younger surgeons, -leaned back in his chair and looked thoughtfully at his host. - -“Well, he didn’t know me, and I was his greatest friend,” said -Lethbridge. - -The two men were in Jimmy’s rooms, waiting for the arrival of Peter and -the girl. - -“He looked at me without a trace of recognition,” continued Lethbridge. -“And he’s developed a typical lower-class Cockney accent.” - -“Interesting, very,” murmured the surgeon, getting up and examining the -photograph on the table. “This is new, isn’t it, old boy; I’ve never -seen it before?” - -“I borrowed it this afternoon,” said Jimmy briefly. - -“From his people, I suppose? Do they know?” - -“No one knows at present, Mainwaring—except you and me. That photograph -I got this afternoon from Miss Daventry.” - -Something in his tone made the surgeon swing round. - -“You mean your fiancée?” he said slowly. - -“Yes—my fiancée. You see, she was—she was engaged to Peter. And she -thinks he’s dead. That is the only reason she got engaged to me.” - -For a moment there was silence, while Mainwaring stared at the other. A -look of wonder had come into the doctor’s eyes—wonder mixed with a -dawning admiration. - -“But, my God! old man,” he muttered at length, “if the operation is -successful——” - -“Can you think of a better wedding present to give a girl than the man -she loves?” said Jimmy slowly, and the doctor turned away. There are -times when it is not good to look on another man’s face. - -“And if it isn’t successful?” he said quietly. - -“God knows, Bill. I haven’t got as far as that—yet.” - -And it was at that moment that there came a ring at the front-door bell. -There was a brief altercation; then Jimmy’s man appeared. - -“Two—er—persons say you told them——” he began, when Lethbridge cut -him short. - -“Show them in at once,” he said briefly, and his man went out again. - -“You’ve got to remember, Bill,” said Jimmy as they waited, “that Peter -Staunton is literally, at the moment, a low-class Cockney.” - -Mainwaring nodded, and drew back a little as Peter and the girl came -into the room. He wanted to leave the talking to Jimmy, while he -watched. - -“Good evening, Lizzie,” Lethbridge smiled at the girl reassuringly. “I’m -glad you came.” - -“Who’s that cove?” demanded the girl suspiciously, staring at -Mainwaring. - -“A doctor,” said Jimmy. “I want him to have a look at Peter later on.” - -“His name ain’t Peter,” muttered the girl sullenly. “It’s Bill.” - -“Well, at Bill, then. Don’t be frightened, Lizzie; come farther into the -room. I want you to see a photograph I’ve got here.” - -Like a dog who wonders whether it is safe to go to a stranger, she -advanced slowly, one step at a time; while Peter, twirling his cap -awkwardly in his hands, kept beside her. Once or twice he glanced -uneasily round the room, but otherwise his eyes were fixed on Lizzie as -a child looks at its mother when it’s scared. - -“My God, Jimmy!” whispered the doctor, “there’s going to be as big a -sufferer as you if we’re successful.” - -And he was looking as he spoke at the girl, who, with a sudden -instinctive feeling of protection, had put out her hand and taken -Peter’s. - -Like a pair of frightened children they crept on until they came to the -photograph; then they stopped in front of it. And the two men came a -little closer. It was the girl who spoke first, in a low voice of -wondering awe: - -“Gawd! it’s you, Bill—that there bloke in the frame. You were a -blinking orficer.” - -With a look of pathetic pride on her face, she stared first at the -photograph and then at the man beside her. “An orficer! Bill—an -orficer! What was ’is regiment, mister?” The girl swung round on Jimmy. -“Was ’e in the Guards?” - -“No, Lizzie,” said Lethbridge. “Not the Guards. He was in the cavalry. -The 9th Hussars,” and the man, who was holding the frame foolishly in -his hands, suddenly looked up. “The Devil’s Own, Peter,” went on -Lethbridge quietly. “C Squadron of the Devil’s Own.” - -But the look had faded; Peter’s face was blank again. - -“I don’t remember, guv’nor,” he muttered. “And it’s making me ’ead -ache—this.” - -With a little cry the girl caught his arm, and faced Lethbridge -fiercely. - -“Wot’s the good of all this?” she cried. “All this muckin’ abaht? Why -the ’ell can’t you leave ’im alone, guv’nor? ’E’s going to ’ave one of -’is ’eads now—’e nearly goes mad, ’e does, when ’e gets ’em.” - -“I think, Lizzie, that perhaps I can cure those heads of his.” - -It was Mainwaring speaking, and the girl, still holding Peter’s arm -protectingly, looked from Lethbridge to the doctor. - -“And I want to examine him, in another room where the light is a little -better. Just quite alone, where he won’t be distracted.” - -But instantly the girl was up in arms. - -“You’re taking ’im away from me—that’s wot yer doing. And I won’t ’ave -it. Yer don’t want to go, Bill, do yer? Yer don’t want to leave yer -Liz?” - -And Jimmy Lethbridge bit his lip; Mainwaring had been right. - -“I’m not going to take him away, Lizzie,” said the doctor gently. “I -promise you that. You shall see him the very instant I’ve made my -examination. But if you’re there, you see, you’ll distract his -attention.” - -She took a step forward, staring at the doctor as if she would read his -very soul. And in the infinite pathos of the scene, Jimmy Lethbridge for -the moment forgot his own suffering. Lizzie—the little slum -girl—fighting for her man against something she couldn’t understand; -wondering if she should trust these two strangers. Caught in a net that -frightened her; fearful that they were going to harm Bill. And at the -bottom of everything the wild, inarticulate terror that she was going to -lose him. - -“You swear it?” she muttered. “I can see ’im after yer’ve looked at -’im.” - -“I swear it,” said Mainwaring gravely. - -She gave a little sob. “Orl right, I believe yer on the level. You go -with ’im, Bill. Perhaps ’e’ll do yer ’ead good.” - -“’E’s queer sometimes at night,” said Lizzie, as the door closed behind -Mainwaring. “Seems all dazed like.” - -“Is he?” said Jimmy. “How did you find him, Lizzie?” - -“’E was wandering round—didn’t know nuthing about ’imself,” she -answered. “And I took ’im in—and looked after ’im, I did. Saved and -pinched a bit, ’ere and there—and then we’ve the barrel-organ. And -we’ve been so ’appy, mister—so ’appy. Course ’e’s a bit queer, and ’e -don’t remember nuthing—but ’e’s orl right if ’e don’t get ’is -’eadaches. And when ’e does, I gets rid of them. I jest puts ’is ’ead on -me lap and strokes ’is forehead—and they goes after a while. Sometimes -’e goes to sleep when I’m doing it—and I stops there till ’e wakes -again with the ’ead gone. Yer see, I understands ’im. ’E’s ’appy with -me.” - -She was staring at the photograph—a pathetic little figure in her -tawdry finery—and for a moment Jimmy couldn’t speak. It had to be done; -he had to do it—but it felt rather like killing a wounded bird with a -sledge-hammer—except that it wouldn’t be so quick. - -“He’s a great brain surgeon, Lizzie—the gentleman with Bill,” he said -at length, and the girl turned round and watched him gravely. “And he -thinks that an operation might cure him and give him back his memory.” - -“So that ’e’d know ’e was an orficer?” whispered the girl. - -“So that he’d know he was an officer,” said Jimmy. “So that he’d -remember all his past life. You see, Lizzie, your Bill is really Sir -Peter Staunton—whom we all thought had been killed in the war.” - -“Sir Peter Staunton!” she repeated dazedly. “Gawd!” - -“He was engaged, Lizzie,” he went on quietly, and he heard her breath -come quick—“engaged to that lady.” He pointed to a picture of Sybil on -the mantelpiece. - -“No one wouldn’t look at me with ’er about,” said the girl thoughtfully. - -“She loved him very dearly, Lizzie—even as he loved her. I don’t think -I’ve ever known two people who loved one another quite so much. And——” -for a moment Jimmy faltered, then he went on steadily: “I ought to know -in this case, because I’m engaged to her now.” - -And because the Cockney brain is quick, she saw—and understood. - -“So if yer doctor friend succeeds,” she said, “she’ll give yer the -chuck?” - -“Yes, Lizzie,” answered Jimmy gravely, “she’ll give me the chuck.” - -“And yer love ’er? Orl right, old sport. I can see it in yer face. -Strikes me”—and she gave a little laugh that was sadder than any -tears—“strikes me you ’anded out the dirty end of the stick to both of -us when you come round that street to-day.” - -“Strikes me I did, Lizzie,” he agreed. “But, you see, I’ve told you this -because I want you to understand that we’re both of us in it—we’ve both -of us got to play the game.” - -“Play the game!” she muttered. “Wot d’yer want me to do?” - -“The doctor doesn’t want him excited, Lizzie,” explained Lethbridge. -“But he wants him to stop here to-night, so that he can operate -to-morrow. Will you tell him that you want him to stop here?—and stay -here with him if you like.” - -“And to-morrer she’ll tike ’im.” The girl was staring at Sybil’s -photograph. “’E won’t look at me—when ’e knows. Gawd! why did yer find -’im—why did yer find ’im? We was ’appy, I tells yer—’appy!” - -She was crying now—crying as a child cries, weakly and pitifully, and -Lethbridge stood watching her in silence. - -“Poor kid!” he said at length. “Poor little kid!” - -“I don’t want yer pity,” she flared up. “I want my man.” And then, as -she saw Jimmy looking at the photograph on the mantelpiece, in an -instant she was beside him. “Sorry, old sport,” she whispered -impulsively. “Reckon you’ve backed a ruddy loser yourself. I’ll do it. -Shake ’ands. I guess I knew all along that Bill wasn’t really my style. -And I’ve ’ad my year.” - -“You’re lucky, Lizzie,” said Jimmy gravely, still holding her hand. -“Very, very lucky.” - -“I’ve ’ad my year,” she went on, and for a moment her thoughts seemed -far away. “A ’ole year—and——” she pulled herself together and started -patting her hair. - -“And what, Lizzie?” said Jimmy quietly. - -“Never you mind, mister,” she answered. “That’s my blooming business.” - -And then the door opened and Mainwaring came in. - -“Does Lizzie agree?” he asked eagerly. - -“Yes, Bill—she agrees,” said Jimmy. “What do you think of him?” - -“As far as I can see there is every hope that an operation will be -completely successful. There is evidently pressure on the right side of -the skull which can be removed. I’ll operate early to-morrow morning. -Keep him quiet to-night—and make him sleep, Lizzie, if you can.” - -“What d’yer think, mister?” she said scornfully. “Ain’t I done it fer a -year?” - -Without another word she left the room, and the two men stood staring at -one another. - -“Will she play the game, Jimmy!” Mainwaring was lighting a cigarette. - -“Yes—she’ll play the game,” answered Lethbridge slowly. “She’ll play -the game—poor little kid!” - -“What terms are they on—those two?” The doctor looked at him curiously. - -“I think,” said Lethbridge even more slowly, “that that is a question we -had better not inquire into too closely.” - - IV - -It was successful—brilliantly successful—the operation. Lizzie made it -so; at any rate she helped considerably. It was she who held his hand as -he went under the anæsthetic; it was she who cheered him up in the -morning, when he awoke dazed and frightened in a strange room. And then -she slipped away and disappeared from the house. It was only later that -Lethbridge found a scrawled pencil note, strangely smudged, on his desk: - -“Let me no wot appens.—LIZZIE.” - -He didn’t know her address, so he couldn’t write and tell her that her -Bill had come to consciousness again, completely recovered except for -one thing. There was another blank in his mind now—the last three -years. One of his first questions had been to ask how the fight had -gone, and whether we’d broken through properly. - -And then for a day or two Lizzie was forgotten; he had to make his own -renunciation. - -Molly came, a little surprised at his unusual invitation, and he left -the door open so that she could see Peter in bed from one part of his -sitting-room. - -“Where have you buried yourself, Jimmy?” she cried. “I’ve been——” And -then her face grew deathly white as she looked into the bedroom. Her -lips moved, though no sound came from them; her hands were clenching and -unclenching. - -“But I’m mad,” he heard her whisper at length, “quite mad. I’m seeing -things, Jimmy—seeing things. Why—dear God! it’s Peter!” - -She took a step or two forward, and Peter saw her. - -“Molly,” he cried weakly, “Molly, my darling——” - -And Jimmy Lethbridge saw her walk forward slowly and uncertainly to the -man who had come back. With a shaking little cry of pure joy she fell on -her knees beside the bed, and Peter put a trembling hand on her hair. -Then Jimmy shut the door, and stared blankly in front of him. - -It was Lizzie who roused him—Lizzie coming shyly into the room from the -hall. - -“I seed her come in,” she whispered. “She looked orl right. ’Ow is ’e?” - -“He’s got his memory back, Lizzie,” he said gently. “But he’s forgotten -the last three years.” - -“Forgotten me, as ’e?” Her lips quivered. - -“Yes, Lizzie. Forgotten everything—barrel-organ and all. He thinks he’s -on sick leave from the war.” - -“And she’s wiv ’im now, is she?” - -“Yes—she’s with him, Lizzie.” - -She took a deep breath—then she walked to the glass and arranged her -hat—a dreadful hat with feathers in it. - -“Well, I reckons I’d better be going. I don’t want to see ’im. It would -break me ’eart. And I said good-bye to ’im that last night before the -operation. So long, mister. I’ve ’ad me year—she can’t tike that away -from me.” - -And then she was gone. He watched her from the window walking along the -pavement, with the feathers nodding at every step. Once she stopped and -looked back—and the feathers seemed to wilt and die. Then she went on -again—and this time she didn’t stop. She’d “’ad ’er year,” had Lizzie; -maybe the remembrance of it helped her gallant little soul when she -returned the barrel-organ—the useless barrel-organ. - -“So this was your present, Jimmy.” Molly was speaking just behind him, -and her eyes were very bright. - -“Yes, Molly,” he smiled. “Do you like it?” - -“I don’t understand what’s happened,” she said slowly. “I don’t -understand anything except the one big fact that Peter has come back.” - -“Isn’t that enough?” he asked gently. “Isn’t that enough, my dear? -Peter’s come back—funny old Peter. The rest will keep.” - -And then he took her left hand and drew off the engagement ring he had -given her. - -“Not on that finger now—Molly; though I’d like you to keep it now if -you will.” - -For a while she stared at him wonderingly. - -“Jimmy, but you’re big!” she whispered at length. “I’m so sorry!” She -turned away as Peter’s voice, weak and tremulous, came from the other -room. - -“Come in with me, old man,” she said. “Come in and talk to him.” - -But Jimmy shook his head. - -“He doesn’t want me, dear; I’m just—just going out for a bit——” - -Abruptly he left the room—they didn’t want him: any more than they -wanted Lizzie. - -Only she had had her year. - - - - - - -_X_ _Lady Cynthia and the Hermit_ - - - - I - -“MY dear Cynthia, you haven’t seen our Hermit yet. He’s quite the show -exhibit of the place.” - -Lady Cynthia Stockdale yawned and lit a cigarette. Hermits belonged -undoubtedly to the class of things in which she was _not_ interested; -the word conjured up a mental picture of a dirty individual of great -piety, clothed in a sack. And Lady Cynthia loathed dirt and detested -piety. - -“A hermit, Ada!” she remarked, lazily. “I thought the brand was extinct. -Does he feed ravens and things?” - -It is to be regretted that theological knowledge was not her strong -point, but Ada Laverton, her hostess, did not smile. From beneath some -marvellously long eyelashes she was watching the lovely girl lying back -in the deck-chair opposite, who was vainly trying to blow smoke rings. A -sudden wild idea had come into her brain—so wild as to be almost -laughable. But from time immemorial wild ideas anent their girl friends -have entered the brains of young married women, especially the lucky -ones who have hooked the right man. And Ada Laverton had undoubtedly -done that. She alternately bullied, cajoled, and made love to her -husband John, in a way that eminently suited that cheerful and easygoing -gentleman. He adored her quite openly and ridiculously, and she returned -the compliment just as ridiculously, even if not quite so openly. - -Moreover, Cynthia Stockdale was her best friend. Before her marriage -they had been inseparable, and perhaps there was no one living who -understood Cynthia as she did. To the world at large Cynthia was merely -a much photographed and capricious beauty. Worthy mothers of daughters, -who saw her reproduced weekly in the society papers, sighed inwardly -with envy, and commented on the decadence of the aristocracy: the -daughters tore out the pictures in a vain endeavour to copy her frocks. -But it wasn’t the frocks that made Cynthia Stockdale: it was she who -made the frocks. Put her in things selected haphazard from a jumble -sale—put her in remnants discarded by the people who got it up, and she -would still have seemed the best-dressed woman in the room. It was a -gift she had—not acquired, but natural. - -Lady Cynthia was twenty-five, and looked four years younger. Since the -war she had been engaged twice—once to a man in the Blues, and once to -a young and ambitious member of Parliament. Neither had lasted long, and -on the second occasion people had said unkind things. They had called -her heartless and capricious, and she had scorned to contradict them. It -mattered nothing to her what people said: if they didn’t like her they -could go away and have nothing to do with her. And since in her case it -wasn’t a pose, but the literal truth, people did not go away. Only to -Ada Laverton did she give her real confidence: only to Ada Laverton did -she show the real soul that lay below the surface. - -“I’m trying,” she had said, lying in that same chair a year previously, -“I’m trying to find the real thing. I needn’t marry if I don’t want to; -I haven’t got to marry for a home and a roof. And it’s got to be the -right man. Of course I may make a mistake—a mistake which I shan’t find -out till it’s too late. But surely when one has found it out before it’s -too late, it’s better to acknowledge it at once. It’s no good making a -second worse one by going through with it. I thought Arthur was all -right”—Arthur was the member of Parliament—“I’m awfully fond of Arthur -still. But I’m not the right wife for him. We jarred on one another in a -hundred little ways. And he hasn’t got a sense of humour. I shall never -forget the shock I got when I first realised that. He seemed to think -that a sense of humour consisted of laughing at humorous things, of -seeing a jest as well as anyone else. He didn’t seem to understand me -when I told him that the real sense of humour is often closer to tears -than laughter. Besides”—she had added inconsequently—“he had a -dreadful trick of whistling down my neck when we danced. No woman can be -expected to marry a permanent draught. And as for poor old Bill—well -Bill’s an angel. I still adore Bill. He is, I think, the most supremely -handsome being I’ve ever seen in my life—especially when he’s got his -full dress on. But, my dear, I blame myself over Bill. I ought to have -known it before I got engaged to him; as a matter of fact I did know it. -Bill is, without exception, the biggest fool in London. I thought his -face might atone for his lack of brains; I thought that perhaps if I -took him in hand he might do something in the House of Lords—his old -father can’t live much longer—but I gave it up. He is simply incapable -of any coherent thought at all. He can’t spell; he can’t add, and once -when I asked him if he liked Rachmaninoff, he thought it was the man who -had built the Pyramids.” - -This and much more came back to Ada Laverton as she turned over in her -mind the sudden wild idea that had come to her. Above all things she -wanted to see Cynthia married; she was so utterly happy herself that she -longed for her friend to share it too. She knew, as no one else did, -what a wonderful wife and pal Cynthia would make to the right man. But -it must be the right man; it must be the real thing. And like a blinding -flash had come the thought of the Hermit—the Hermit who had come into -the neighbourhood six months previously, and taken the little farm -standing in the hollow overlooking the sea. For, as she frequently told -John, if it hadn’t been for the fact that she was tied to a silly old -idiot of a husband, she’d have married the Hermit herself. - -“No, he doesn’t feed ravens,” she remarked at length. “Only puppies. He -breeds Cairns and Aberdeens. We’ll stroll up and see him after tea.” - -“A hermit breeding dogs!” Cynthia sat up lazily. “My dear, you intrigue -me.” - -“Oh! he’s not a bad young man,” said Ada Laverton, indifferently. “Quite -passable looking, D.S.O. and M.C. and that sort of thing. Been all over -the world, and is really quite interesting when you can get him to -talk.” - -“What sort of age?” asked her friend. - -“Thirty to thirty-five. You shall see him. But you’re not to go and turn -his head; he’s very peaceful and happy as he is.” - -Lady Cynthia smiled. - -“I don’t think hermits are much in my line. A man’s job is to be up and -doing; not to bury himself alive and breed dogs.” - -“You tell him so,” said her hostess. “It will do him good.” - - II - -An excited rush of puppies—fat, bouncing, lolloping puppies; a stern -order: “Heel, you young blighters, heel!” in a pleasant, cheerful voice; -a laughing greeting from Ada Laverton, and Lady Cynthia Stockdale found -herself shaking hands with the Hermit. She shook hands as a man shakes -hands, with a firm, steady grasp, and she looked the person she was -greeting straight in the eyes. To her that first handshake meant, more -often than not, the final estimate of a stranger’s character; it always -meant the first. And her first estimate of Desmond Brooke was good. She -saw a man of clear skin and clear eye. He wore no hat, and his brown -hair, curling a little at the temples, was slightly flecked with grey. -His face was bronzed and a faint smile hovered in the corners of the -eyes that met hers fair and square. His shirt was open at the neck; the -sleeves were rolled up, showing a pair of muscular brown arms. He was -clean-shaven, and his teeth were very white and regular. So much, in -detail, she noticed during that first half-second; then she turned her -attention to the puppies. - -“What toppers!” she remarked. “What absolute toppers!” - -She picked a fat, struggling mixture of legs and ecstatically slobbering -tongue out of the mêlée at her feet, and the Hermit watched her gravely. -It struck him that in the course of a fairly crowded life he had never -seen a more lovely picture than the one made by this tall slender girl -with the wriggling puppy in her arms. And another thing struck him also, -though he said nothing. Possibly it was accidental, but the puppy she -had picked up, and which was now making frantic endeavours to lick her -face, was out and away the best of the litter. Almost angrily he told -himself that it _was_ an accident, and yet he could not quite banish the -thought that it was an accident which would happen every time. -Thoroughbred picks thoroughbred; instinctively the girl would pick the -best. His mouth set a little, giving him a look of sternness, and at -that moment their eyes met over the puppy’s head. - -“Is he for sale?” asked the girl. - -Undoubtedly he was for sale; Desmond Brooke, though he was in no need of -money, did not believe in running anything save on business lines. But -now something that he did not stop to analyse made him hesitate. He felt -a sudden inconsequent distaste against selling the puppy to her. - -“You’ve picked the best, I see,” he said quietly. - -“Of course,” she answered, with the faintest trace of hauteur. -Insensibly she felt that this man was hostile to her. - -“I am afraid that that one is not for sale,” he continued. “You can have -any of the others if you like.” - -Abruptly she restored the puppy to its mother. - -“Having chosen the best, Mr. Brooke,” she said, looking him straight in -the face, “I don’t care about taking anything second-rate.” - -For a second or two they stared at one another. Ada Laverton had -wandered away and was talking shop to the gardener; the Hermit and Lady -Cynthia were alone. - -“You surprise me,” said the Hermit, calmly. - -“That is gratuitously rude,” answered the girl quietly. “It is also -extremely impertinent. And lastly it shows that you are a very bad judge -of character.” - -The man bowed. - -“I sincerely hope that your ‘lastly’ is true. Am I to understand, then, -that you do not care to buy one of the other puppies?” - -And suddenly the girl laughed half-angrily. - -“What do you mean by daring to say such a thing to me? Why, you haven’t -known me for more than two minutes.” - -“That is not strictly true, Lady Cynthia. Anyone who is capable of -reading and takes in the illustrated papers can claim your acquaintance -weekly.” - -“I see,” she answered. “You disapprove of my poor features being -reproduced.” - -“Personally not at all,” he replied. “I know enough of the world, and am -sufficiently broadminded, I trust, to realise how completely unimportant -the matter is. Lady Cynthia Stockdale at Ascot, at Goodwood, in her -motor-car, out of her motor-car, by the fire, by the gas stove, in her -boudoir, out of her boudoir, in the garden, not in the garden—and -always in a different frock every time. It doesn’t matter to me, but -there are some people who haven’t got enough money to pay for the -doctor’s bill when their wives are dying. And it’s such a comfort to -them to see you by the fire. To know that half the money you paid for -your frock would save the life of the woman they love.” - -“You’re talking like a ranting tub-thumper,” she cried, furiously. “How -dare you say such things to me? And, anyway, does breeding dogs in the -wilderness help them with their doctors’ bills?” - -“_Touché_,” said the man, with a faint smile. “Perhaps I haven’t -expressed myself very clearly. You can’t pay the bills, Lady Cynthia—I -can’t. There are too many thousands to pay. But it’s the bitter contrast -that hits them, and it’s all so petty.” For a while he paused, seeming -to seek for his words. “Come with me, Lady Cynthia, and I’ll show you -something.” - -Almost violently he swung round on his heel and strode off towards the -house. For a moment she hesitated, then she followed him slowly. Anger -and indignation were seething in her mind; the monstrous impertinence of -this complete stranger was almost bewildering. She found him standing in -his smoking-room unlocking a drawer in a big writing-desk. - -“Well,” she said uncompromisingly from the doorway. - -“I have something to show you,” he remarked quietly. “But before I show -it to you, I want to tell you a very short story. Three years ago I was -in the back of beyond in Brazil. I’d got a bad dose of fever, and the -gassing I got in France wasn’t helping matters. It was touch and go -whether I pulled through or not. And one day one of the fellows got a -two-month-old _Tatler_. In that _Tatler_ was a picture—a picture of the -loveliest girl I have ever seen. I tore it out, and I propped it up at -the foot of my bed. I think I worshipped it; I certainly fell in love -with it. There is the picture.” - -He handed it to her, and she looked at it in silence. It was of herself, -and after a moment or two she raised her eyes to his. - -“Go on,” she said gently. - -“A few months ago I came back to England. I found a seething cauldron of -discontent; men out of work—strikes—talk of revolution. And this was -the country for which a million of our best had died. I also found—week -after week—my picture girl displayed in every paper, as if no such -thing as trouble existed. She, in her motor-car, cared for none of these -things.” - -“That is unjust,” said the girl, and her voice was low. - -“I knew it was unjust,” answered the man, “but I couldn’t help it. And -if I couldn’t help it—I who loved her—what of these others? It seemed -symbolical to me.” - -“Nero fiddling,” said the girl, with a faint smile. “You’re rather a -strange person, Mr. Brooke. Am I to understand that you’re in love with -me?” - -“You are not. I’m in love with the you of that picture.” - -“I see. You have set up an image. And supposing that image is a true -one.” - -“Need we discuss that?” said the man, with faint sarcasm. - -The girl shrugged her shoulders. - -“The supposition is at least as possible as that you are doing any vast -amount of good for the seething cauldron of discontent, I think you -called it, by breeding Aberdeens in the country. I’m afraid you’re a -crank, Mr. Brooke, and not a very consistent one at that. And a crank is -to my mind synonymous with a bore.” - -The man replaced the picture in his desk. - -“Then perhaps we had better join Mrs. Laverton,” he remarked. “I -apologise for having wearied you.” - -In silence they went out into the garden, to find Ada Laverton wandering -aimlessly round looking for them. - -“Where have you two been?” she demanded, as she saw them approaching. - -“Mr. Brooke has been showing me a relic of his past,” said Lady Cynthia. -“Most interesting and touching. Are you ready to go, Ada?” - -Mrs. Laverton gave a quick glance at their two faces, and wondered what -had happened. Not much, surely, in so short a time—and yet with Cynthia -you never could tell. The Hermit’s face, usually so inscrutable, showed -traces of suppressed feeling; Cynthia’s was rather too expressionless. - -“Are you coming to the ball to-morrow night, Hermit?” she asked. - -“I didn’t know there was one on, Mrs. Laverton,” he answered. - -“The cricket ball, my good man,” she exclaimed. “It’s been advertised -for the last month.” - -“But surely Mr. Brooke doesn’t countenance anything so frivolous as -dancing?” remarked Lady Cynthia. “After the lecture he has just given me -on my personal deportment the idea is out of the question.” - -“Nevertheless I propose to come, Lady Cynthia,” said Brooke quietly. -“You must forgive me if I have allowed my feelings to run away with me -to-day. And perhaps to-morrow you will allow me to find out if the new -image is correct—or a pose also.” - -“What do you mean?” asked the girl, puzzled. - -“‘Lady Cynthia Stockdale—possibly the best dancer in London,’” he -quoted mockingly; “I forget which of the many papers I saw it in.” - -“Do you propose to pass judgment on my dancing?” she asked. - -“If you will be good enough to give me a dance.” - -For a moment words failed her. The cool, the sublime impertinence of -this man literally choked her. Then she nodded briefly. - -“I’ll give you a dance if you’re there in time. And then you can test -for yourself, if you’re capable of testing.” - -He bowed without a word, and stood watching them as they walked down the -lane. - -“I think, Ada, that he’s the most detestable man I’ve ever met,” -remarked Lady Cynthia furiously, as they turned into the main road. - -And Ada Laverton said nothing, but wondered the more. - - III - -She saw him as soon as she got into the ballroom. It was the last day -but one of the local cricket week, and the room was crowded. A large -number of the men she knew—men she had danced with in London who had -come down to play—and within half a minute she was surrounded. It was a -chance of getting a dance with her which was not to be missed; in London -she generally danced with one or at the most two men for the whole -evening—men who were absolutely perfect performers. For dancing was a -part of Lady Cynthia’s life—and a big part. - -The humour of the situation had struck her that day. For this -dog-breeding crank to presume to judge her powers of dancing seemed too -sublimely funny for annoyance. But he deserved to be taught a very -considerable lesson. And she proposed to teach him. After that she -proposed to dismiss him completely from her mind. - -She gave him a cool nod as he came up, and frowned slightly as she -noticed the faint glint of laughter in his eyes. Really Mr. Desmond -Brooke was a little above himself. So much the worse for him. - -“I don’t know whether you’ll find one or not,” she remarked carelessly, -handing him her programme. - -He glanced at it without a word, and quietly erased someone’s name. - -“I’ve made special arrangements with the band for Number 9, Lady -Cynthia,” he remarked coolly. “A lot of people will be in at supper -then, so we ought to have the floor more to ourselves.” - -The next instant he had bowed and disappeared, leaving her staring -speechlessly at her programme. - -“A breezy customer,” murmured a man beside her. “Who is he?” - -“A gentleman who is going to have the biggest lesson of his life,” she -answered ominously, and the man laughed. He knew Lady Cynthia—and he -knew Lady Cynthia’s temper when it was roused. But for once he was wrong -in his diagnosis; the outward and visible were there all right—the -inward and mental state of affairs in keeping with them was not. For the -first time in her life Lady Cynthia felt at a loss. Her partners found -her _distraite_ and silent; as a matter of fact she was barely conscious -of their existence. And the more she lashed at herself mentally, the -more confused did she get. - -It was preposterous, impossible. Why should she cut Tubby Dawlish to -dance with a crank who kept dogs? A crank, moreover, who openly avowed -that his object was to see if she could dance. Every now and then she -saw him lounging by the door watching her. She knew he was watching her, -though she gave no sign of being aware of his existence. And all the -while Number 9 grew inexorably nearer. - -Dance indeed! She would show him how she could dance. And as a result -she fell into the deadly fault of trying. No perfect dancer ever _tries_ -to dance; they just dance. And Lady Cynthia knew that better than most -people. Which made her fury rise still more against the man standing -just outside the door smoking a cigarette. A thousand times—no; she -would not cut Tubby. - -And then she realised that people were moving in to supper; that the 8 -was being taken down from the band platform—that 9 was being put up. -And she realised that Desmond Brooke the Hermit was crossing the room -towards her; was standing by her side while Tubby—like an outraged -terrier—was glaring at him across her. - -“This is mine, old thing,” spluttered Tubby. “Number 9.” - -“I think not,” said the Hermit quietly. “I fixed Number 9 especially -with Lady Cynthia yesterday.” - -She hesitated—and was lost. - -“I’m sorry, Tubby,” she said a little weakly. “I forgot.” - -Not a trace of triumph showed on the Hermit’s face, as he gravely -watched the indignant back of his rival retreating towards the door: not -a trace of expression showed on his face as he turned to the girl. - -“You’ve been trying to-night, Lady Cynthia,” he said gravely. “Please -don’t—this time. It’s a wonderful tune this—half waltz, half tango. It -was lucky finding Lopez conducting: he has played for me before. And I -want you just to forget everything except the smell of the passion -flowers coming in through the open windows, and the thrumming of the -guitars played by the natives under the palm-trees.” His eyes were -looking into hers, and suddenly she drew a deep breath. Things had got -beyond her. - -It was marked as a fox-trot on the programme, and several of the more -enthusiastic performers were waiting to get off on the stroke of time. -But as the first haunting notes of the dance wailed out—they paused and -hesitated. This was no fox-trot; this was—but what matter what it was? -For after the first bar no one moved in the room: they stood motionless -watching one couple—Lady Cynthia Stockdale and an unknown man. - -“Why, it’s the fellow who breeds dogs,” muttered someone to his partner, -but there was no reply. She was too engrossed in watching. - -And as for Lady Cynthia, from the moment she felt Desmond Brooke’s arm -round her, the world had become merely movement—such movement as she -had never thought of before. To say that he was a perfect dancer would -be idle: he was dancing itself. And the band, playing as men possessed, -played for them and them only. Everything was forgotten: nothing in the -world mattered save that they should go on and on and on—dancing. She -was utterly unconscious of the crowd of onlookers: she didn’t know that -people had left the supper-room and were thronging in at the door: she -knew nothing save that she had never danced before. Dimly she realised -at last that the music had stopped: dimly she heard a great roar of -applause—but only dimly. It seemed to come from far away—the shouts of -“Encore” seemed hazy and dream-like. They had left the ballroom, though -she was hardly conscious of where he was taking her, and when he turned -to her and said, “Get a wrap or something: I want to talk to you out in -God’s fresh air,” she obeyed him without a word. He was waiting for her -when she returned, standing motionless where she had left him. And still -in silence he led the way to his car which had been left apart from all -the others, almost as if he had expected to want it before the end. For -a moment she hesitated, for Lady Cynthia, though utterly unconventional, -was no fool. - -“Will you come with me?” he said gravely. - -“Where to?” she asked. - -“Up to the cliffs beyond my house. It will take ten minutes—and I want -to talk to you with the sound of the sea below us.” - -“You had the car in readiness?” she said quietly. - -“For both of us—or for me alone,” he answered. “If you won’t come, then -I go home. Will you come with me?” he repeated. - -“Yes; I will come.” - -He helped her into the car and wrapped a rug round her; then he climbed -in beside her. And as they swung out of the little square, the strains -of the next dance followed them from the open windows of the Town Hall. - -He drove as he danced—perfectly; and in the dim light the girl watched -his clear-cut profile as he stared ahead into the glare of the -headlights. Away to the right his farm flashed by, the last house before -they reached the top of the cliffs. And gradually, above the thrumming -of the engine, she heard the lazy boom of the big Atlantic swell on the -rocks ahead. At last he stopped where the road ran parallel to the top -of the cliff, and switched off the lights. - -“Well,” she said, a little mockingly, “is the new image correct or a -pose?” - -“You dance divinely,” he answered gravely. “More divinely than any woman -I have ever danced with, and I have danced with those who are reputed to -be the show dancers of the world. But I didn’t ask you to come here to -talk about dancing; I asked you to come here in order that I might first -apologise, and then say Good-bye.” - -The girl gave a little start, but said nothing. - -“I talked a good deal of rot to you yesterday,” he went on, after a -moment. “You were justified in calling me a ranting tub-thumper. But I -was angry with myself, and when one is angry with oneself one does -foolish things. I know as well as you do just how little society -photographs mean: that was only a peg to hang my inexcusable tirade on. -You see, when one has fallen in love with an ideal—as I fell in love -with that picture of you, all in white in the garden at your father’s -place—and you treasure that ideal for three years, it jolts one to find -that the ideal is different to what you thought. I fell in love with a -girl in white, and sometimes in the wilds I’ve seen visions and dreamed -dreams. And then I found her a lovely being in Paquin’s most expensive -frocks; a social celebrity: a household name. And then I met her, and -knew my girl in white had gone. What matter that it was the inexorable -rule of Nature that she must go: what matter that she had changed into -an incredibly lovely woman? She had gone: my dream girl had vanished. In -her place stood Lady Cynthia Stockdale—the well-known society beauty. -Reality had come—and I was angry with you for having killed my -dream—angry with myself for having to wake up. - -“Such is my apology,” he continued gravely. “Perhaps you will -understand: I think you will understand. And just because I was angry -with you, I made you dance with me to-night. I said to myself: ‘I will -show Lady Cynthia Stockdale that the man who loved the girl in white can -meet her successor on her own ground.’ That’s the idea I started with, -but things went wrong half-way through the dance. The anger died; in its -place there came something else. Even my love for the girl in white -seemed to become a bit hazy; I found that the successor had supplanted -her more completely than I realised. And since the successor has the -world at her feet—why, the breeder of dogs will efface himself, for his -own peace of mind. So, good-bye, Lady Cynthia—and the very best of -luck. If it won’t bore you I may say that I’m not really a breeder of -dogs by profession. This is just an interlude; a bit of rest spent with -the most wonderful pals in the world. I’m getting back to harness soon: -voluntary harness, I’m glad to say, as the shekels don’t matter. But -anything one can do towards greasing the wheels, and helping those -priceless fellows who gave everything without a murmur during the war, -and who are up against it now—is worth doing.” - -And still she said nothing, while he backed the car on to the grass -beside the road, and turned it the way they had come. A jumble of -strange thoughts were in her mind; a jumble out of which there stuck one -dominant thing—the brown tanned face of the man beside her. And when he -stopped the car by his own farm and left her without a word of apology, -she sat quite motionless staring at the white streak of road in front. -At last she heard his footsteps coming back along the drive, and -suddenly a warm wriggling bundle was placed in her lap—a bundle which -slobbered joyfully and then fell on the floor with an indignant yelp. - -“The puppy,” he said quietly. “Please take him.” And very softly under -his breath he added: “The best to the best.” - -But she heard him, and even as she stooped to lift the puppy on to her -knees, her heart began to beat madly. She knew: at last, she knew. - -“I’ll take you back to the dance,” he was saying, “and afterwards I’ll -deposit that young rascal at Mrs. Laverton’s house.” - -And then for the first time she spoke. - -“Please go to Ada’s house first. Afterwards we’ll see about the dance.” - -He bowed and swung the car left-handed through the lodge gates. - -“Will you wait for me?” she said, as he pulled up at the front door. - -“As long as you like,” he answered courteously. - -“Because I may be some time,” she continued a little unevenly. “And -don’t wait for me here: wait for me where the drive runs through that -little copse, half-way down to the lodge.” - -The next instant she had disappeared into the house, with the puppy in -her arms. Why by the little copse? wondered the man as he slowly drove -the car down the drive. The butler had seen them already, so what did it -matter? He pulled up the car in the shadow of a big oak tree, and lit a -cigarette. Then, with his arms resting on the steering wheel, he sat -staring in front of him. He had done a mad thing, and she’d taken it -wonderfully well. He always had done mad things all his life; he was -made that way. But this was the maddest he had ever done. With a grim -smile he pictured her infuriated partners, waiting in serried rows by -the door, cursing him by all their gods. And then the smile faded, and -he sighed, while his knuckles gleamed white on the wheel. If only she -wasn’t so gloriously pretty; if only she wasn’t so utterly alive and -wonderful. Well—it was the penalty of playing with fire; and it had -been worth it. Yes; it had been worth it—even if the wound never quite -healed. - -“_A fool there was, and he made his prayer. . . ._” - -He pitched his cigarette away, and suddenly he stiffened and sat -motionless, while something seemed to rise in his throat and choke him, -and the blood hammered hotly at his temples. A girl in white was -standing not five feet from him on the fringe of the little wood: a girl -holding a puppy in her arms. And then he heard her speaking. - -“It’s not the same frock—but it’s the nearest I can do.” - -She came up to the car, and once again over the head of the puppy their -eyes met. - -“I’ve been looking,” she said steadily, “for the real thing. I don’t -_think_ I’ve found it—I _know_ I have.” - -“My dear!” he stammered hoarsely. “Oh! my dear dream girl.” - -“Take me back to the cliff, Desmond,” she whispered. “Take me back to -our cliff.” - -And an outraged puppy, bouncing off the running-board on to a stray -fir-cone, viewed the proceedings of the next five minutes with silent -displeasure. - - - - - - -_XI_ _A Glass of Whisky_ - - - -“IT’S as easy as shelling peas to be a detective in fiction,” grunted -the Barrister. “He’s merely the author of the yarn disguised as a -character, and he knows the solution before he starts.” - -“But the reader doesn’t, if the story is told well,” objected the -Doctor. “And that’s all that matters.” - -“Oh! I grant you that,” said the Barrister, lighting a cigar. “I’m not -inveighing against the detective story—I love ’em. All I’m saying is -that in life a detective’s job is a very different matter to—well, take -the illustrious example—to that of Sherlock Holmes. He’s got to make -the crime fit to the clues, not the clues fit into the crime. It’s not -so terribly difficult to reconstruct the murder of the Prime Minister -from a piece of charred paper discovered in the railway refreshment-room -at Bath—in fiction; it’s altogether a different matter in reality.” - -The Soldier thoughtfully filled his pipe. - -“And yet there have been many cases when the reconstruction has been -made on some clue almost equally ‘flimsy,’” he murmured. - -“A few,” conceded the Barrister. “But nine out of ten are built up with -laborious care. The structure does not rest on any one fact—but on a -whole lot of apparently unimportant and trivial ones. Of course it’s -more spectacular to bring a man to the gallows because half a brick was -found lying on the front door-step, but in practice it doesn’t happen.” - -“It does—sometimes,” remarked a quiet, sandy-haired man who was helping -himself to a whisky-and-soda. “It does sometimes, you man of law. Your -remarks coupled with my present occupation remind me of just such a -case.” - -“Your present occupation appears to be drinking whisky,” said the -Doctor, curiously. - -“Precisely,” returned the other. “Almost as prosaic a thing as our legal -luminary’s half-brick.” He settled himself comfortably in a chair, and -the others leaned forward expectantly. “And yet on that very ordinary -pastime hinged an extremely interesting case: one in which I was lucky -enough to play a principal part.” - -“The night is yet young, old man,” said the Barrister. “It’s up to you -to prove your words, and duly confound me.” - -The sandy-haired man took a sip of his drink: then he put the glass on -the table beside him and began. - -“Well, if it won’t bore you, I’m agreeable. I’ll tell you the whole -thing exactly as it took place, only altering the names of the people -involved. It happened before the war—in that hot summer of 1911, to be -exact. I’d been working pretty hard in London, and about the end of July -I got an invitation to go down and stop with some people in Devonshire. -I will call them the Marleys, and they lived just outside a small -village on the north coast. The family consisted of old Marley, who was -a man rising sixty, and his two daughters, Joan and Hilda. There was -also Jack Fairfax, through whom, as a matter of fact, I had first got to -know them. - -“Jack was about my own age—thirty odd, and we’d been up at Cambridge -together. He was no relation to old Marley, but he was an orphan, and -Marley was his guardian, or had been when Jack was a youngster. And from -the very first Jack and the old man had not got on. - -“Marley was not everybody’s meat, by a long way—rather a -queer-tempered, secretive blighter; and Jack Fairfax had the devil of a -temper at times. When he was a boy he had no alternative except to do as -his guardian told him, but even in those early days, as I gathered -subsequently, there had been frequent storms. And when he came down from -Cambridge there were two or three most unholy rows which culminated in -Jack leaving the house for good. - -“It was apparently this severance from the two girls, whom he had more -or less regarded as sisters, which caused the next bust-up. And this -one, according to Jack, was in the nature of a volcanic eruption. The -two girls had come up to London to go through the season with some aunt, -and Jack had seen a good deal of them with the net result that he and -Joan had fallen in love with each other. Then the fat was in the fire. -Jack straightway had gone down to Devonshire to ask old Marley’s -consent: old Marley had replied in terms which, judging from Jack’s -account of the interview, had contained a positive profusion of -un-Parliamentary epithets. Jack had lost his temper properly—and, well, -you know, the usual thing. At any rate, the long and the short of it was -that old Marley had recalled both his daughters from London, and had -sworn that if he ever saw Jack near the house again he’d pepper him with -a shot-gun. To which Jack had replied that only his grey hairs and his -gout saved Mr. Marley from the biggest hiding he’d ever had in his -life—even if not the biggest he deserved. With which genial exchange of -playful badinage I gathered the interview ended. And that was how -matters stood when I went down in July, 1911. - -“For some peculiar reason the old man liked me, even though I was a -friend of Jack’s. And in many ways I quite liked him, though there was -always something about him which defeated me. Of course, he had a foul -temper—but it wasn’t altogether that. He seemed to me at times to be in -fear of something or somebody; and yet, though I say that now, I don’t -know that I went as far as thinking so at the time. It was an almost -indefinable impression—vague and yet very real. - -“The two girls were perfectly charming, though they were both a little -afraid of their father. How long it would have taken Joan to overcome -this timidity, and go to Jack without her father’s consent, I don’t -know. And incidentally, as our legislators say, the question did not -arise. Fate held the ace of trumps, and proceeded to deal it during my -visit.” - -The sandy-haired man leant back in his chair and crossed his legs -deliberately. - -“I think it was about the fourth day after I arrived (he went on, after -a while) that the tragedy happened. We were sitting in the drawing-room -after dinner—a couple of men whose names I forget, and a girl friend of -Hilda’s. Hilda herself was there, and Joan, who seemed very preoccupied, -had come in about a quarter of an hour previously. I had noticed that -Hilda had looked at her sister inquiringly as she entered, and that Joan -had shrugged her shoulders. But nothing had been said, and naturally I -asked no questions with the others there, though from the air of -suppressed excitement on Joan’s face I knew there was something in the -wind. - -“Old Marley himself was not with us: he was in his study at the other -end of the house. The fact was not at all unusual: he frequently retired -to his own den after dinner, sometimes joining the rest of the party for -a few minutes before going to bed, more often not appearing again till -the following morning. And so we all sat there talking idly, with the -windows wide open and the light shining out on to the lawn. It must have -been somewhere about ten to a quarter past when suddenly Hilda gave a -little scream. - -“‘What do you want?’ she cried. ‘Who are you?’ - -“I swung round in my chair, to find a man standing on the lawn outside, -in the centre of the light. He was facing us, and as we stared at him he -came nearer till he was almost in the room. And the first thing that -struck me was that he looked a little agitated. - -“‘You will excuse me appearing like this,’ he said, ‘but——’ He broke -off and looked at me. ‘Might I have a word with you alone, sir?’ - -“I glanced at the others: obviously he was a stranger. No trace of -recognition appeared on anyone’s face, and I began to feel a little -suspicious. - -“‘What is it?’ I cried. ‘What can you possibly want to speak to me about -that you can’t say now?’ - -“He shrugged his shoulders slightly. ‘As you will,’ he answered. ‘My -idea was to avoid frightening the ladies. In the room at the other end -of the house a man has been murdered.’ - -“For a moment everyone was too thunderstruck to reply; then Hilda gave a -choking cry. - -“‘What sort of a man?’ she said, breathlessly. - -“‘An elderly man of, I should think, about sixty,’ returned the other, -gravely, and Hilda buried her face in her hands. - -“‘I will come with, you at once, sir,’ I said, hurriedly, and the two -other men rose. Instinctively, I think, we all knew it must be old -Marley: there was no one else it could be. But the sudden shock of it -had dazed us all. I glanced at Joan. She was staring at the man like a -girl bereft of her senses, and I put my hand reassuringly on her -shoulder. And then she looked up at me, and the expression in her eyes -pulled me together. It was like a cold douche, and it acted -instantaneously. Because it wasn’t horror or dazed stupefaction that I -read on her face: it was terror—agonised terror. And suddenly I -remembered her air of suppressed excitement earlier in the evening.” - -Once again the sandy-haired man paused while the others waited in -silence for him to continue. - -“It was old Marley right enough (he went on quietly). We walked round -the front of the house until we came to the window of his study, and -there instinctively we paused. The window was open, and he was sitting -at his desk quite motionless. His head had fallen forward, and on his -face was a look of dreadful fear. - -“For a while none of us moved. Then, with an effort, I threw my leg over -the window-sill and entered. - -“‘He’s quite dead,’ I said, and I felt my voice was shaking. ‘We’d -better send for the police.’ - -“The others nodded, and in silence I picked up the telephone. - -“‘Mr. Marley’s been killed,’ I heard myself saying. ‘Will you send -someone up at once?’ - -“And then for the first time I noticed the poker lying beside the chair, -and saw the back of the old man’s head. It wasn’t a pretty sight, and -one of the other men staying in the house—a youngster—turned very -white, and went to the window. - -“‘Pretty obvious how it was done,’ said the stranger, quietly. ‘Well, -gentlemen, nothing ought to be touched in this room until the police -arrive. I suggest that we should draw the curtains and go somewhere else -to wait for them.’ - -“I don’t think any of us were sorry to fall in with his suggestion. I -also don’t think I’ve ever drunk such a large whisky-and-soda as I did a -few minutes later. Discovering the body had been bad enough: breaking -the news to the two girls was going to be worse. - -“It was Joan who met me in the hall—and we stared at one another in -silence. Then I nodded my head stupidly. - -“‘It’s father,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, my God!’ - -“I put out my hand to steady her, and she was looking at me with a fixed -stare. - -“‘Don’t you understand?’ she muttered, hoarsely, and swallowing all the -time. ‘Don’t you understand? Jack has been here to-night.’ - -“‘Jack!’ I looked at her foolishly. ‘Jack!’ - -“And then her full meaning struck me. - -“‘How did that man find out?’ she whispered. ‘And who is he?’ - -“‘I don’t know. I’ll go and ask him.’ I was still trying to adjust this -new development—and her next words seemed to come from a great -distance. - -“‘Do something. For God’s sake—do something.’ - -“Then she turned and left me, and I watched her go up the stairs, -walking stiffly and clinging to the banisters. - -“So Jack had been there! And old Marley was dead! Murdered! Hit on the -head with a poker. And Jack had been there. It’s only in romantic -fiction that the reader is expected to assume the impossibility of the -hero committing a crime, owing to the extreme beauty of his nature. And -this wasn’t romantic fiction. It was hard, brutal reality. The two facts -stood there, side by side, in all their dazzling simplicity. Jack’s -nature was not supremely beautiful. He was an ordinary man, with the -devil of a temper when it was roused. - -“Mechanically I started to walk back to the room where I had left the -other three men. They were sitting in silence when I entered, and after -a while the stranger got up. - -“‘A dreadful thing to happen,’ he said, gravely. - -“‘May I ask, sir,’ I began, ‘how you came to discover it?’ - -“‘Very simply,’ he answered. ‘I was strolling along the road, going back -to the village inn where I have been stopping for two or three nights, -when I saw the window of the room through the trees. The light was -shining out, and I could see someone sitting at the desk. More out of -idle curiosity than anything else, I paused for a moment or two, and -then something began to arouse my suspicions. The man at the desk seemed -so motionless. I thought perhaps he had fainted, or was ill, and after a -little hesitation I went in at the gate and looked through the window. -To my horror I saw he was dead—and I at once came round to the other -room from which the light was shining, and where I found you.’ - -“‘There is a point which may have some bearing on the crime,’ he -continued, after a pause. ‘On my way up from the inn a man passed me. He -was coming from this direction, and seemed to me to be in a very excited -condition. It was his obvious agitation that made me notice him at the -time, though in the dim light I couldn’t see his face very clearly. But -he was swinging his stick in the air, and muttering to himself. At the -moment I didn’t think much about it. But now——’ He shrugged his -shoulders slightly. ‘Of course, I may be completely wrong, but I think -it is a thing worth mentioning to the police.’ - -“‘Would you know the man again?’ I asked, trying to speak quite -normally. - -“‘Well, he was tall—six feet at least—and broad. And he was -clean-shaven.’ He spoke thoughtfully, weighing his words. ‘I might know -him again—but I wouldn’t swear to it. One has to be doubly careful if a -man’s life is at stake.’ - -“I turned away abruptly. Jack was tall and broad and clean-shaven. -Strive as I would, the deadly suspicion was beginning to grip me that -Jack, in a fit of ungovernable passion, had killed the old man. And at -such moments, whatever may be the legal aspect of the matter, one’s main -idea is how best to help a pal. If Jack had indeed done it, what was the -best thing to do? - -“I rang the bell, and told the scared-looking maid to bring the whisky -and some glasses. Then, with a muttered apology, I left the room. I felt -I wanted to talk to Joan about it. I found her dry-eyed and quite -composed, though she was evidently holding herself under control with a -great effort. And briefly I told her what the stranger had said. - -“She heard me out in silence: then she spoke with a quiet assurance that -surprised me. - -“‘If Jack did it,’ she said, ‘he doesn’t know he’s done it. He doesn’t -know he’s killed—father.’ She faltered a bit over the last word, and I -didn’t interrupt. ‘What I mean is this,’ she went on after a moment. ‘I -know Jack—better than anyone else. I know those rages of his—when he -sees red. But they’re over in a minute. He’s capable of anything for a -second or two, but if he’d done it, Hugh, if he’d hit father—and killed -him—his remorse would have been dreadful. He wouldn’t have run away: -I’m certain of that. That’s why I say that if Jack did it he doesn’t -know—he killed him.’ - -“I said nothing: there was no good telling her that it wasn’t one blow, -nor yet two or three, that had been used. There was no good telling her -that it was no accidental thing done unwittingly in the heat of the -moment—that it was an absolute impossibility for the man who had done -it to be in ignorance of the fact. And yet, though I realised all that, -her simple conviction put new hope into me. Illogical, I admit, but I -went downstairs feeling more confident. - -“I found that the local police had arrived—a sergeant and an ordinary -constable—and had already begun their investigations. The principal -evidence, of course, came from the stranger, and he repeated to them -what he had already told me. His name apparently was Lenham—Victor -Lenham—and the police knew he had been stopping at the local inn. - -“‘You saw the body through the window, sir,’ said the sergeant, ‘and -then went round to the drawing-room?’ - -“‘That is so, sergeant.’ - -“‘You didn’t go into the room?’ - -“‘Not until later—with these gentlemen. You see,’ he added, ‘I’ve seen -death too often not to recognise it. And as, in a way, you will -understand, it was no concern of mine, I thought it advisable to have -some member of the house itself with me before entering the room.’ - -“‘Quite, sir, quite.’ The sergeant nodded portentously. ‘Is there -anything else you can tell us?’ - -“‘Well,’ said Lenham, ‘there is a point, which I have already mentioned -to this gentleman.’ He glanced at me, and then, turning back to the -sergeant, he told him about the man he had passed on the road. And it -was when he came to the description that suddenly the constable gave a -whistle of excitement. The sergeant frowned on him angrily, but the -worthy P.C., whose only experience of crime up-to-date had been -assisting inebriated villagers home, had quite lost his head. - -“‘Mr. Fairfax, sergeant,’ he exploded. ‘’E was down here to-night. -Caught the last train, ’e did. Jenkins at the station told me—sure -thing.’ - -“‘Good heavens, sergeant!’ I said angrily, ‘what the devil is the man -talking about? He surely doesn’t suppose that Mr. Fairfax had anything -to do with it?’ - -“But the mischief was done. The sergeant formally told off his -indiscreet subordinate, but it was obvious that it was merely an -official rebuke. In a village like that everybody knows everybody else’s -private affairs, and the strained relations between the dead man and -Jack Fairfax were common property. I could see at a glance that the -sergeant regarded the matter as solved already. - -“‘Would you recognise this man again, sir?’ he demanded, and Lenham gave -him the same guarded reply as he had already given to me. He might—but -he wouldn’t swear to it. It was impossible to be too careful in such a -case, he repeated, and it was practically dark when he had passed the -man. - -“It was all duly noted down, and then we adjourned to the room of the -tragedy. The constable—a ruddy-faced young man—turned pale when he saw -the body; then he pulled himself together and assisted the sergeant in -his formal examination. I didn’t blame him—we were all feeling the -strain, somewhat naturally. Lenham seemed the least concerned, but it -wasn’t a personal matter with him as it was with us, especially with me. -All the time I was fidgeting round the room, subconsciously watching the -stolid sergeant making notes, but with only one thought dominating my -brain—how best to help Jack. Not that I had definitely made up my mind -that he’d done it, but even at that stage of the proceedings I realised -that appearances were against him. And Joan’s words were ringing in my -head—‘For God’s sake—do something.’ - -“After a while I crossed the room to a small table on which a tantalus -of whisky and two glasses were standing. I looked at the tray with -unseeing eyes—an Indian silver one, which old Marley had been very -proud of. And then mechanically I picked up the glasses. I don’t know -why I did so; the action was, as I say, mechanical. They had been -used—both of them: they had been used for whisky—one could tell that -by the smell. And when I put the glasses down again on the tray, the -sergeant was approaching with his note-book.” - -The sandy-haired man paused, with a reminiscent smile. - -“Ever noticed how extraordinarily dense you can be at times, even with a -plain fact staring you straight in the face? There was one staring at me -for ten minutes that night before my grey matter began to stir.” - -“Just hold on a minute,” interrupted the Barrister. “Is this plain fact -staring us in the face now?” - -“No, it isn’t,” conceded the narrator. “At the moment you are in the -position of the other people in that room. Mind you, I’ve left out -nothing in order to mystify you; the story, as I have given it to you, -is a plain unvarnished account of what took place. But I’m out to -disprove your half-brick theory, lawyer-man, and to do so with such -little story-telling ability as I happen to possess. - -“Now, I won’t weary you with what happened during the next week, beyond -saying that an inquest and a burglary took place. And the latter, at any -rate, was very successful. The former moved along obvious lines, and -resulted in Jack Fairfax being arrested for the wilful murder of his -guardian, Roger Marley. The evidence was purely circumstantial, but it -was about as damning as it could be. Jack admitted to having had an -interview with Marley that night; he admitted that they had had an -appalling quarrel. What was even worse was that he admitted to having -struck the old man in a furious fit of rage, but beyond that he denied -everything. He absolutely swore that the blow he struck Marley could not -have killed him; further, that he had never handled the poker. And then, -a finger-print expert proved that he had. That was the worst shock of -the lot, and his explanation given afterwards that, now he came to think -of it, he had picked up the poker to ram the tobacco down in his pipe -convinced no one. He indignantly denied that his action in going up to -London by the last train was in any sense running away; he had intended -all along to go up by that train. And his reason for leaving the house -after the interview without attempting to see his _fiancée_ was that he -was in such a rage with her father that he couldn’t trust himself to -speak to her for fear of what he might say. - -“So much for Jack Fairfax’s case—pretty black, as you will agree. In -fact, I don’t think I should be exaggerating if I said that there were -only two people in England convinced of his innocence. And he was one of -them. Even Joan’s faith was shaken, a little. - -“It was on the tenth day after the inquest that I rang up the inspector -who had come over from Exeter to look into the case, with a request that -he would come up to the house. I told him that I had certain information -which might interest him and suggested that he might care to hear it. I -also rang up Lenham at the inn, and asked him if he would mind coming -along at the same time. I told him I’d discovered the burglar. By the -way, I didn’t tell you that it was his room that had been burgled. - -“In about half an hour they arrived, and the local sergeant as well. - -“‘What’s this about my burglar?’ laughed Lenham. ‘A funny -fellow—because as far as I can see he didn’t take anything.’ - -“‘All in good time,’ I answered, smiling. ‘I’ve found out a lot of -strange things in town.’ - -“Lenham looked at me quickly. ‘Oh! have you been to London?’ he -inquired. - -“‘Yes,’ I answered, ‘for two days. Most entertaining.’ - -“And then the inspector chipped in, impatiently: - -“‘Well, sir, what is it you want to say to me?’ He looked at his watch -suggestively. - -“‘First of all, inspector,’ I said, quietly, ‘I want to ask you a -question. Have you ever heard the legal maxim, _Falsus in uno, falsus in -omne_?’ - -“I could see that he hadn’t the faintest idea what I was driving at. I -could also see that Lenham’s eyes had suddenly become strained. - -“‘It means,’ I went on, ‘that if a witness—let us say—is proved to -have told one lie, there is strong presumptive evidence that he has told -several. At any rate, the value of his statement is greatly diminished. -Do you agree?’ - -“‘Certainly,’ he answered. ‘But I don’t see——’ - -“‘You will shortly, inspector,’ I remarked. ‘Now who would you consider -the principal witness against Mr. Fairfax?’ - -“‘Mr. Fairfax himself,’ said the inspector, promptly. - -“‘And leaving him out?’ I asked. - -“‘Well—I suppose—this gentleman here.’ He nodded towards Lenham, who -was sitting quite motionless, watching me. - -“‘Precisely,’ I murmured. ‘Then why was it necessary for Mr. Lenham to -state that his name was Lenham, and further to swear that he had never -seen Mr. Marley before—when both those statements were lies?’ - -“‘What the devil do you mean?’ snarled Lenham, rising from his chair. -‘What do you mean by saying my name is not Lenham?’ - -“‘You wanted to know about the burglar who took nothing, didn’t you?’ I -said, grimly. ‘Well—I was the burglar, and I took something very -valuable—an address.’ - -“‘What on earth——’ began the inspector, and then he glanced at Lenham. -‘I think you’d better sit still, Mr. Lenham,’ he said, quietly, ‘until -we have heard what this gentleman has to say.’ - -“Lenham sat back in his chair with a venomous look at me. Then he -laughed harshly. - -“‘By all means, inspector,’ he remarked. ‘Only it is a little -disconcerting to be cross-examined suddenly by a man who admits he is a -thief.’ - -“As a matter of fact the man didn’t know how much I knew—or how little; -and between ourselves it was deuced little. But, watching him closely, I -knew I was right, and my only hope was to bluff him into some admission. - -“‘Shall we endeavour to reconstruct the events of the night when Mr. -Marley was murdered, Mr. Lenardi?’ I began, quietly. ‘That is your name, -is it not?—and you are a Corsican.’ - -“‘Well,’ he said, ‘what if I am? I had a very good reason for changing -my name.’ - -“‘Doubtless,’ I agreed. ‘Let us hope your reason will prove satisfactory -to the inspector. May I suggest, however, unless you can supply a better -one, that your reason was to avoid the notoriety which would inevitably -arise if a foreigner came to stay in a small village like this? And you -were particularly anxious to avoid any possibility of Mr. Marley knowing -that a Corsican was in the neighbourhood.’ - -“He laughed sarcastically. ‘I think that I have already stated that I -have never even seen Mr. Marley,’ he sneered. - -“‘Oh!’ I remarked. ‘Then might I ask you, inspector, to have a look at -this photograph? It is old and faded, but the faces are still clear.’ - -“I handed the photograph to the inspector, and with a sudden curse the -Corsican whipped out a knife and sprang at me. He realised even then -that the game was up, and his one thought was to revenge himself on me. -But I’d been expecting some such move, and I’d got a revolver handy. -Incidentally, revolver shooting is one of the few things I can do, and I -plugged him through the forearm before he could do any damage. - -“He stood there glaring at me sullenly, and then the inspector took a -hand. - -“‘Stand by that window, sergeant. Now, Mr. whatever-your-name-is, no -monkey tricks. Do you still deny that you knew Mr. Marley?” - -“‘I refuse to answer,’ snarled the man. - -“‘Because this photograph is of you and Marley and a woman. Taken abroad -somewhere.’ - -“‘Naples, to be exact, inspector,’ I said. ‘I found it in his rooms in -Berners Street, the address of which I got as the result of my burglary -here.’ - -“The Corsican stood there like a beast at bay, and the inspector’s face -was stern. - -“‘What explanation have you got to give?’ he rapped out. ‘Why did you -lie in evidence?’ - -“‘I refuse to answer,’ repeated the man. - -“‘Since he is so uncommunicative,’ I remarked, ‘perhaps you will allow -me to reconstruct the crime. Much of it, of necessity, is guess-work. -For instance, Lenardi, what was your motive in murdering Mr. Marley?’ I -rapped the question out at him, and though he’d have killed me willingly -if he could have got at me he didn’t deny it. - -“‘Well,’ I continued, ‘it doesn’t matter. Let us assume it was the girl -in that photograph. You tracked Marley to earth here—in this -village—that is all that concerns us. And having tracked him, you bided -your time. Vengeance is the sweeter for delay. Each evening you walked -up here, watching him through the window—gloating over what was to -come. And then one night you found another man with him—Jack -Fairfax—and they were quarrelling. At once you saw that this was your -opportunity. However skilfully you hid your traces under ordinary -circumstances, there was always a grave risk; but here, ready to hand, -was a marvellous stroke of luck. Perhaps you crept nearer the window in -the darkness, secure in the fact that the room was in a remote part of -the house. You saw Jack Fairfax leave, blind with rage, and then, -skulking out of the night, you entered the room yourself.’ - -“‘It’s a lie!’ shouted the Corsican, but his lips were white. - -“‘And then old Marley saw you, and the rage on his face was replaced by -a dreadful terror. He knew what you had come for. I don’t think you -wasted much time, Lenardi. You picked up the poker with a gloved -hand—oh! you were taking no chances—and you battered his head in. And -then, Lenardi—and then you drank a whisky-and-soda. You drank a -whisky-and-soda, and then you decided on a very bold move: you came and -alarmed the rest of the house. It was clever of you, but——’” - -The sandy-haired man smiled thoughtfully. - -“We sprang forward together—the inspector and I; but we were too late. -The Corsican had swallowed poison before we could stop him. He was dead -in half a minute and he never spoke again. So I can only assume that my -imagination was not far off the rails.” - -“Yes, but hang it, man,” said the Barrister, peevishly, “the whole thing -was a pure fluke on your part.” - -“I’ve never laid any claim to being a detective,” murmured the -sandy-haired man, mildly, rising and helping himself to some more -whisky. “All that I said was that there are times when you can build an -entire case from your half-brick or its equivalent. And when you find -two glasses both smelling strongly of whisky in a room, you assume that -two people have drunk whisky. Which was where the Corsican tripped up. -You see, he distinctly swore he hadn’t entered the room till he came in -with us.” - -The Barrister raised protesting hands to the ceiling. - -“The man is indubitably mad,” he remarked to no one in particular. “Was -not Fairfax in the room most of the evening?” - -The sandy-haired man looked even more mild. - -“I think that perhaps I ought to have mentioned one fact sooner, but I -was afraid it would spoil the story. The cat has an aversion to water; -the fish have an aversion to dry land. But both these aversions pale -into total insignificance when compared to Jack Fairfax’s aversion to -whisky.” - -He gazed thoughtfully at his glass. - -“A strange flaw in an otherwise fine character. Thank heavens the -symptom is not common!” - - - - - - -_XII_ _The Man Who Could Not Get Drunk_ - - - -“YES; she’s a beautiful woman. There’s no doubt about that. What did you -say her name was?” - -“I haven’t mentioned her name,” I returned. “But there’s no secret about -it. She is Lady Sylvia Clavering.” - -“Ah! Sylvia. Of course, I remember now.” - -He drained his glass of brandy and sat back in his chair, while his eyes -followed one of the most beautiful women in London as she threaded her -way through the tables towards the entrance of the restaurant. An -obsequious head-waiter bent almost double as she passed; her exit, as -usual, befitted one of the most be-photographed women of Society. And it -was not until the doors had swung to behind her and her escort that the -man I had been dining with spoke again. - -“I guess that little bow she gave as she passed here was yours, not -mine,” he said, with the suspicion of a smile. - -“Presumably,” I answered a little curtly. “Unless you happen to know -her. I have that privilege.” - -His smile grew a trifle more pronounced though his eyes were set and -steady. “Know her?” He beckoned to the waiter for more brandy. “No, I -can’t say I know her. In fact, my sole claim to acquaintanceship is that -I carried her for three miles in the dark one night, slung over my -shoulder like a sack of potatoes. But I don’t know her.” - -“You did what?” I cried, staring at him in amazement. - -“Sounds a bit over the odds, I admit.” He was carefully cutting the end -off his cigar. “Nevertheless it stands.” - -Now when any man states that he has carried a woman for three miles, -whether it be in the dark or not, and has followed up such an -introduction so indifferently that the woman fails even to recognise him -afterwards, there would seem to be the promise of a story. But when the -woman is one of the Lady Sylvia Claverings of this world, and the man is -of the type of my dinner companion, the promise resolves itself into a -certainty. - -Merton was one of those indefinable characters who defy placing. You -felt that if you landed in Yokohama, and he was with you, you would -instinctively rely on him for information as to the best thing to do and -the best way to do it. There seemed to be no part of the globe, from the -South Sea Islands going westward to Alaska, with which he was not as -well acquainted as the ordinary man is with his native village. At the -time I did not know him well. The dinner was only our third meeting, and -during the meal we confined ourselves to the business which had been the -original cause of our running across one another at all. But even in -that short time I had realised that Billy Merton was a white man. And -not only was he straight, but he was essentially a useful person to have -at one’s side in a tight corner. - -“Are you disposed to elaborate your somewhat amazing statement?” I -asked, after a pause. - -For a moment or two he hesitated, and his eyes became thoughtful. - -“I don’t suppose there’s any reason why I shouldn’t,” he answered -slowly. “It’s ancient history now—ten years or so.” - -“That was just about the time she was married,” I remarked. - -He nodded. “She was on her honeymoon when it happened. Well, if you want -to hear the yarn, come round to my club.” - -“Why, certainly,” I said, beckoning for the bill. “Let’s get on at once; -I’m curious.” - -“Do you know Africa at all?” he asked me, as we pulled our chairs up to -the fire. We had the room almost to ourselves; a gentle snoring from the -other fireplace betokened the only other occupant. - -“Egypt,” I answered. “Parts of South Africa. The usual thing: nothing -out of the ordinary.” - -He nodded. “It was up the West Coast that it happened,” he began, after -his pipe was going to his satisfaction. “And though I’ve been in many -God-forsaken spots in my life, I’ve never yet struck anything to compare -with that place. Nwambi it was called—just a few shacks stretching in -from the sea along a straggling, dusty street—one so-called shop and a -bar. It called itself an hotel, but Lord help the person who tried to -put up there. It was a bar pure and simple, though no one could call the -liquor that. Lukewarm gin, some vile substitute for whisky, the usual -short drinks, and some local poisons formed the stock; I ought to -know—I was the bartender. - -“For about three miles inland there stretched a belt of stinking -swamp—one vast malaria hot-bed—and over this belt the straggling -street meandered towards the low foot-hills beyond. At times it almost -lost itself: but if you didn’t give up hope, or expire from the stench, -and cast about you’d generally find it again leading you on to where you -felt you might get a breath of God’s fresh air in the hills. As a matter -of fact you didn’t; the utmost one can say is that it wasn’t quite so -appalling as in the swamp itself. Mosquitoes! Heavens! they had to be -seen to be believed. I’ve watched ’em there literally like a grey -cloud.” - -Merton smiled reminiscently. - -“That—and the eternal boom of the sea on the bar half a mile out, made -up Nwambi. How any white man ever got through alive if he had to stop -there any length of time is beyond me; to be accurate, very few did. It -was a grave, that place, and only the down-and-outers went there. At the -time I was one myself. - -“The sole reason for its existence at all was that the water alongside -the quay was deep enough for good-sized boats to come in, and most of -the native produce from the district inland found its way down to Nwambi -for shipment. Once over the belt of swamp and a few miles into the hills -the climate was much better, and half a dozen traders in a biggish way -had bungalows there. They were Dagos most of them—it wasn’t a British -part of the West Coast—and I frankly admit that my love for the Dago -has never been very great. But there was one Scotchman, McAndrew, -amongst them—and he was the first fellow who came into the bar after -I’d taken over the job. He was down for the night about some question of -freight. - -“‘You’re new,’ he remarked, leaning against the counter. ‘What’s -happened to the other fellow? Is he dead?’ - -“‘Probably,’ I returned. ‘What do you want?’ - -“‘Gin—double tot. What’s your name?’ - -“I told him, and he pondered the matter while he finished his drink. - -“‘Well,’ he said at length, ‘I warned your predecessor, and I’ll warn -you. Don’t fall foul of my manager down here. Name of Mainwaring—I do -_not_ think. Don’t give him advice about keeping off the drink, or he’ll -kill you. He’s killing himself, but that’s his business. I’m tough—you -look tough, but he’s got us beat to a frazzle. And take cover if he ever -gets mixed up with any of the Dagos—the place isn’t healthy.’ - -“It was just at that moment that the door swung open and a tall, lean -fellow lounged in. He’d got an eyeglass screwed into one eye, and a pair -of perfectly-fitting polo boots with some immaculate white breeches -encased his legs. His shirt was silk, his sun-helmet spotless; in fact, -he looked like the typical English dude of fiction. - -“‘My manager, Mainwaring,’ said McAndrew, by way of introduction. - -“Mainwaring stared at me for a moment or two—then he shrugged his -shoulders. - -“‘You look sane; however, if you come here you can’t be. Double gin—and -one for yourself.’ - -“He spoke with a faint, almost affected drawl, and as I poured out the -drinks I watched him covertly. When he first came in I had thought him a -young man; now I wasn’t so sure. It was his eyes that made one wonder as -to his age—they were so utterly tired. If he was indeed drinking -himself to death, there were no traces of it as yet on his face, and his -hand as he lifted his glass was perfectly steady. But those eyes of -his—I can see them now. The cynical bitterness, the concentrated -weariness of all Hell was in them. And it’s not good for any man to look -like that; certainly not a man of thirty-five, as I afterwards -discovered his age to be.” - -Merton paused and sipped his whisky-and-soda, while from the other side -of the room came indications that the sleeper still slept. - -“I never found out what his real name was,” he continued, thoughtfully. -“Incidentally, it doesn’t much matter. We knew him as Mainwaring, and -the J. which preceded it in his signature was assumed to stand for James -or Jimmy. Anyway, he answered to it, which was the main point. As far as -I know, he never received a letter and he never read a paper, and I -guess I got to know him better than anyone else in that hole. Every -morning, punctual to the second at eleven o’clock, he’d stroll into the -bar and have three double-gins. Sometimes he’d talk in his faint, rather -pleasant drawl; more often he’d sit silently at one of the rickety -tables, staring out to sea, with his long legs stretched out in front of -him. But whichever he did—whatever morning it was—you could always see -your face in his boots. - -“I remember once, after I’d been there about a month, I started to pull -his leg about those boots of his. - -“‘Take the devil of a long time cleaning them in the morning, don’t you, -Jimmy?’ I said, as he lounged up to the bar for his third gin. - -“‘Yes,’ he answered, leaning over the counter so that his face was close -to mine. ‘Got anything further to say about my appearance?’ - -“‘Jimmy,’ I replied, ‘your appearance doesn’t signify one continental -damn to me. But as the only two regular British _habitués_ of this -first-class American bar, don’t let’s quarrel.’ - -“He grinned—a sort of slow, lazy grin. - -“‘Think not?’ he said. ‘Might amuse one. However, perhaps you’re right.’ - -“And so it went on—one sweltering day after another, until one could -have gone mad with the hideous boredom of it. I used to stand behind the -bar there sometimes and curse weakly and foolishly like a child, but I -never heard Mainwaring do it. What happened during those steamy nights -in the privacy of his own room, when he—like the rest of us—was -fighting for sleep, is another matter. During the day he never varied. -Cold, cynical, immaculate, he seemed a being apart—above our little -worries and utterly contemptuous of them. Maybe he was right—maybe the -thing that had downed him was too big for foolish cursing. Knowing what -I do now, a good many things are clear which one didn’t realise at the -time. - -“Only once, I think, did I ever get in the slightest degree intimate -with him. It was latish one evening, and the bar was empty save for us -two. I’d been railing against the fate that had landed me penniless in -such an accursed spot, and after a while he chipped in, in his lazy -drawl: - -“‘Would a thousand be any good to you?’ - -“I looked at him speechless. ‘A thousand pounds?’ I stammered. - -“‘Yes; I think I can raise that for you.’ He was staring in front of him -as he spoke. ‘And yet I don’t know. I’ve got more or less used to you -and you’ll have to stop a bit longer. Then we’ll see about it.’ - -“‘But, good heavens! man,’ I almost shouted, ‘do you mean to say that -you stop here when you can lay your hand on a thousand pounds?’ - -“‘It appears so, doesn’t it?’ He rose and stalked over to the bar. ‘It -doesn’t much matter where you stop, Merton, when you can’t be in the one -place where you’d sell your hopes of Heaven to be. And it’s best, -perhaps, to choose a place where the end will come quickly.’ - -“With that he turned on his heel, and I watched him with a sort of dazed -amazement as he sauntered down the dusty road, white in the tropical -moon, towards his own shack. A thousand pounds! The thought of it rang -in my head all through the night. A thousand pounds! A fortune! And -because, out in death-spots like that, men are apt to think strange -thoughts—thoughts that look ugly by the light of day—I found myself -wondering how long he could last at the rate he was going. -Two—sometimes three—bottles of gin a day: it couldn’t be long. And -then—who knew? It would be quick, the break-up; all the quicker because -there was not a trace of it now. And perhaps when it came he’d remember -about that thousand. Or I could remind him.” - -Merton laughed grimly. - -“Yes, we’re pretty average swine, even the best of us, when we’re up -against it, and I lay no claims to be a plaster saint. But Fate had -decreed that Jimmy Mainwaring was to find the end which he craved for -quicker than he had anticipated. Moreover—and that’s what I’ve always -been glad about—it had decreed that he was to find it before drink had -rotted that iron constitution of his; while his boots still shone and -his silk shirts remained spotless. It had decreed that he was to find it -in the way of all others that he would have chosen, had such a wild -improbability ever suggested itself. Which is going ahead a bit fast -with the yarn—but no matter. - -“It was after I’d been there about three months that the incident -happened which was destined to be the indirect cause of his death. I -told you, didn’t I, that there were several Dago traders who lived up in -the foot-hills, and on the night in question three of them had come down -to Nwambi on business of some sort—amongst them one Pedro Salvas, who -was as unpleasant a specimen of humanity as I have ever met. A crafty, -orange-skinned brute, who indulged, according to common knowledge, in -every known form of vice, and a good many unknown ones too. The three of -them were sitting at a table near the door when Mainwaring lounged -in—and McAndrew’s words came back to me. The Dagos had been drinking; -Jimmy looked in his most uncompromising mood. He paused at the door, and -stared at each of them in turn through his eyeglass; then he turned his -back on them and came over to me. - -“I glanced over his shoulder at the three men, and realised there was -trouble coming. They’d been whispering and muttering together the whole -evening, though at the time I had paid no attention. But now Pedro -Salvas, with an ugly flush on his ugly face, had risen and was coming -towards the bar. - -“‘If one so utterly unworthy as I,’ he snarled, ‘may venture to speak to -the so very exclusive Englishman, I would suggest that he does not throw -pictures of his lady-loves about the streets.’ - -“He was holding something in his hand, and Jimmy swung round like a -panther. His hand went to his breast pocket; then I saw what the Dago -was holding out. It was the miniature of a girl. And after that I didn’t -see much more; I didn’t even have time to take cover. It seemed to me -that the lightning movement of Jimmy’s left hand as he grabbed the -miniature, and the terrific upper-cut with his right, were simultaneous. -Anyway, the next second he was putting the picture back in his breast -pocket, and the Dago, snarling like a mad dog, was picking himself out -of a medley of broken bottles. That was phase one. Phase two was equally -rapid, and left me blinking. There was the crack of a revolver, and at -the same moment a knife stuck out quivering in the wall behind my head. -Then there was a silence, and I collected my scattered wits. - -“The revolver, still smoking, was in Jimmy’s hand: Salvas, his right arm -dripping with blood, was standing by the door, while his two pals were -crouching behind the table, looking for all the world like wild beasts -waiting to spring. - -“‘Next time,’ said Jimmy, ‘I shoot to kill.’ - -“And he meant it. He was a bit white round the nostrils, which is a -darned dangerous sign in a man, especially if he’s got a gun and you’re -looking down the business end of it. And no one knew it better than -those three Dagos. They went on snarling, but not one of them moved an -eyelid. - -“‘Put your knives on that table, you scum,’ ordered Jimmy. - -“The other two obeyed, and he laughed contemptuously. - -“‘Now clear out. You pollute the air.’ - -“For a moment or two they hesitated: then Salvas, with a prodigious -effort, regained his self-control. - -“‘You are brave, Señor Mainwaring, when you have a revolver and we are -unarmed,’ he said, with a sneer. - -“In two strides Jimmy was at the table where the knives were lying. He -picked one up, threw me his gun, and pointed to the other knife. - -“‘I’ll fight you now, Salvas,’ he answered, quietly. ‘Knife to knife, -and to a finish.’ - -“But the Dago wasn’t taking any, and ’pon my soul I hardly blamed him. -For if ever a man was mad, Jimmy Mainwaring was mad that night: mad with -the madness that knows no fear and is absolutely blind to consequences. - -“‘I do not brawl in bars with drunken Englishmen,’ remarked Salvas, -turning on his heel. - -“A magnificent utterance, but ill-advised with Jimmy as he was. He gave -a short laugh and took a running kick, and Don Pedro Salvas disappeared -abruptly into the night. And the other two followed with celerity. - -“‘You’ll be getting into trouble, old man,’ I said, as he came back to -the bar, ‘if you start that sort of game with the Dagos.’ - -“‘The bigger the trouble the more I’ll like it,’ he answered, shortly. -‘Give me another drink. Don’t you understand yet, Merton, that I’m -beyond caring?’ - -“And thinking it over since, I’ve come to the conclusion that he spoke -the literal truth. It’s a phrase often used, and very rarely meant; in -his case it was the plain, unvarnished truth. Rightly or wrongly he had -got into such a condition that he cared not one fig whether he lived or -died; if anything he preferred the latter. And falling foul of the Dago -colony was a better way than most of obtaining his preference. - -“Of course, the episode that night had shown me one thing: it was a -woman who was at the bottom of it all. I didn’t ask any questions; he -wasn’t a man who took kindly to cross-examination. But I realised pretty -forcibly that if the mere handling of her picture by a Dago had produced -such a result, the matter must be serious. Who she was I hadn’t any -idea, or what was the trouble between them—and, as I say, I didn’t ask. - -“And then one day a few weeks later I got the answer to the first -question. Someone left a month-old _Tatler_ in the bar, and I was -glancing through it when Mainwaring came in. I reached up for the gin -bottle to give him his usual drink, and when I turned round to hand it -to him he was staring at one of the pictures with the look of a dead man -on his face. I can see him now with his knuckles gleaming white through -the sunburn of his hands, and his great powerful chest showing under his -shirt. He stood like that maybe for five minutes—motionless; then, -without a word, he swung round and left the bar. And I picked up the -paper.” - -Merton paused and drained his glass. - -“Lady Sylvia’s wedding?” I asked, unnecessarily, and he nodded. - -“So the first part of the riddle was solved,” he continued, quietly. -“And when two days passed by without a sign of Mainwaring, I began to be -afraid that he had solved his own riddle in his own way. But he hadn’t; -he came into the bar at ten o’clock at night, and leaned up against the -counter in his usual way. - -“‘What have you been doing with yourself?’ I said, lightly. - -“‘I’ve been trying to get drunk,’ he answered slowly, letting one of his -hands fall on my arm with a grip like steel. ‘And, dear God! I can’t.’ - -“It doesn’t sound much—told like this in the smoking-room of a London -club. But though I’ve seen and heard many things in my life that have -impressed me—horrible, dreadful things that I shall never forget—the -moment of all others that is most indelibly stamped on my brain is that -moment when, leaning across the bar, I looked into the depths of the -soul of the man who called himself Jimmy Mainwaring—the man who could -not get drunk.” - -Once again he paused, and this time I did not interrupt him. He was back -in that steaming night, with the smell of stale spirits in his nostrils -and the sight of strange things in his eyes. And I felt that I, too, -could visualise that tall, immaculate Englishman leaning against the -counter—the man who was beyond caring. - -“But I must get on with it,” continued Merton, after a while. “The club -will be filling up soon and I’ve only got the finish to tell you now. -And by one of those extraordinary coincidences which happen far more -frequently in life than people will allow, the finish proved a worthy -one. - -“It was about two days later. I was in the bar polishing the glasses -when the door swung open and two men came in. They were obviously -English, and both of them were dressed as if they were going to a -garden-party. - -“‘Thank heavens! Tommy, here’s a bar, at any rate,’ said one of them. ‘I -say, barman, what have you got?’ - -“Well, I had a bit of a liver, and I disliked being called barman. - -“‘Several bottles of poison,’ I answered, ‘and the hell of a temper.’ - -“The second one laughed, and after a moment or two the other joined in. - -“‘I don’t wonder at the latter commodity,’ he said. ‘This is a ghastly -hole.’ - -“‘I wouldn’t deny it,’ I answered. ‘What, if I may ask, has brought you -here?’ - -“‘Oh, we’ve had a small breakdown, and the skipper came in here to -repair it. We’ve just come ashore to have a look round.’ - -“I glanced through the window, and noticed for the first time that a -steam yacht was lying off the shore. She was a real beauty—looked about -a thousand tons—and I gave a sigh of envy. - -“‘You’re not in want of a barman, by any chance, are you?’ I said. ‘If -so, I’ll swim out and chance the sharks.’ - -“‘’Fraid we’ve got everything in that line,’ he answered. ‘But select -the least deadly of your poisons, and join us.’ - -“And it was as I was pulling down the gin and vermouth that Jimmy -Mainwaring came into the bar. He got about half-way across the floor, -and then he stopped dead in his tracks. And I guess during the next two -seconds you could have heard a pin drop. - -“‘So this is where you’ve hidden yourself,’ said the smaller of the two -men—the one who had done most of the talking. ‘I don’t think we’ll -trouble you for those drinks, barman.’ - -“Without another word he walked out of the place—and after a moment or -two the other man started to follow him. He hesitated as he got abreast -of Jimmy, and then for the first time Mainwaring spoke: - -“‘Is she here?’ - -“‘Yes,’ answered the other. ‘On board the yacht. There’s a whole party -of us.’ - -“And with that he stepped into the street and joined his pal. With a -perfectly inscrutable look on his face Jimmy watched them as they walked -through the glaring sun and got into the small motor-boat that was -waiting alongside the quay. Then he came up to the bar. - -“‘An artistic touch, doubtless, on the part of Fate,’ he remarked, -quietly. ‘But a little unnecessary.’ - -“And I guess I metaphorically took off my hat to him at that moment. -What he’d done, why he was there, I neither knew nor cared; all that -mattered to me was the way he took that last rotten twist of the -surgeon’s knife. Not by the quiver of an eyelid would you have known -that anything unusual had happened: he drank his three double-gins at -exactly the same rate as every other morning. And then he too swung out -of the bar, and went back to his office in McAndrew’s warehouse, leaving -me to lie down on my bed and sweat under the mosquito curtains, while I -wondered at the inscrutable working out of things. Was it blind, the -Fate that moved the pieces; or was there some definite pattern beyond -our ken? At the moment it seemed pretty blind and senseless; later -on—well, you’ll be able to form your own opinion. - -“You know how quickly darkness falls in those latitudes. And it was just -before sunset that I saw a boat shoot away from the side of the yacht -and come full speed for the shore. I remember I wondered casually who -was the mug who would leave a comfortable yacht for Nwambi, especially -after the report of it that must have been given by our two morning -visitors. And then it struck me that, whoever it might be, he was -evidently in the deuce of a hurry. Almost before the boat came alongside -a man sprang out and scrambled up the steps. Then at a rapid double he -came sprinting towards me as I stood at the door of the bar. It was the -smaller of the two men who had been ashore that morning, and something -was evidently very much amiss. - -“‘Where is she?’ he shouted, as soon as he came within earshot. ‘Where’s -my wife, you damned scoundrel?’ - -“Seeing that he was quite beside himself with worry and alarm, I let the -remark go by. - -“‘Steady!’ I said, as he came gasping up to me. ‘I haven’t got your -wife; I haven’t even seen her.’ - -“‘It’s that card-sharper!’ he cried. ‘By God! I’ll shoot him like a dog, -if he’s tried any monkey-tricks!’ - -“‘Dry up, and pull yourself together,’ I said angrily. ‘If you’re -alluding to Jimmy Mainwaring——’ - -“And at that moment Jimmy himself stepped out of his office and strolled -across the road. - -“‘You swine, you cursed card-cheat—where’s Sylvia?’ - -“‘What the devil are you talking about?’ said Jimmy, and his voice was -tense. - -“‘She came ashore this afternoon, saying she would return in an hour,’ -said the other man. ‘I didn’t know it at the time, Mr.—er—Mainwaring, -I believe you call yourself. The boat came back for her, and she was not -there. That was four hours ago. Where is she?’ - -“He was covering Jimmy with his revolver as he spoke. - -“‘Four hours ago, Clavering! Good heavens! man—put down your gun. This -isn’t a time for amateur theatricals.’ He brushed past him as if he was -non-existent and came up to me. ‘Did you see Lady Clavering?’ - -“‘Not a trace,’ I answered, and the same fear was in both of us. - -“‘Did she say what she was coming on shore for?’ He swung round on the -husband. - -“‘To have a look round,’ answered Clavering, and his voice had altered. -No longer was he the outraged husband; he was a frightened man relying -instinctively on a bigger personality than himself. - -“‘If she’s not about here, she must have gone inland,’ said Jimmy, -staring at me. ‘And it’ll be dark in five minutes.’ - -“‘My God!’ cried Clavering, ‘what are we to do? She can’t be left alone -for the night. Lost—in this cursed country! She may have hurt -herself—sprained her ankle.’ - -“For a moment neither of us answered him. Even more than he did we -realise the hideous danger of a white woman alone in the bush inland. -There were worse dangers than snakes and wild animals to be feared. And -it was as we were standing there staring at one another, and afraid to -voice our thoughts, that one of McAndrew’s native boys came down the -street. He was running and out of breath; and the instant he saw Jimmy -he rushed up to him and started gabbling in the local patois. He spoke -too fast for me to follow him, and Clavering, of course, couldn’t -understand a word. But we both guessed instinctively what he was talking -about and we both watched Jimmy’s face. And as we watched it I heard -Clavering catch his breath sharply. - -“At last the boy finished, and Jimmy turned and looked at me. On his -face was a look of such cold malignant fury that the question which was -trembling on my lips died away, and I stared at him speechlessly. - -“‘The Dagos have got her,’ he said, very softly. ‘Don Pedro Salvas is, I -fear, a foolish man.’ - -“Clavering gave a sort of hoarse cry, and Jimmy’s face softened. - -“‘Poor devil,’ he said. ‘Your job is going to be harder than mine. Go -back to your yacht—get all your men on shore that you can spare—and if -I’m not back in four hours, wait for dawn and then strike inland over -the swamp. Find Pedro Salvas’s house—and hang him on the highest tree -you can find.’ - -“Without another word he swung on his heel and went up the street at a -long, steady lope. Twice Clavering called after him, but he never turned -his head or altered his stride—and then he started to follow himself. -It was I who stopped him, and he cursed me like a child—almost weeping. - -“‘Do what he told you,’ I said. ‘You’d never find your way; you’d be -worse than useless. I’ll go with him: you get back and bring your men -ashore.’ - -“And with that I followed Jimmy. At times I could see him, a faint white -figure in the darkness, as he dodged through that fever-laden swamp; at -times I found myself marvelling at the condition of the man, bearing in -mind his method of living. Steadily, tirelessly, he forged ahead, and -when he came to the foot-hills I hadn’t gained a yard on him. - -“And then I began wondering what was going to happen when he reached -Salvas’s bungalow, and by what strange mischance the girl had met the -owner. That it was revenge I was certain; he had recognised her from the -picture, and I remember thinking how bitter must have been his hatred of -Mainwaring to have induced him to run such an appalling risk. For the -risk was appalling, even in that country of strange happenings. - -“I don’t think that Jimmy troubled his head over any such speculations. -In his mind there was room for only one thought—an all-sufficient -thought—to get his hands on Pedro Salvas. I don’t think he even knew -that I was behind him, until after it was over and the curtain was -falling on the play. And then he had no time for me.” - -Merton gave a short laugh that had in it a touch of sadness. - -“A good curtain it was, too,” he continued, quietly. “I remember I made -a frantic endeavour to overtake him as he raced up to the house, and -then, because I just couldn’t help myself, I stopped and -watched—fascinated. The window of the big living-room was open, and the -light blazed out. I suppose they had never anticipated pursuit that -night. Leaning up against the wall was the girl, with a look of frozen -horror on her face, while seated at the table were Pedro Salvas and -three of his pals. And they were drinking. - -“It all happened very quickly. For one second I saw Jimmy Mainwaring -framed in the window—then he began shooting. I don’t think I’ve -mentioned that he could shoot the pip out of the ace of diamonds nine -times out of ten at twenty yards, and his madness did not interfere with -his aim. And that night he was stark, staring mad. I heard three -shots—so close together that only an artist could have fired them out -of the same revolver and taken aim; I saw the three friends of Pedro -Salvas collapse limply in their chairs. And then there was a pause; I -think Jimmy wanted to get at _him_ with his hands. - -“But it was not to be. Just for a moment the owner of the bungalow had -been so stupefied at the sudden appearance of the man he hated that he -had simply sat still, staring; but only for a moment. The movement of -his arm was so quick that I hardly saw it; I only noticed what seemed to -be a streak of light which shot across the room. And then I heard -Jimmy’s revolver again—the tenth, the hundredth of a second too late. -He’d drilled Pedro Salvas through the heart all right—I watched the -swine crumple and fall with the snarl still on his face—but this time -the knife wasn’t sticking in the wall. - -“She got to him first,” went on Merton, thoughtfully. “His knees were -sagging just as I got to the window, and she was trying to hold him up -in her arms. And then between us we laid him down, and I saw that the -end was very near. There was nothing I could do; the knife was clean -into his chest. The finish of the journey had come to the man who could -not get drunk. And so I left them together, while I mounted guard by the -window with a gun in each hand. It wasn’t a house to take risks in. - -“He lived, I think, for five minutes, and of those five minutes I would -rather not speak. There are things which a man may tell, and things -which he may not. Sufficient be it to say that he may have cheated at -cards or he may not—she loved him. If, indeed, he had committed the -unforgivable sin amongst gentlemen all the world over, he atoned for it. -And she loved him. Let us leave it at that. - -“And when it was over, and the strange, bitter spirit of the man who -called himself Jimmy Mainwaring had gone out on the unknown road, I -touched her on the shoulder. She rose blindly and stumbled out into the -darkness at my side. I don’t think I spoke a word to her, beyond telling -her to take my arm. And after a while she grew heavier and heavier on -it, until at last she slipped down—a little unconscious heap of sobbing -girlhood.” - -Merton paused and lit a cigarette with a smile. - -“So that is how it was ordained that I should carry the Lady Sylvia -Clavering, slung over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes, for three -miles. I remember staggering into the village to find myself surrounded -by men from the yacht. I handed her over to her distracted husband, and -then I rather think I fainted myself. I know I found myself in my own -bar, with people pouring whisky down my throat. And after a while they -cleared off, leaving Clavering alone with me. He began to stammer out -his thanks, and I cut him short. - -“‘No thanks are due to me,’ I said. ‘They’re due to another man whom you -called a card-cheat—but who was a bigger man than either you or I are -ever likely to be.’ - -“‘Was?’ he said, staring at me. - -“‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘He’s dead.’ - -“He stood there silently for a moment or two; then with a queer look on -his face he took off his hat. - -“‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘He was a bigger man than me.’” - -Merton got up and pressed the bell. - -“I’ve never seen him from that day to this,” he said, thoughtfully. “I -never saw his wife again until to-night. And I’ve never filled in the -gaps in the story. Moreover, I don’t know that I want to.” - -A waiter came over to his chair. - -“You’ll join me? Two whiskies-and-sodas, please, waiter—large ones.” - - _Made and Printed in Great Britain._ - _Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury._ - - - - - TRANSCRIBER NOTES - -Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple -spellings occur, majority use has been employed. - -Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors -occur. - - - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Dinner Club, by H. C. 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text-align:center; vertical-align:top; - } - .tdStyle6 { - padding: 2px 5px; text-align:right; vertical-align:top; - } - .pindent { margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-indent:1.5em; } - .noindent { margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-indent:0; } - .hang { padding-left:1.5em; text-indent:-1.5em; } - </style> - <style type="text/css"> - h3 { font-size:.8em; text-align:center; } - .literal-container { margin-top:.5em; margin-bottom:.5em } - div.lgc { margin-top:.5em; margin-bottom:.5em } - p { margin-top: 0em; margin-bottom: 0em; } - div.blockquote { margin-top:.5em; margin-bottom:.5em; } - body { font-size:100%; } - </style> - </head> - <body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Dinner Club, by H. C. (Sapper) McNeile - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Dinner Club - -Author: H. C. (Sapper) McNeile - -Release Date: October 19, 2019 [EBook #60525] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DINNER CLUB *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines, Cindy Beyer & the online Distributed -Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/cover.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0000' style='width:380px;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<table id='tab1' summary='' class='center' style='font-size:.9em;'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 12em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 5em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0' colspan='2'><span style='font-size:larger'>BOOKS BY “SAPPER”</span></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0' colspan='2'>(H. C. McNeile)</td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle1' colspan='2'> <span class='sc'>The Dinner Club</span></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle1' colspan='2'> <span class='sc'>The Black Gang</span></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle1' colspan='2'> <span class='sc'>Bull-Dog Drummond</span></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle1' colspan='2'> <span class='sc'>The Man in Ratcatcher</span></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle1' colspan='2'> <span class='sc'>Mufti</span></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle1' colspan='2'> <span class='sc'>The Human Touch</span></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle1' colspan='2'> <span class='sc'>No Man’s Land</span></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle1' colspan='2'> <span class='sc'>Men, Women, and Guns</span></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle1' colspan='2'> <span class='sc'>Sergeant Michael Cassidy</span></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle1' colspan='2'> <span class='sc'>The Lieutenant and Others</span></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0' colspan='2'>HODDER & STOUGHTON, LTD.</td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><span class='sc'>Publishers</span></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'><span class='sc'>London</span></td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/title.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0001' style='width:350px;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class='lgc' style='margin-top:30em;'> <!-- rend=';italic;fs:.7em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:.7em;font-style:italic;'>Made and Printed in Great Britain.</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:.7em;font-style:italic;'>Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury.</p> -</div> <!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<hr class='tbk100'/> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-style:italic;'>Contents</p> - -<hr class='tbk101'/> - -<table id='tab2' summary='' class='center' style='font-size:.9em;'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 3em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 20em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'>FOREWORD</td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle5'><span style='font-size:x-small'>CHAPTER</span></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch1'>I.</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'>THE ACTOR’S STORY, BEING THE PATCH ON THE QUILT</td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch2'>II.</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'>THE BARRISTER’S STORY, BEING THE DECISION OF SIR EDWARD SHOREHAM</td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch3'>III.</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'>THE DOCTOR’S STORY, BEING SENTENCE OF DEATH</td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch4'>IV.</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'>THE ORDINARY MAN’S STORY, BEING THE PIPES OF DEATH</td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch5'>V.</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'>THE SOLDIER’S STORY, BEING A BIT OF ORANGE PEEL</td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch6'>VI.</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'>THE WRITER’S STORY, BEING THE HOUSE AT APPLEDORE</td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch7'>VII.</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'>THE OLD DINING-ROOM</td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch8'>VIII.</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'>WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK</td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch9'>IX.</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'>JEMMY LETHBRIDGE’S TEMPTATION</td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch10'>X.</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'>LADY CYNTHIA AND THE HERMIT</td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch11'>XI.</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'>A GLASS OF WHISKY</td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'><a href='#ch12'>XII.</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'>THE MAN WHO COULD NOT GET DRUNK</td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<hr class='tbk102'/> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-style:italic;'>Foreword</p> - -<hr class='tbk103'/> - -<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>On</span> a certain day in the year of grace 1920, -there came into being a special and very select -club. There was no entrance fee and no subscription, -in which respect it differed from all -other clubs. Its membership was limited to six: -the <span class='it'>Actor</span>, the <span class='it'>Barrister</span>, the <span class='it'>Doctor</span>, the <span class='it'>Ordinary -Man</span>, the <span class='it'>Soldier</span>, and the <span class='it'>Writer</span>. And since each -in his own particular trade had achieved what -the world calls fame, except the Ordinary Man, -who was only ordinary, it was decided that for -purposes of convenience they should be entered -in the list of members alphabetically according -to their trade, and further that they should carry -out the only rule of the club in the order of that -entry. And the only rule of the club was, that -on certain nights, to be mutually agreed on, the -member whose turn it was should give to the -remaining members an exceedingly good dinner, -after which he should tell them a story connected -with his own trade, that should be of sufficient -interest to keep them awake.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And the only penalty of the club was that if the -story was not of sufficient interest to keep the -audience awake, the offending member should pay -a sum of ten pounds to a deserving charity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>No rule was deemed necessary as to the quality -of the dinner: the members had elected themselves -with discretion.</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<hr class='tbk104'/> - -<table id='tab3' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 5em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 31em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'><a id='ch1'></a><span class='it'>I</span></td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle6'><span class='it'>The Actor’s Story, being The Patch on the Quilt</span></td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class='tbk105'/> - -<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>“The</span> trouble in my game,” he began, “is that -the greatest plays can never be staged. There -would be no money in them. The public -demand a plot—a climax: after that the puppets -cease strutting, the curtain rings down. But -in life—in real life—there’s no plot. It’s just -a series of anti-climaxes strung together like a -patchwork quilt, until there comes the greatest -anti-climax of all and the quilt is finished.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He passed his hand through his fast-greying -hair, and stared for a moment or two at the fire. -The Soldier was filling his pipe; the Writer, his -legs stretched in front of him, had his hands -thrust deep in his trouser pockets.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s one of the patches in one of the quilts -that my story is about,” continued the actor -thoughtfully. “Just an episode in the life of a -woman—or shall I say, just the life of a woman -in an episode?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You remember that play of mine—‘John -Pendlesham’s Wife’?” He turned to the -Barrister, who nodded.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Very well,” he answered. “Molly Travers -was your leading lady.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I was out of England,” said the Soldier. -“Never saw it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s immaterial.” The Actor lit a cigarette. -“The play itself has nothing to do with my -story, except indirectly. But as you didn’t see -it, I will just explain this much. I, of course, -was John Pendlesham—Molly was my wife, and -the third act constituted what, in my opinion, -was the finest piece of emotional acting which -that consummate actress has ever done in her -career.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Writer nodded. “I agree. She was -superb.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Night after night the fall of the curtain found -her nearly fainting; night after night there was -that breathless moment of utter silence followed -by a perfect crash of applause. I am mentioning -these old facts because her marvellous performance -does concern my story directly—even -though the play does not.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We had been running about a month, I -suppose, when my story begins. I had just -come off after the third act, and was going to -my dressing-room. For some reason, instead -of going by the direct door which led into it -from the stage, I went outside into the passage. -There were some hands moving furniture or -something. . . .</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I think you’ve all of you been behind at my -theatre. First you come to the swing doors -out of the street, inside which the watch dog -sits demanding callers’ business. Then there is -another door, and beyond that there are three -steps down to my room. And it was just as I -was opening my door on that night that I happened -to look round.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Standing at the top of the three stairs was a -woman who was staring at me. I only saw her -for a moment: then the watch dog intervened, -and I went into my room. But I <span class='it'>had</span> seen her -for a moment: I had seen her for long enough to -get the look in her eyes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We get all sorts and conditions of people behind, -as you’d expect—stage-struck girls, actors -out of a shop, autograph hunters, beggars. And -the watch dog knew my invariable rule: only -personal friends and people who had made an appointment -by letter were allowed inside the second -door. But a rule cannot legislate for every case.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Gad! you fellows, it’s many years now since -that night, but I can still feel, as clearly as if it -were yesterday, the message in that girl’s eyes. -There had been hope and fear and pitiful -entreaty: the look of one who had staked everything -on a last desperate throw: the look of a -mother who is fighting for her child. It was -amazing: I couldn’t understand it. As I stood -just inside my door I couldn’t have told you -whether she was old or young, plain or pretty. -And yet in that one fleeting second this vivid, -jumbled message had reached me.” The Actor -pressed out his cigarette, and there was silence -while he lit another one.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“For a moment I hesitated,” he continued -after a while; “then I rang the bell for the -watch dog.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Who is that lady I saw outside there?’ -I asked, as he came in.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Won’t give no name, sir,’ he answered. -‘Wants to see you, but I told her the rules.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Once again I hesitated; probably I’d -exaggerated—put a totally false construction -on her expression, probably she was looking for -a job like the rest of them. And then I knew -that I’d got to see that woman, and that I should -have no peace of mind until I’d heard what she -had to say. The watch dog was regarding me -curiously; plainly he could see no reason whatever -for my hesitation. He was a matter-of-fact -fellow, was the guardian of the door.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Show her in, I’ll see her now.’ I had my -back to him, but I could feel his virtuous indignation. -After all, rules are rules.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Now, sir?’ he echoed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Now; at once.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He went out, and I heard him go up the -steps.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Mr. Trayne will see you. Come this way.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And then the door opened again, and I -turned to face the woman. She was young—quite -young, dressed in a kind of cheap suburban -frock. Her shoes had been good ones—once, -now—well, however skilfully a patch is put on -it is still a patch. Her gloves showed traces of -much needle and cotton; the little bag she -carried was rubbed and frayed. And over the -cheap suburban frock she had on a coat which -was worn and threadbare.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘It was good of you to see me, Mr. Trayne.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She was nervous and her voice shook a little, -but she faced me quite steadily.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘It’s a very unusual thing for me to do,’ I -said. ‘But I saw you at the top of the stairs, -and . . .’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I know it’s unusual,’ she interrupted. -‘The man outside there told me your rule. -But believe me’—she was talking with more -assurance now—‘my reason for coming to see -you is very unusual also.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I pulled up a chair for her. ‘What is your -reason?’ I asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She took a deep breath and began fumbling -with her handkerchief.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I know you will think me mad,’ she began, -‘but I don’t want to tell you my reason now. I -want to wait until after the play is over, and -I know you go on at once in the fourth act.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You’ve seen the play, then?’ I remarked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I’ve seen the play,’ was her somewhat -astonishing answer, ‘every night since the -first.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Every night!’ I stared at her in surprise. -‘But . . .’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I must have glanced at her clothes or something -and she saw what was in my mind.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I suppose you think that I hardly look as -if I could afford such luxuries,’ she smiled -faintly. ‘I’ve only seen it from the gallery and -pit, you know. And even that has meant that -I’ve had to go without lunch. But—you see—it -was necessary for me to see it: I had to. It -was part of my plan—a necessary part.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I don’t want to seem dense,’ I said gently, -‘but I’m afraid I don’t quite follow. How can -seeing my play thirty odd times be a necessary -part of your plan?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘That’s what I don’t want to tell you now,’ -she repeated, and once more her hands began -twisting nervously. ‘I want to wait till afterwards, -when perhaps you’ll—of your kindness—do -as I ask you. Oh! Mr. Trayne—for God’s -sake, don’t fail me!’ She leant forward beseechingly -in her chair.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘My dear child,’ I answered quietly—I -don’t think she can have been much more than -twenty, ‘you haven’t told me yet what you want -me to do.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I want you to come to a house in Kensington -with me,’ she said steadily.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Once again the Actor paused, and stared at the -fire. Then he gave a short laugh.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“When she said that, I looked at her pretty -sharply. Without appearing conceited or anything -of that sort, one has occasionally in the -course of one’s career, received certain flattering -attentions from charming women—attentions -which—er—one is tempted to conceal from one’s -wife.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Precisely,” murmured the Ordinary Man. -“Precisely.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And for a moment, I must confess that the -thought passed through my mind that this was -one of those occasions. And it wasn’t until the -colour rose to her face and stained it scarlet, that -I realised that not only had I made a mistake, but -that I had been foolish enough to let her see that -I had.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘My God!’ she whispered, ‘you don’t -think—you couldn’t think—that I meant . . .’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She rose and almost cowered away from me. -‘Why, I’m married.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I refrained from remarking that the fact was -hardly such a conclusive proof of the absurdity -of my unspoken thought as she seemed to -imagine. I merely bowed, and said a little -formally: ‘Please don’t jump to conclusions. -May I ask why you wish me to come to a house in -Kensington with you?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The colour ebbed away from her cheeks, and -she sat down again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘That’s the very thing I don’t want to tell -you, until you come,’ she answered very low. ‘I -know it sounds absurd—it must do, it seems as -if I were being unnecessarily mysterious. But I -can’t tell you, Mr. Trayne, I can’t tell you . . . -Not yet. . . .’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And then the call boy knocked, and I had -to go on for the last act. In a way I suppose -it was absurd of me—but life is made up of impulses. -I confess that the whole thing intrigued -me. When a woman comes and tells you that -she has seen your play every night since it -started; that she’s had to go without her lunch -to do so; that it was a necessary part of some -wonderful plan, and that she wants you to go -to a house in Kensington, the least curious man -would be attracted. And from my earliest infancy -I’ve always been engrossed in other people’s -business.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘All right,’ I said briefly. ‘I’ll come with -you.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And then I had to put out my hand to -steady her, I thought she was going to faint. -Reaction, I thought at the time; later, it struck -me that the reason was much more prosaic—lack -of food.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I stopped for a moment till she seemed herself -again; then I told her to wait outside.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I shall be about half an hour,’ I said, ‘and -then we’ll take a taxi, and go down to Kensington. -Tell them to give you a chair. . . .’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And my last impression as I went on to the -stage was of a white-faced girl clutching the table, -staring at me with great brown eyes that held in -them a dawning triumph.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I think,” went on the Actor thoughtfully, -“that that is where the tragedy of it all really -lay. Afterwards she told me that the part of -her plan which had seemed most difficult to her -was getting my consent to go with her to Kensington. -Once that was done, she knew all would be -well, she was absolutely and supremely confident. -And when I went on to the stage for the fourth -act, she felt that success had crowned her efforts, -that what was to come after was nothing compared -to that which she had already done. The -inaccessible stronghold had been stormed, the -ogre had proved to be a lamb.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, we went to Kensington. I sent my -own car home, and we took a taxi. During -the drive she was very silent, and I didn’t try -to make her talk. Evidently no inkling of the -mysterious plan was to be revealed until we arrived -at the address she had given the driver. -It was some obscure street that I had never -heard of and the name of which I have completely -forgotten. I know it was somewhere not -far from Barker’s.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The door was opened by a repulsive-looking -woman who peered at me suspiciously. And -then the girl took her on one side and whispered -something in her ear. Apparently it had the -desired effect, as the Gorgon retired grumbling -to an odoriferous basement, leaving us alone in -the hall.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“When she had shut the door the girl turned -to me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Will you come upstairs, Mr. Trayne. I -want you to meet my husband.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I bowed. ‘Certainly,’ I said, and she led -the way.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘So the husband was in the plan,’ I reflected -as I followed her. Was he a genius with a play -that he proposed to read to me? I had suffered -from the plays of genius before. Or was he some -actor down on his luck? If so, why all the -mystery? And then, when I’d made up my -mind that it was a mere begging case, we arrived at -the room. Just before she turned the handle of -the door she again looked at me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘My husband is ill, Mr. Trayne. You’ll -excuse his being in bed.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then we went in. Good Lord! you fellows,” -the Actor leant forward in his chair. “I’ve been -pretty hard up in the old days, but as I stood -inside that door I realised for the first time what -poverty—real poverty—meant. Mark you, the -girl was a lady; the weak, cadaverous-looking -fellow propped up in bed with a tattered shawl -round his shoulders was a gentleman. And -beyond the bed, and one chair, and a rackety old -chest-of-drawers there wasn’t a stick of furniture -in the room. There was a curtain in the corner -with what looked like a washstand behind it, and -a shelf by the bed with two cups and some plates -on it. And nothing else except an appalling -oleograph of Queen Victoria on the wall.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘This is Mr. Trayne, dear.’ She was bending -over her husband, and after a moment he looked -up at me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘It was good of you to come, sir,’ he said. -‘Very good.’ And then he turned to his wife and -I heard him say: ‘Have you told him yet, -Kitty?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She shook her head. ‘Not yet, darling, I -will now.’ She left his side and came over to me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Mr. Trayne, I know you thought me very -peculiar at the theatre. But I was afraid that -if I told you what I really wanted you’d have -refused to come. You get hundreds and hundreds -of people coming to see you who think they can -act. Asking you to help them get a job and that -sort of thing. Well, I was afraid that if I told -you that that was what I wanted, you’d have -told me to go away. Perhaps you’d have given -me a straw of comfort—taken my address—said -you’d let me know if anything turned up. But -nothing would have turned up. . . . And, you -see, I was rather desperate.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The big brown eyes were fixed on me -pleadingly, and somehow I didn’t feel quite as -annoyed as I should have done at what was -nothing more nor less than a blatant trick to -appeal to my sympathy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Perhaps nothing would have turned up,’ -I said gently, ‘but you must remember that -to-day the stage is a hopelessly overstocked -profession. There are hundreds of trained actors -and actresses unable to obtain a job.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I know that,’ she cried eagerly, ‘and that’s -why I—why I thought out this plan. I thought -that if I could <span class='it'>really</span> convince you that I could act -above the average . . .’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘And she can, Mr. Trayne,’ broke in her -husband. ‘She’s good, I know it.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘We must leave Mr. Trayne to be the judge -of that, Harry,’ she smiled. ‘You see,’ she went -on to me, ‘what I felt was that there is an -opening for real talent. There is, isn’t there?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Yes,’ I agreed slowly. ‘There is an -opening for <span class='it'>real</span> talent. But even that is a small -one. . . . Have you ever acted before?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘A little. In amateur theatricals!’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I turned away. Amateur theatricals! More -heart-burning and disappointment has been -caused by those abominable entertainments than -their misguided originators will ever realise.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘But don’t think I’m relying on that.’ The -girl was speaking again, and I almost laughed. -‘I want you to judge me to-night.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I swung round and looked at her. So this -was the mysterious plan: I was to witness an -impromptu performance, which was to convince -me that the second Sarah Bernhardt had been -discovered.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I couldn’t have shown you, you see, in -your dressing-room. I shouldn’t have had time. -That’s why I asked you to come here.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You have the courage of your convictions -anyway,’ I said quietly. ‘I am perfectly ready -to be convinced.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Then will you sit there.’ She took off her -hat and coat as I sat down on the only available -chair, and from underneath his pillow the man -produced a paper-covered book.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You’ll forgive me if I read my lines, Mr. -Trayne,’ he said. ‘I find I can’t learn them—I -can’t concentrate.’ He passed a thin, -emaciated hand over his forehead. ‘And it’s -her you want to see.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He turned over the pages weakly; then he -began to read. And I—I sat up as if I’d been -stung. At last everything was clear: the continual -visits to the theatre—everything. The -part of all others which they had selected to -prove her ability, was the love-scene between -Molly Travers and myself in the third act of -‘John Pendlesham’s Wife. . . .’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For a while there was silence, while the Actor -thoughtfully lit another cigarette.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“This unknown child,” he went on after a -moment, “who had acted a little in amateur -theatricals, had deliberately challenged London’s -greatest emotional actress in her most marvellous -success before, Heaven help us, <span class='it'>me</span>—of all people. -I suppose if I was writing a story I should say -that she triumphed; that as I sat in that bare -and hideous room I realised that before me was -genius—a second and greater Molly; that from -that moment her foot was set on the ladder of -fame, and there was no looking back.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Actor laughed a little sadly. “Unfortunately, -I’m not writing a story, I’m telling -the truth. I don’t know how I sat through the -next twenty minutes. It was the most ghastly -caricature of Molly that I have ever thought of; -the more ghastly because it was so intensely -unintentional. Every little gesture was faithfully -copied; every little trick and mannerism had -been carefully learnt by heart. And this, as I -say, to me who acted with that divine genius -every night. God! it was awful. That marvellous -line of Molly’s, when, standing in the -centre of the stage facing me across the table, she -said: ‘Then you don’t want me back?’ that -line which was made marvellous merely through -the consummate restraint with which she said it, -sounded from this poor child like a parlour-maid -giving notice.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And then, at last it was over, and I realised -I had to say something. They were both staring -at me, hope shining clear in the girl’s eyes and -pride in the man’s.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘She’s great, isn’t she, Mr. Trayne?’ he -said. ‘I’ve not had the privilege of seeing you -and Miss Travers in the part—but I feel that -now—why,’ he gave a little shaky laugh, ‘that it’s -hardly necessary.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You see,” said the Actor slowly, “that was -the devil of it all. They were both so utterly -certain, especially the man. The difficulty had -been to get me there; after that it had been easy. -I glanced at the poor fellow in the bed, and his -thoughts were plain to read. No more grinding -poverty, no more unfurnished bed-sitting rooms, -and—fame for the woman he loved! And then -he spoke again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I’m such a hopeless crock, Mr. Trayne, and -she’—he took one of her hands in both his -own—‘she’s had to do all the work. Beastly, -grinding work in an office, when she was capable -of this.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The girl bent over him, and I looked away. -It seemed to me that the ground on which I stood -was holy.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Actor gave a short laugh which deceived -no one. “I suppose I was an ass,” he went on, -“but I’d do it again to-day. ‘It was wonderful,’ -I said, ‘quite wonderful.’ And because I’m an -actor they believed me. Not that he, at any -rate, required much convincing—he only wanted -his knowledge confirmed. Of course, when I -spoke I didn’t realise what I was letting myself -in for. I should have done, I suppose, but—I -wasn’t left long in doubt. If she was wonderful—and -had not I, Herbert Trayne, said so—what -about a job? At once . . . With my backing -it was easy. . . . Which was all quite true -except for the one vital fact of my having -lied. But, hang it, you fellows!” he exploded, -“could you have told ’em it was the most -appalling exhibition of utter futility you’d ever -witnessed?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, I couldn’t,” said the Soldier. “What -happened?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I can see them now,” continued the Actor. -“He was holding her hand, and looking up into -her face—as a dog looks at the being it adores. -And she was smiling a little, and crying a little—tears -of pure joy. The strain was over, the -lunches had not been missed in vain. And I -stood there like a dumb idiot racking my brains -for something to say. They thought I was -wondering what job to offer her; they were -right, I was.” The Actor laughed shortly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But I’d gone into the morass, and there was -nothing for it but to blunder in deeper. The one -vital essential was that in no circumstances must -the poor child ever be allowed to act. The other -was money—and at once. So I offered her then -and there a job as Molly Travers’ understudy at -five pounds a week.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Great Scott!” The Doctor sat up with a -jerk. “Understudy Molly?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I explained, of course,” went on the Actor, -“that there was an understudy already, and that -to save unpleasantness it would be better if she -didn’t come to the theatre, unless I sent for her. -That, of course, it was more than likely that Miss -Travers wouldn’t be ill during the run of the play, -and that in those circumstances I didn’t want -to offend the present understudy. And when -another play came along, we must see what we -could do. That, thank Heaven, I knew was some -way off yet! It gave me breathing space.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I gave her a week’s salary in advance, and -I got away—somehow. I think they were both a -little dazed with the wonder of it, and they -wanted to be alone. I heard his voice—weak -and quavering—as I shut the door.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Oh! my very dear girl,’ he was whispering—and -she was on her knees beside the bed. And -I blundered my way downstairs, cursing myself -for a sentimental fool. There’s whisky on the -table, you fellows. Help yourselves.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But no one moved, and the Actor lit another -cigarette.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I saw her occasionally during the next two -or three months,” he continued, “though I never -went to their rooms again. They had moved—I -knew that—because I used to post the cheque -every week. But the few times I did see her, I -gathered that her husband was not getting any -better. And one day I insisted on Lawrence, -the specialist, going to see him. I couldn’t have -one of my company being worried, I told her, over -things of that sort. I can see her face now as I -said ‘one of my company.’ I don’t know what -Lawrence said to her, but he rang me up at the -theatre that night, and he did not mince his words -to me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I give him a month,’ he said. ‘It’s galloping -consumption.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was just about a month later that the -thing happened which I had been dreading. -Molly went down with ’flu. Her understudy—the -real one—was Violet Dorman, who was -unknown then. And, of course it was her -chance.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“One moment,” interrupted the Barrister. -“Did anyone at the theatre know about this -girl?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good God! no,” cried the Actor. “Not -a soul. In this censorious world actions such as -mine in that case are apt to be misconstrued, -which alone was sufficient to make me keep it -dark. No one knew.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The first night—all was well. Molly went -down in the afternoon, and it didn’t come out in -any of the evening papers. Violet acted magnificently. -She wasn’t Molly, of course—she isn’t -now. But it was her chance, and she took it—and -took it well. Next morning the papers, -naturally, had it in. ‘Temporary indisposition -of Miss Molly Travers. Part filled at a moment’s -notice with great credit by Miss Violet Dorman.’ -She had a press agent and he boomed her for all -he was worth. And I read the papers and cursed. -Not that I grudged her her success in the slightest, -but I was thinking of the afternoon. It was -matinée day and the girl must read it in the -papers.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There was only one thing for it—to go round -and see her. Whatever happened I had to prevent -her coming to the theatre. How I was going -to do it without giving the show away I hadn’t an -idea, but somehow or other it had got to be done. -My blundering foolishness—even though it had -been for the best—had caused the trouble; it -was up to me to try and right it. So I went round -and found her with a doctor in the sitting-room. -He was just going as I came in, and his face was -grave.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Harry’s dying,’ she said to me quite simply, -and I glanced at the doctor, who nodded.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Poor child! I crossed over to her side, and -though it seems an awful thing to say, my only -feeling was one of relief. After what Lawrence -had said I knew it was hopeless, and since the -poor devil had to go he couldn’t have chosen a -more opportune moment from my point of view. -It solved the difficulty. If he was dying she -couldn’t come to the theatre, and by the time -the funeral was over Molly would be back. I -didn’t realise that one doesn’t get out of things -quite as easily as that.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I’ve only just realised how bad he was,’ -she went on in a flat, dead voice.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Does he know?’ I asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘No. He thinks he’s going to get better. -Why didn’t you send for me last night, Mr. -Trayne?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was so unexpected, that I hesitated and -stammered.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I couldn’t get at you in time,’ I said finally. -‘Miss Travers only became ill late in the afternoon.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“With a strange look on her face she opened a -paper—some cursed rag I hadn’t seen.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘It says here,’ she went on slowly, ‘that -she was confined to her bed all yesterday. Oh! -it doesn’t matter much, does it?’ She put -the paper down wearily, and gave the most -heartrending little sobbing laugh I’ve ever -heard.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘What do you mean?’ I stammered out.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I suppose you did it for the best, Mr. -Trayne. I suppose I ought to be grateful. But -you lied that night—didn’t you?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I was fingering a book on the table and for the -life of me I couldn’t think of anything to say. -‘He doesn’t know,’ she went on. ‘He still -thinks I’m a God-sent genius. And he mustn’t -know.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Why should he?’ I said. And then I -put my hand on her arm. ‘Tell me, how did you -find out?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You admit it then?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Yes,’ I said quietly, ‘I admit that I lied. -I was so desperately sorry for you.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I mentioned it to someone—a man who -knew the stage—about a week ago. He looked -at me in blank amazement, and then he laughed. -I suppose he couldn’t help it: it was so ridiculous. -I was furious—furious. But afterwards I began -to think, and I asked other people one or two -questions—and then that came,’ she pointed to -the paper, ‘and I knew. And now—oh! thank -God—he’s dying. He mustn’t know, Mr. Trayne, -he mustn’t.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And at that moment he came into the room—tottered -in is a better word.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Boy,’ she cried in an agony, ‘what are you -doing?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I thought I heard Mr. Trayne’s voice,’ he -whispered, collapsing in the chair. ‘I’m much -better to-day, much. Bit weak still——’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And then he saw the paper, and he leant -forward eagerly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Ill,’ he cried. ‘Molly Travers ill. Why, my -dear—but it’s your chance.’ He read on a bit, -and she looked at me desperately. ‘But why -weren’t you there last night? Who is this -woman, Violet Dorman?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You see, Tracy,’ I said, picking up the paper -and putting it out of his reach, ‘it was so sudden, -Miss Travers’ illness, that I couldn’t get at your -wife in time.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Quite,’ he whispered. ‘Of course. But -there’s a matinée this afternoon, isn’t there? -Oh! I wonder if I’m well enough to go. I’m -so much better to-day.’ And then he looked at -his wife. ‘My dear! my dear—at last!’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t think I’ve ever seen such pathetic -pride and love shining in a man’s face before or -since.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I’m afraid you won’t be quite well enough -to go,’ I muttered.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Perhaps it would be wiser not to,’ he -whispered. ‘But to think I shall miss her first -appearance. Have you come to fetch her now, -Mr. Trayne?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Yes, darling,’ the girl replied, and her voice -sounded as steady as a rock. ‘Mr. Trayne has -come to fetch me. But it’s early yet and I want -you to go back to bed now. . . .’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Without a glance at me she helped him from -the room and left me standing there. I heard -their voices—hers clear and strong, his barely -audible. And not for the first time in my life I -marvelled at the wonder of a woman who loves. -I was to marvel more in a moment or two.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She came back and shut the door. Then she -stood facing me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘There’s only one way, Mr. Trayne, though I -think it’s going to break my heart. I must go -to the theatre.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘But—your husband . . .’ I stammered.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Oh! I’m not really going. I shall be -here—at hand—the whole time. Because if the -end did come—why then—I <span class='it'>must</span> be with him. -But he’s got to think I’ve gone; I’ve got to hide -from him until after the matinée is over. And -then I must tell him’—she faltered a little—‘of -my success. I’ll keep the papers from him—if -it’s necessary. . . .’ She turned away and I -heard her falter: ‘Three hours away from him—when -he’s dying. Oh, my God!’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Actor paused, and the Soldier stirred -restlessly in his chair. “I left shortly after,” -he went on at length, “I saw she wanted me to.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“All through the play that afternoon it -haunted me—the pathos of it—aye, the horror of -it. I pictured that girl hiding somewhere, while -in the room above the sands were running out. -Longing with all the power of her being to go to -him—to snatch every fleeting minute with him—and -yet condemned by my stupidity to forfeit -her right. And then at last the show was over, -and I went to her room again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She was by his side, kneeling on the floor, -as I came in. As he saw me he struggled up on -his elbow, and one could see it was the end.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Dear fellow,’ I said, ‘she was wonderful—just -wonderful!’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And the girl looked up at me through her -blinding tears.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Just wonderful,’ I said again. Five minutes -later he died. . . .”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Actor fell silent.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Did you ever see her again?” asked the -Soldier thoughtfully.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Never: she disappeared. Just a patch on -the quilt as I said. But there was one thread -missing. Three years later I received a registered -envelope. There was no letter inside, no word -of any sort. Just these.” He fumbled in his -pocket. “There are twenty of them.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He held out his hand, and the Soldier leaning -forward saw that it contained a little bundle of -five-pound notes.</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<hr class='tbk106'/> - -<table id='tab4' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 5em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 31em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab4c1 tdStyle3'><a id='ch2'></a><span class='it'>II</span></td><td class='tab4c2 tdStyle6'><span class='it'>The Barrister’s Story, being The Decision of Sir Edward Shoreham</span></td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class='tbk107'/> - -<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>“This</span> morning,” he began, leaning back in his -chair and crossing his legs, “I mislaid my cigarette-case. -I knew it was somewhere in the study, -but find it I could not. Finally, having searched -all over my writing table, I rang the bell, and -somewhat irritably demanded its immediate -production. The butler stepped forward and -lifted it up from the centre of the blotting pad, -where it had been the whole time, literally under -my nose. What peculiar temporary kink in the -brain had prevented my noticing the very thing I -was looking for, when it was lying in the most -conspicuous place in which it could possibly have -been, I don’t know. I leave that to the Doctor. -But the point of my parable is this—it decided -in my mind the story with which I should bore -you fellows to-night.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He paused to light a cigar, then he glanced -round at the faces of the other five.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And if, as I get on with it, you think you -recognise the real characters under the fictional -names I shall give them, I can’t prevent you. -But don’t ask me to confirm your thoughts.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Exactly,” murmured the Actor. “Fire -ahead.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was about four years before the war,” -commenced the Barrister, “that I was stopping -for a few nights at a certain house in Park Lane. -It was in the middle of the season—June, to be -accurate—and I was waiting to get in here. My -wife was in the country, and, as I was more or -less at a loose end, I accepted the offer of staying -at this house. My hostess—shall we call her -Granger, Ruth Granger—had been an old school -pal of my wife’s; in later years she had become -a real, intimate friend of us both.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“At the time of which I speak she was a -lovely girl of twenty-six, with the suffering of -six years of hell in her eyes. At the age of -twenty she had married Sir Henry Granger, and -that fatal mistake had been the cause of the -hell. Henry Granger was one of the most -loathsome brutes it has ever been my misfortune -to run across. He had not one single instinct -of a gentleman in him, though he did happen to -be the tenth baronet. How her parents had -ever allowed the marriage beat me completely. -Perhaps it was money, for Granger was rich; -but whatever it was she married him, and her -hell began.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Granger was simply an animal, a coarse and -vicious animal. He drank heavily without -getting drunk, which is always a dangerous sign, -and he possessed the morals—or did not possess -the morals, whichever you prefer—of a monkey. -He was unfaithful to her on their honeymoon—my -wife told me that; and from then on he made -not the slightest attempt to conceal his mode of -life.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Barrister carefully removed the ash from -his cigar. “I won’t labour the point,” he went -on with a faint smile. “We have all of us met -the type, but I’d like to emphasise the fact that I, -at any rate, have never met any member of that -type who came within a mile of him. Most of -’em have some semblance of decency about ’em—make -some attempt to conceal their affairs. -Granger didn’t; he seemed to prefer that they -should be known. Sometimes since then I have -wondered whether he was actuated by a sort of -blind rage—by a mad desire to pierce through -the calm, icy contempt of his wife; to make her -writhe and suffer, because he realised she was so -immeasurably his superior.” He paused thoughtfully. -“He made her suffer right enough.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Did she never try for a divorce?” asked -the Soldier.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, never. We discussed it once—she, and -my wife and I; and I had to explain to her our -peculiar laws on the subject. His adultery by -itself was, of course, not sufficient, and for some -reason she flatly refused to consider a mere -separation. She wouldn’t face the scandal and -publicity for only that. I said to her then: -‘Why not apply for a restitution of conjugal -rights. Get your husband to leave the house, and -if he doesn’t return in fourteen days——’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She stopped me with a bitter laugh.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘It seems rather fatuous,’ she said slowly, -‘getting a lawyer to ask my husband to do what -he is only too ready to do—return to me.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘But surely,’ I began, not quite taking her -meaning.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You see, Bill,’ she answered in a flat, dead -voice, ‘my husband is very fond of me—as a -stopgap. After most of his episodes he honours -me with his attentions for two or three days.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That was the devil of it—he didn’t intend to -let her divorce him. She formed an excellent -hostess for his house, and for the rest there were -always <span class='it'>les autres</span>. And he wanted her, too, -because he couldn’t get her, and that made him -mad.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Barrister leant forward, and the firelight -flickered on his thin, ascetic face.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Such was the state of affairs when I went -to stay. The particular lady at the time who was -being honoured by Henry Granger was a shining -light in musical comedy—Nelly Jones, shall we -call her? It is very far from her real name. If -possible, he had been more open over this affair -than usual; everyone who knew the Grangers in -London knew about it—<span class='it'>everyone</span>. He had twice -dined with her at the same restaurant at which his -wife was entertaining, once deliberately selecting -the next table.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What an unmitigated swine!” cried the -Ordinary Man.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He was,” agreed the Barrister briefly. -“But even that was not sufficient to satisfy the -gentleman. He proceeded to do a thing which -put him for ever outside the pale. He brought -this girl to a reception of his wife’s at his own -house.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was the night that I arrived. She had -fixed up one of those ghastly entertainments -which are now, thank Heaven, practically extinct. -Somebody sings and nobody listens, and you meet -everybody you particularly want to avoid. -Mercifully I ran into an old pal, also of your -calling, Actor-man—Violet Seymour. No reason -why I should disguise her name at any rate. -She was not acting at the moment, and we sat -in a sort of alcove-place at the top of the stairs, -on the same landing as the reception-room.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘There’s going to be a break here soon, -Bill,’ she said to me after a while. ‘Ruth is -going to snap.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Poor girl!’ I answered. ‘But what the -devil can one do, Violet?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Nothing,’ she said fiercely, ‘except alter -your abominably unjust laws. Why can’t she -get a divorce, Bill? It’s vile—utterly vile.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And then—well, let’s call him Sir Edward -Shoreham, joined us. He was on the Bench—a -judge, which makes the disguise of a false name -pretty thin, especially in view of what is to come. -I remember he had recently taken a murder case—one -that had aroused a good deal of popular -attention—and the prisoner had been found -guilty. We were talking about it at the time Sir -Edward arrived, with Violet, as usual, tilting -lances against every form of authority.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I can see her now as she turned to Sir Edward -with a sort of dreadful fascination on her face.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘And so you sentenced him to death?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He nodded gravely. ‘Certainly,’ he answered. -‘He was guilty.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And then she turned half-away, speaking -almost under her breath.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘And doesn’t it ever appall you? Make you -wake in the middle of the night, with your mouth -dry and your throat parched. All this—life, -love—and in a cell, a man waiting—a man you’ve -sent there. Ticking off the days on his nerveless -fingers—staring out at the sun. My God! it -would drive me mad.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ned Shoreham smiled a little grimly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You seem to forget one unimportant factor,’ -he answered; ‘the wretched woman that man -killed.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘No, I don’t,’ she cried. ‘But the punishment -is so immeasurably worse than the crime. -I don’t think death would matter if it came suddenly; -but to sit waiting with a sort of sickening -helplessness——’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was then Ruth Granger joined us. Some -woman was singing in the reception-room and, -for the moment, she was free from her duties as -hostess.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You seem very serious,’ she said with her -grave, sweet smile, holding out her hand to Sir -Edward.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Miss Seymour is a revolutionary,’ he -answered lightly, and I happened at that -moment to glance at Ruth. And for the moment -she had let the mask slip as she looked at Ned -Shoreham’s face. Then it was replaced, but -their secret was out, as far as I was concerned, -though on matters of affection I am the least -observant of mortals. If they weren’t in love -with one another, they were as near to it as made -no odds. And it gave me a bit of a shock.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Shoreham was young—young, at any rate, -for the Bench—and he was unmarried. And -somehow I couldn’t fit Shoreham into the -situation of loving another man’s wife. There -had never been a breath of scandal that I had -heard; if there had been, it would have finished -him for good. A judge must be like Cæsar’s -wife. And Shoreham, even then, had established -a reputation for the most scrupulous observance -of the law. His enemies called him cruel and -harsh; those who knew him better realised that -his apparent harshness was merely a cloak he had -wrapped tightly round himself as a guard against -a naturally tender heart. I don’t know any man -that I can think of who had such an undeviating -idea of duty as Shoreham, and without being -in the least a prig, such an exalted idea of the -responsibilities of his position. And to realise -suddenly that he was in love with Ruth Granger, -as I say, came as a shock.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘What was the argument about?’ she said, -sitting down beside me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Morality <span class='it'>versus</span> the Law,’ chipped in Violet.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘The individual <span class='it'>versus</span> the community,’ -amended Sir Edward. ‘Justice—real justice—against -sickly sentimentality, with all due deference -to you, Miss Seymour. There are hard -cases, one knows, but hard cases make bad laws. -There’s been far too much lately of men taking -matters into their own hands—this so-called -Unwritten Law. And it has got to stop.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You would never admit the justification,’ -said Ruth slowly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Never—in any circumstances,’ he answered. -‘You have the law—then appeal to the law. -Otherwise there occurs chaos.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘And what of the cases where the law gives -no redress?’ demanded Violet, and even as she -spoke Granger came up the stairs with this girl on -his arm.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ruth Granger rose, deathly white, and gazed -speechlessly at her husband’s coarse, sneering -face. I don’t think for a moment she fully -grasped the immensity of the insult; she was -stunned. The footmen were staring open-mouthed; -guests passing into the supper-room -stopped and smirked. And then it was over; -the tension snapped.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Have you had any supper, Sir Edward?’ -said Ruth calmly, and with her hand on his arm -she swept past her husband, completely ignoring -both him and the girl, who flushed angrily.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I suppose,’ said Violet Seymour to me, as -Granger and the girl went into the reception-room, -‘that had Ruth shot that filthy blackguard -dead on the stairs, Sir Edward would have -piously folded his hands and, in due course, -sentenced her to death.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And at the moment I certainly sympathised -with her point of view.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Barrister got up and splashed some soda-water -into a glass. Then he continued:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I won’t weary you with an account of the -rest of the reception. You can imagine for yourselves -the covert sneers and whisperings. I want -to go on two or three hours to the time when the -guests had gone, and a white-faced, tight-lipped -woman was staring at the dying embers of a fire -in her sitting-room, while I stood by the mantelpiece -wondering what the devil to do to help. -Granger was in his study, where he had retired on -the departure of Miss Jones, and I, personally, -had seen two bottles of champagne taken to him -there by one of the footmen.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘It’s the end, Bill,’ she said, looking at me -suddenly, ‘absolutely the end. I can’t go on—not -after to-night. How dared he bring that -woman here? How dared he?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Violet had been right—the break had come. -Ruth Granger was desperate, and there was an -expression on her face that it wasn’t good to see. -It put the wind up me all right.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Go to bed, Ruth,’ I said quietly. ‘There’s -no good having a row with Granger to-night; you -can say what you want to say to-morrow.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And at that moment the door opened and -her husband came in. As I said, he was a man -who never got drunk, but that night he was -unsteady on his legs. He stood by the door, -swaying a little and staring at her with a sneer on -his face. He was a swine sober; in drink he was—well, -words fail. But, by God! you fellows, she -got through him and into him until I thought he -was going to strike her. I believe that was -what she was playing for at the time, because I -was there as a witness. But he didn’t, and when -she finished flaying him he merely laughed in her -face.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘And what about your own damned lover, -my virtuous darling?’ he sneered. ‘What -about the upright judge whom you adore—dear, -kind Edward Shoreham?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was unexpected; she didn’t know he -had guessed—and her face gave her away -for a moment. Then she straightened up -proudly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Sir Edward Shoreham and I are on terms -which an animal of your gross mind couldn’t -possibly understand,’ she answered coldly, and -he laughed. ‘If you insinuate that he is my -lover in the accepted sense of the word, you lie -and you know it.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Without another word she walked contemptuously -by him, and the door closed behind her. -And after a moment or two I followed her, leaving -him staring moodily at the empty grate. I -couldn’t have spoken to him without being rude -and, after all, I was under his roof.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Barrister leant back in his chair and -crossed his legs.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now that was the situation,” he continued, -“when I went to bed. My room was almost -opposite Lady Granger’s, and at the end of the -passage, which was a cul-de-sac, was the door -leading into Granger’s study. I hadn’t started -to undress when I heard him come past my room -and go along the passage to his study. And I was -still thinking over the situation about ten minutes -later when Lady Granger’s door opened. I knew -it was hers because I heard her speak to her maid, -telling her to go to bed. The girl said ‘Good -night,’ and something—I don’t quite know what—made -me look through the keyhole of my door. -I was feeling uneasy and alarmed; I suppose the -scene downstairs had unsettled me. And sure -enough, as soon as the maid’s footsteps had died -away, I saw through my spy-hole Ruth Granger -go down the passage towards her husband’s study. -For a moment I hesitated; an outsider’s position -is always awkward between husband and wife. -But one thing was very certain, those two were -in no condition to have another—and this time a -private—interview. I opened my door noiselessly -and peered out. It struck me that if I -heard things getting too heated I should have to -intervene. She was just opening the door of -his study as I looked along the passage, and then -in a flash the whole thing seemed to happen. The -door shut behind her; there was a pause of one—perhaps -two seconds—and a revolver shot rang -out, followed by the sound of a heavy fall. For -a moment I was stunned; then I raced along the -passage as hard as I could, and flung open the -door of the study.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“On the floor lay Henry Granger, doubled up -and sprawling, while in the middle of the room -stood his wife staring at him speechlessly. At -her feet on the carpet was a revolver, an automatic -Colt. I stood there by the door staring -foolishly, and after a while she spoke.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘There’s been an accident,’ she whispered. -‘Is he dead?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I went up to the body and turned it over. -Through the shirt front was a small hole; underneath -the left shoulder blade was another. -Henry Granger had been shot through the heart -from point-blank range; death must have been -absolutely instantaneous.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘My God, Ruth!’ I muttered. ‘How did -it happen?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Happen?’ she answered vaguely. ‘There -was a man . . . the window.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And then she fainted. The butler, with a -couple of footmen, by this time had appeared at -the door, and I pulled myself together.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Her ladyship’s maid at once,’ I said. -‘Sir Henry has been shot. Ring up a doctor, -and ask him to come round immediately.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The butler rushed off, but I kept the two -footmen.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Wait a moment,’ I cried, picking up the -revolver. ‘A man did it. Pull back the two -curtains by the window, and I’ll cover him.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They did as I told them, pulled back the two -heavy black curtains that were in front of the -window. It was set back in a sort of alcove, and -I had the revolver ready pointed to cover the -murderer. I covered empty air; there was no -one there. Then I walked over to the window -and looked out. It was wide open, and there was -a sheer drop of forty feet to the deserted area -below. I looked upwards—I looked sideways: -plain brickwork without footing for a cat.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Go down to the room below,’ I cried; -‘he may have got in there.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They rushed away to come back and tell me -that not only were the windows bolted, but that -they were shuttered as well. And I thought they -looked at me curiously.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He paused to relight his cigar; then he -continued thoughtfully:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t quite know when I first began to feel -suspicious about this mysterious man. The -thing had been so sudden that for a while my -brain refused to work; then gradually my legal -training reasserted itself, and I started to piece -things together. Ruth had come-to again, and -I put one or two questions to her. She was still -very dazed, but she answered them quite -coherently:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A man in evening clothes—at least, she -thought he had on evening clothes—had been -in the room as she came in. She heard a shot; -the light went out and the window was thrown -up. And then she had turned on the light just -before I came in to see her husband lying dead on -the floor. She knew no more. I suppose I -must have looked a bit thoughtful, for she suddenly -got up from her chair and came up to me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You believe me, Bill, don’t you?’ she said, -staring at me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Of course, of course,’ I answered hurriedly. -‘Go and lie down now, Ruth, because we shall -have to send for the police.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Without another word she left the room -with her maid, and, after telling the footmen to -wait downstairs till they were wanted, I sat down -to think. Now, this isn’t a detective story; such -as it is, it concerns a more interesting study than -the mere detection of crime. It concerns the -struggle in the soul of an upright man between -love and duty. And the man was Sir Edward -Shoreham.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Unknown to me she sent for him—asked -him to come at once—and he came. He was -shown by the butler into the study, where I was -still sitting at the desk, and he stopped motionless -by the door staring at the body, which had -not been moved. I was waiting for the doctor, -and I got up surprised.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘The butler told me he had been shot,’ he -said a little jerkily. ‘How did it happen?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I wasn’t expecting you, Sir Edward,’ I -answered slowly. ‘But I’m glad that you’ve -come. I’d like another opinion.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘What do you mean?’ he cried. ‘Is there -any mystery?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I’ll tell you exactly what happened as far -as I know the facts,’ I said. ‘Lady Granger -and her husband had a very bad quarrel to-night. -Then she came to bed, and so did I. Shortly -afterwards her husband came along into this room. -Now, my bedroom is in the passage you have -just come along, and about ten minutes after -Sir Henry came in here, his wife followed him. -I opened my door, because I was afraid they -might start quarrelling again, and he had been -drinking. I saw her come in; there was a pause, -and then a revolver shot rang out.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Was this door shut?’ he snapped.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Yes,’ I answered, ‘it was. I rushed along -the passage and came in. I found her standing, -with the revolver at her feet, staring at her -husband, who was lying where he is now. She -said: ‘There’s been an accident.’ And then -she muttered something about a man and -the window before she fainted. I went to the -window, and there was no one there. I looked -out; will you do the same?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I waited while he walked over and looked -out, and after what seemed an interminable time -he came back again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘How long was it after the shot before you -looked out?’ His voice was very low as he asked -the question.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Not a quarter of a minute,’ I answered, and -we both stood staring at one another in silence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Good God!’ he said at length, ‘what are -you driving at?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I’m not driving at anything, Sir Edward,’ -I answered. ‘At least, I’m trying not to drive -at it. But the man is dead, and the police must -be sent for. What are we going to say?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘The truth, of course,’ he answered instantly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Quite,’ I said slowly. ‘But what is the -truth?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He turned very white, and leant against one -of the old suits of armour, of which the dead man -had a wonderful collection all over the house.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Did Lady Granger see this man go out of -the window?’ he asked at length.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘No, she only heard him open it. You see, -she says he switched off the light. It was on -when I rushed in.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘A rope,’ he suggested.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Impossible in the time,’ I said; ‘utterly -impossible. Such a suggestion would be laughed -out of court.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He came over and sat down heavily in a chair, -and his face was haggard.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Sir Edward,’ I went on desperately, ‘the -doctor will be here shortly; the police must be -sent for. We’ve got to decide something. This -man didn’t go out by the door or I’d have seen -him; only a fly could have gone out by the -window. We’ve got to face the facts.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You don’t believe there was a man here at -all,’ he said slowly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Heaven help me! I don’t,’ I answered. -‘It’s all so easy to reconstruct. The poor girl -was driven absolutely desperate by what happened -to-night, and by the last thing he said to -her after their quarrel.’ I looked at him for a -moment before going on. ‘He accused her of -being in love with you.’ I said it deliberately, -and he caught his breath sharply.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Can’t you see it all?’ I continued. ‘She -came in here, and she shot him; and when she’d -done it her nerves gave, and she said the first -thing to me that came into her head.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘If you’re right,’ he said heavily, ‘it means -that Ruth will be tried for murder!’ He got up -with his hands to his temples. ‘My God! -Stratton,’ he cried, ‘this is awful. Premeditated -murder, too—not done blindly in the middle of a -quarrel, but a quarter of an hour after it was over.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘That’s how it would strike a jury,’ I -answered gravely.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Supposing she had done it suddenly, -blindly’—he was talking half to himself—‘snatched -the revolver off the table as he tried to -make love to her, let’s say.’ And then he stopped -and stared at me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Supposing that had happened, it would be -better for her to say so at once,’ I said.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘But it didn’t happen,’ he answered; ‘it -couldn’t have.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘No,’ I agreed. ‘It didn’t happen; it -couldn’t have. But supposing it had, Sir Edward, -what then?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Stop, Stratton,’ he cried. ‘For Heaven’s -sake, stop!’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘There’s no good stopping,’ I said. ‘We -haven’t any time for argument. Your legal -knowledge has suggested the same solution as -occurred to me. If <span class='it'>now</span>, at once, when we send -for the police, she says it was an accident—gives -a complete story, chapter and verse——’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Invents it, you mean,’ he interrupted.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Call it what you like,’ I said, ‘but, unless -she does that and substantiates the story, she will -be tried for the premeditated and wilful murder -of her husband. She’ll have to be tried anyway, -but if she makes a voluntary confession—makes -a story out of it that will appeal to sentiment—they -will acquit her. It’s the only chance.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘But it’s monstrous, man,’ he muttered—only -now his eyes were fixed on me questioningly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Look here, Sir Edward,’ I said, ‘let’s -discuss this matter calmly. Humanly speaking, -we know what happened. Ruth came along that -passage, opened this door, and shot her husband -dead through the heart—that is the case as I -should put it to the jury, the plain issue shorn of -all its trappings. What is going to be the -verdict?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Shoreham plucked at his collar as if he were -fighting for breath.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘If, on the other hand, the shot was not -immediate—and I am the only witness as to that; -if I had heard his voice raised in anger; if he -had sprung at her, tried to kiss her, and she -blindly, without thought, had snatched up the -first thing that came to her hand, the revolver, -not even knowing it was loaded—what then? -The servants can be squared. She was talking -wildly when she mentioned this man—didn’t -know what she was saying. And then, when she -got back to her room she realised that the truth -was best, and rang you up, a Judge. What -better possible proof could any jury have of her -desire to conceal nothing? And you with your -reputation on the Bench——’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Ah, don’t, don’t!’ he cried hoarsely. -‘You’re driving me mad! You’re—you’re——!’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Why, Ned, what’s the matter?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We both swung round. Ruth had come -in, unnoticed by us, and was staring at Shoreham -with wonder in her eyes. Then, with a -shudder, she stepped past her husband’s body and -came into the room.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘They’ve just told me you were here,’ she -said, and then she gave a little cry. ‘Ned, why -are you looking like that? Ned! you don’t -think—you don’t think I did it?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She cowered back, looking first at him and -then at me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You <span class='it'>can’t</span> think I did it,’ she whispered. -‘I tell you there was a man here—the man who -shot him. Oh! they’ll believe me, won’t they?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Ruth,’ I said, ‘I want you to realise that -we’re both of us your friends.’ Which is the sort -of fatuous remark one does make when the -tension is a bit acute. She never even glanced -at me as I spoke; with a sort of sick horror in her -eyes, she was staring at Shoreham, and I -blundered on: ‘When you talked about this man -you were unnerved—distraught; you didn’t -know what you were saying. We both realise -that. But now we’ve got to think of the best -way of—of helping you. You see, the police -must be sent for—we ought to have sent for them -sooner—and——’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She walked past me and went over to -Shoreham.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Do you believe I did it, Ned?’ she said -quietly. ‘If I swear to you that I didn’t—would -that convince you?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘But, Ruth,’ he cried desperately, ‘it isn’t -me you’ve got to convince—it’s the police. A -man couldn’t have got out of that window in the -time. It’s a physical impossibility. If you -told it to the police, they’d laugh. Tell us the -truth, my dear. I beseech you. Tell us the -truth, and we’ll see what can be done.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She stood very still, with her hands clenched -by her sides. And then quite deliberately she -spoke to Shoreham.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘If you don’t believe there was a man here,’ -she said, ‘you <span class='it'>must</span> think I shot my husband. -There was no one else who could have done it. -Well—supposing I did. You acknowledge no -justification for such an act?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I started to speak, but she silenced me with -an imperative wave of her hand.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Please, Bill——Well, Ned—I’m waiting. -If I did shoot him—what then?’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Barrister paused to relight his cigar, and -the others waited in silence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She was staring at Shoreham,” he went on -after a while, “with a faint, half-mocking, wholly -tender smile on her lips, and if either he or I -had been less dense that smile should have made -us think. But at the moment I was absorbed -in the problem of how to save her; while she was -absorbed in a very different one concerning the -mentality of the man she cared for. And Shoreham—well, -he was absorbed in the old, old fight -between love and duty, and the fierceness of the -struggle was showing on his face.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There in front of him stood the woman he -loved, the woman who had just shot her husband, -and the woman who was now free for him to -marry. He knew as well as I did that in adopting -the line I had suggested lay the best chance of -getting her acquitted. He knew as well as I did -that the vast majority of juries would acquit if -the story were put to them as we had outlined it. -He could visualise as well as I the scene in court. -Counsel for the defence—I’d already fixed on -Grayson in my mind as her counsel—outlining the -whole scene: her late husband’s abominable -conduct culminating in this final outrage at her -reception. And then as he came to the moment -of the tragedy, I could picture him turning to the -jury with passionate sincerity in his face—appealing -to them as men—happily married, -perhaps, but men, at any rate, to whom home -life was sacred.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I could hear his voice—low and earnest—as -he sketched for them that last scene. This poor, -slighted, tormented woman—girl, gentlemen, for -she is little more than a girl—went in desperation -to the man—well, he is dead now, and we will -leave it at that—to the man who had made her -life a veritable hell. She pleaded with him, -gentlemen, to allow her to divorce him—pleaded -for some remnant of decent feelings in him. And -what was his answer—what was the answer of -this devil who was her husband? Did he -meet her half-way? Did he profess the slightest -sorrow for his despicable conduct?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, gentlemen—not one word. His sole -response was to spring at her in his drunken -frenzy and endeavour to fix his vile attentions on -her. And she, mad with terror and fright, -snatched up the revolver which was lying on the -desk. It might have been a ruler—anything; -she was not responsible at the moment for what -she did. Do you blame her, gentlemen? You -have daughters of your own. She no more knew -what she had in her hand than a baby would. -To keep him away—that was her sole idea. And -then—suddenly—it happened. The revolver -went off—the man fell dead.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What did this girl do, gentlemen, after that? -Realising that he was dead, did she make any -attempt to conceal what she had done—to -conceal her share in the matter? No—exactly -the reverse. Instantly she rang up Sir Edward -Shoreham, whose views on such matters are well -known to you all. And then and there she told -him everything—concealing nothing, excusing -nothing. Sir Edward Shoreham of all people, -who, with due deference to such a distinguished -public man, has at times been regarded as—well—er—not -lenient in his judgments. And -you have heard what Sir Edward said in the -box. . . .”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Once again the Barrister paused and smiled -faintly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’d got as far as that, you see, before -Shoreham answered her. And he had got as far -as that, too, I think. He saw it all, built on a -foundation of lies—built on the foundation of his -dishonour. No one would ever know except us -three—but that doesn’t make a thing easier for -the Edward Shorehams of the world.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And then he spoke—in a low, tense voice:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘If you shot him, dear,’ he said, ‘nothing -matters save getting you off.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Some people,” pursued the Barrister, “might -call it a victory—some people would call it a defeat. -Depends on one’s outlook; depends on -how much one really believes in the ‘Could not -love you half so much, loved I not honour more’ -idea. But certainly the murderer himself was -very pleased.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The murderer?” cried the Ordinary Man -sitting up suddenly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The murderer,” returned the Barrister. -“That’s why I mentioned about my cigarette-case -this morning. He had been standing behind -the suit of armour in the corner the whole time. -He came out suddenly, and we all stared at him -speechlessly, and then he started coughing—a -dreadful tearing cough—which stained his handkerchief -scarlet.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I must apologise,’ he said when he could -speak, ‘but there was another thing besides -shooting Granger that I wanted to do before I -died. That was why I didn’t want to be caught -to-night. However, a man must cough when he’s -got my complaint. But I’m glad I restrained -myself long enough to hear your decision, Sir -Edward. I congratulate you on it.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You scoundrel!’ began Shoreham, starting -forward, ‘why didn’t you declare yourself -sooner?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Because there’s another thing I wanted -to do,’ he repeated wearily. ‘In Paris, in the -Rue St. Claire, there lives a woman. She was -beautiful once—to me she is beautiful now. She -was <span class='it'>my</span> woman until——’ And his eyes sought -the dead body of Henry Granger.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ruth took a deep breath. ‘Yes—until?’ -she whispered.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Until he came,’ said the man gravely. -‘And God will decide between him and me. But -I would have liked to look on her once more, and -hold her hand, and tell her, yet again, that I -understood—absolutely.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was then Ruth Granger crossed to him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘What is her name and the number of the -house?’ she said.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Sybil Deering is her name,’ he answered -slowly, ‘and the number is fourteen.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Will you leave it to me?’ she asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“For a moment he stared at her in silence, then -he bowed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘From the bottom of my heart I thank you, -Lady Granger, and I hope you will have all the -happiness you deserve.’ He glanced at Shoreham -and smiled. ‘When a man loves everything -else goes to the wall, doesn’t it? Remember -that in the future, Sir Edward, when they’re -standing before you, wondering, trying to read -their fate. Someone loves them, just as you -love her.’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Barrister rose and drained his glass.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And that is the conclusion of your suffering,” -he remarked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Was the man hanged?” asked the Soldier.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, he died a week later of galloping -consumption.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And what of the other two?” demanded -the Actor.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They married, and are living happily together -to-day, doing fruit farming as a hobby.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Fruit farming!” echoed the Doctor. “Why -fruit farming?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Something to do,” said the Barrister. “You -see, Sir Edward has never tried another case. -Some men are made that way.”</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<hr class='tbk108'/> - -<table id='tab5' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 5em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 31em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab5c1 tdStyle3'><a id='ch3'></a><span class='it'>III</span></td><td class='tab5c2 tdStyle6'><span class='it'>The Doctor’s Story, being Sentence of Death</span></td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class='tbk109'/> - -<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>“Sooner</span> or later,” began the Doctor, settling -himself comfortably in his chair, “it comes to -most of us. Sooner or later a man or a woman -comes to consult us on what they imagine to be -some trifling malady, and when we make our -examination we find that it isn’t trifling. And -occasionally we find that not only is the matter -not trifling, but that—well, you all have seen -Collier’s picture, ‘The Sentence of Death.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s a thing, incidentally, which requires -careful thought—just how much you will tell. -Different people take things different ways, and -where it might be your duty to tell one man the -half-truth, to another it might be just as much -your duty to lie. But broadly speaking, I, -personally, have always maintained that, unless -the circumstances are quite exceptional, it is a -doctor’s duty to tell a patient the truth, however -unpleasant it may be. What would a man say -if his lawyer or his stockbroker lied to him?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Which brings me to the opening of my story. -It was in the May before the War that a man came -into my consulting-room—a man whom I will -call Jack Digby. I motioned him to a chair on -the other side of my desk, so placed that the light -from the window fell on his face. I put him down -as a man of about three-and-thirty who was used -to an outdoor life. His face was bronzed, his -hands were sunburnt, and the whole way he -carried himself—the set of his shoulders, the -swing of his arms as he walked across the room—indicated -the athlete in good condition. In fact, -he was an unusual type to find in a Harley Street -consulting-room, and I told him so by way of -opening the conversation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He grinned, a very pleasant, cheery grin, -and put his hat on the floor.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Just a matter of form, Doctor,’ he said, -leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. -‘I’m thinking of entering for the matrimonial -stakes, and before saddling-up I thought I’d just -get you to certify me sound in wind and limb.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now he spoke very easily and naturally, but -something—I don’t quite know what—made me -look at him a little more closely. The study of -human nature is a vital necessity if the study of -human ailments is to be successful—and one gets -plenty of opportunity for it if one is a consulting -physician. And I suddenly wondered if it was -‘just a matter of form’ in his mind. The -ordinary young, healthy man doesn’t usually -take the trouble to be overhauled by a doctor -merely because he is going to be married.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“However, at that stage of the proceedings -my thoughts were my own, and I answered him -in the same vein. And while he was taking off -his coat and shirt we talked casually on various -topics. Then I started my examination. And -within half a minute I knew that something was -very, very wrong.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I would like you to take off your vest, -please, Mr. Digby,’ I said, and for a moment he -stared at me in silence. I was watching him -quietly, and it was then I knew that my first -surmise was correct. In his eyes there was a -look of dreadful fear.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He stripped his vest off, and I continued my -examination. And after I’d finished I walked -over to my desk.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You can put on your clothes again,’ I said -gravely, to swing round as I felt his hand like a -vice on my shoulder.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘What is it?’ he muttered. ‘Tell me.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘It was not altogether a matter of form with -you, was it, Mr. Digby?’ I answered. ‘Put on -your clothes; I want to ask you a few questions.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Hang it, man!’ he cried. ‘I can’t wait. -What have you found?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I would like to have another opinion before -telling you.’ I was fencing for time, but he was -insistent.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You can have another opinion—you can -have fifty other opinions,’ he cried, still gripping -me by the shoulder—‘but I want to know what -you think <span class='it'>now</span>. Can I marry?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You cannot,’ I said gravely, and his hand -fell to his side. Then he slowly walked across the -room and stood with his back to me, staring out -of the window. Once his shoulders shook a little, -but except for that he stood quite motionless. -And after a while he picked up his clothes and -started to dress.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I said nothing until he had finished; with -a man of his type talking is a mistake. It was -not until he again sat down in the chair opposite -me that I broke the silence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You asked me a specific question, Mr. -Digby,’ I said quietly, ‘and I answered as a man -of your type would like to be answered. But I -now want to modify my reply slightly. And -I will put it this way. If I had a daughter, -I would not allow a man whose heart was in the -condition that yours is to marry her. It would -not be fair to her; it would certainly not be fair -to any possible children.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He nodded gravely, though he didn’t speak.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You feared something of this sort when you -came to me?’ I asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘My mother died of it,’ he answered quietly. -‘And once or twice lately, after exercise, I’ve -had an agonising twinge of pain.’ And then, -under his breath, he added: ‘Thank God, she -doesn’t know!’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘But I would like another opinion,’ I continued. -‘There are men, as you know, who are -entirely heart specialists, and I will give you the -address of one.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Confirmation of the death sentence,’ he -laughed grimly. ‘No saddling-up for me—eh, -Doctor?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Not as you are at present, Mr. Digby.’ I -was writing the address of the biggest heart man -on a piece of paper, though I felt it was useless. -It didn’t require an expert to diagnose this -trouble.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Is there any chance of getting better?’ he -cried eagerly, and I stopped writing and looked at -him. There was hope—a dawning hope in his -eyes—and for a moment I hesitated.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My own opinion was that there was no -chance: that he might, with care and luck, live -for two or three years—perhaps more—but that -he might equally well drop dead at any moment. -It was enough—that momentary hesitation; -the eager look in his eyes faded, and he sat back -wearily in his chair.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Don’t bother,’ he said slowly; ‘I see how -it is.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘No, you don’t, Mr. Digby,’ I answered. -‘You see how I think it is. Which is an altogether -different matter. There is always a -chance.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘That’s juggling with words,’ he said, with -a twisted little smile. ‘The great point is that -I’m not in a position to ask this girl to marry -me.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He glanced at the slip of paper I handed -to him, then he rose.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I would like you to go and see him,’ I said -quietly. ‘You see I feel the gravity of what -I’ve had to tell you this morning very much, and -in fairness to myself as well as to you, my dear -fellow, I’d like you to go to Sir John.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“For a few seconds he stood there facing me, -then he grinned as he had done at the beginning -of the interview.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘All right, Doctor,’ he cried. ‘I’ll go, and -Sir John shall drive the nail right in.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I’m sorry,’ I said—‘infernally sorry. -You’ve taken it, if I may say so, like a very -brave man.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He turned away abruptly. ‘What the deuce -is the good of whining?’ he cried. ‘If it’s the -same as in my mother’s case, the end will be very -abrupt.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The next moment he was gone—a man under -sentence of death. And the pitiful tragedy of it -hit one like a blow. He was so essentially the -type of man who should have married some -charming girl and have children. He was just a -first-class specimen of the sporting Englishman, -but——” The Doctor paused and looked at the -Soldier. “The type that makes a first-class -squadron-leader,” and the Soldier nodded.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was in the afternoon,” continued the -Doctor after a while, “that Sir John Longworth -rang me up. Digby had been to him, and the -result was as I expected. Two years, or possibly -two days, and as for marriage, out of the -question entirely. He had merely confirmed my -own diagnosis of the case, and there for a time -the matter rested. In the stress of work Jack -Digby passed from my mind, until Fate decreed -that we should meet again in what were to prove -most dramatic circumstances.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was two months later—about the beginning -of July—that I decided to take a short -holiday. I couldn’t really spare the time, but I -knew that I ought to take one. So I ran down for -a long week-end to stop with some people I knew -fairly well in Dorsetshire. They had just taken -a big house a few miles from Weymouth, and I -will call them the Maitlands. There were Mr. -and Mrs. Maitland, and a son, Tom, up at the -’Varsity, and a daughter, Sybil. When I arrived -I found they had a bit of a house-party, perhaps -a dozen in all, and after tea the girl, whom I’d -met once or twice before, took me round the -place.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She was a charming girl, very, very pretty, -of about twenty-two or three, and we chattered -on aimlessly as we strolled through the gardens.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You’re quite a big party,’ I laughed, -‘and I thought I was coming for a quiet week-end.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘We’ve got two or three more arriving to-night,’ -she said. ‘At least I think so. One of -them is a most elusive person.’ She was staring -straight in front of her as she spoke, and for the -moment she seemed to have forgotten my -existence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Male or female—the elusive one?’ I asked -lightly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘A man,’ she answered abruptly, and -changed the conversation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But being an old and wary bird, I read -into her harmless remark a somewhat deeper -significance than was perhaps justified, and it -struck me very forcibly that if I were the man -I would not be elusive in the circumstances. She -surely was most amazingly pretty.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“With great deductive ability,” murmured the -Actor, as the Doctor paused to refill his pipe, “we -place the elusive man as Jack Digby.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You go to blazes!” laughed the teller of the -story. “I haven’t got to that yet. Of course -you’re quite right—he was; though when I found -it out a little later it came as a complete surprise -to me. I’d almost forgotten his existence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was her father who first mentioned his -name. I was having a sherry and bitters with -him in his study before going up to dress for -dinner, and the conversation turned on the girl. -I think I said how extraordinarily pretty I -thought she was, and remarked that I supposed -somebody would soon be walking off with her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Joe Maitland’s face clouded a little.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘As a matter of fact,’ he said, ‘both her -mother and I have been expecting it for some -time. A most charming man, and Sybil is in -love with him, I’m sure. We all thought that -he was in love with her,’ and then he exploded—‘damn -it, it isn’t a question of thinking, I <span class='it'>know</span> -he’s in love with her! And for some extraordinary -reason he won’t tell her so. He’s kept away -from her for the last two months, after having -lived in her pocket. And he’s not the type that -monkeys round and makes a girl fond of him for -no reason. He’s coming here to-night, and——’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My host, still frowning slightly, lit a cigarette. -So evidently this was the elusive man, I thought, -putting down my glass. It was no business of -mine, and then suddenly I stood very still as I -heard him speak again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Jack Digby is as white as they’re made,’ -he was saying, but I didn’t hear any more. -Luckily my back was towards him, so he couldn’t -see my face. Jack Digby! Poor devil! With -Sybil Maitland, the girl, in his mind, the blow I’d -given him must have been even crueller than I’d -thought. And what a strange coincidence that -I should be going to meet him again in such -circumstances. Maitland was still rambling on, -but I was paying no attention to him. I could, -of course, say nothing unless Digby gave me -permission; but it struck me that if I told him -how the land lay—if I told him that not only -was his silence being completely misconstrued, -but that it was making the girl unhappy, he might -allow me to tell her father the truth. After all, -the truth was far better; there was nothing to be -ashamed of in having a rotten heart.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And it was just as I had made up my mind -to see Digby that night that the door opened and -Tom, the boy, came in. I hadn’t seen him since -he was quite a child, and the first thing that -struck me about him was that he was almost as -good-looking as his sister. He’d got the same -eyes, the same colouring, but—there was the -devil of a but. Whereas his sister gave one the -impression of being utterly frank and fearless, -the boy struck me immediately as being the very -reverse. That he was the apple of his mother’s -eye, I knew—but that signifies nothing. Thank -God! mothers are made that way. And as I -stood watching him talking to his father I recalled -certain vague rumours that I’d heard recently and -had paid scant attention to at the time. Rumours -of wild extravagance up at Oxford—debts well -into the four figures. . . . They came back to my -mind, those idle bits of gossip, and they assumed -a definite significance as I studied the boy’s face. -It was weak—utterly weak; he gave one the -impression of having no mental or moral stamina -whatever. He poured himself out a glass of -sherry, and his hand wasn’t quite steady, which -is a bad sign in a boy of under twenty-one. And -he was a little frightened of his father, which is -bad in a boy of any age when the father is a man -like Joe Maitland. And that wasn’t all, either. -There was something more—something much -bigger on his mind: I was sure of it. There was -fear in his heart; you could see it lurking round -his eyes—round his mouth. I glanced at Joe, -but he seemed quite oblivious of it, and then I -left them and went up to dress for dinner. I -remember wondering as I turned into my room -whether the boy had got into another scrape—then -I dismissed him from my mind. Jack Digby -was a more interesting and more pressing -problem.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I met him in the hall as I came down, and he -gave a sudden start of astonishment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Why, Doctor,’ he said quietly as we shook -hands, ‘this is a surprise. I’d no idea you were -to be here.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Nor I that you were coming,’ I answered, -‘until Mr. Maitland happened to mention it a -little while ago.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You haven’t said anything to him, have -you?’ he cried anxiously.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘My dear fellow,’ I said, ‘you ought to know -that doctors don’t.’ He muttered an apology, -and I went on: ‘You know, Digby, I can’t help -thinking you’re making a mistake in not telling -the truth.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He shook his head vigorously. ‘I’m sure -I’m not,’ he answered. ‘The mistake I’ve made -has been in coming here at all. I haven’t seen -her since the day—when you told me. And I -oughtn’t to have come now. It’s the last—I -swear that. I couldn’t help it; I had to see her -once again. I’m going to Africa in August—big -game shooting.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I stared at him gravely, and after a while he -went on:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘No one knows better than you,’ he said -gravely, ‘my chance of returning. And when I -don’t come back—she’ll forget me.’ I saw his -hands clench at his side. ‘But if I tell her now—why, -she’ll want me to stop in England—to go -to specialists—to eke out life to the full two or -three years. It’ll be hell—hell! Hell for both of -us. Every day she’ll be wondering if she is going -to hear I’m dead; it’ll ruin her life. Whereas -Africa, if she doesn’t know about my heart, -will be sudden. You see, Doctor, she is the only -one to be considered—the only one.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I drew a deep breath; truly Joe Maitland -had been right. This man was white clean -through. And then he gave a little choking gasp, -and, turning round, I saw the girl coming towards -us across the hall.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I didn’t know you’d come, old man,’ I -heard her say, and then I moved away and left -them. It was one of those occasions when you -say it’s the smoke that has got into your eyes—and -you lie.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For a while the Doctor was silent; then he -gave a short laugh.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They sat next to one another at dinner, -opposite me, and I’m afraid my partner must -have thought I was a little wanting in intellect. -They were such a perfectly ideal couple; and -I noticed old Joe Maitland watching them every -now and then. But gradually, as the meal -progressed, a puzzled look began to creep into -the girl’s eyes, and once she bit her lip suddenly -and turned abruptly to the man on her other side. -It was then that Digby looked across the table -at me, and in that moment I realised that he was -right. For him to remain in England would be -impossible for both of them; the end, quick -and sudden in an African jungle—if he ever got -as far—was the only way out.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘My God! Doctor,’ he said as he came -round and sat down next to me after the -ladies had gone, ‘I knew I was a fool to come, -but I didn’t think it was going to be as bad -as this.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘When are you going to start?’ I asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘As soon as I can get things fixed up at home, -here, and make some sort of arrangements for -carriers and people the other end. One must act, -I suppose, even though it’s the last appearance.’ -He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘I’ve always wanted -to go South from Khartoum—I wonder how far -I’ll get.’ Then he began to drum on the table -with his fingers. ‘And what I wonder still more,’ -he went on slowly, ‘is how in Heaven’s name I’ll -get through this evening. You see, though I didn’t -actually propose in so many words before I came to -see you, I’d—I’d let things drift to such a position -that a proposal was hardly necessary. That’s -the devil of it. . . . She knows I worship the -ground she walks on—and I know she cares too.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘How long are you going to stop here?’ -I asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I accepted for the week-end,’ he said -abruptly. ‘I shall go first thing to-morrow. I -can’t stand it.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“At that we left it, and I didn’t speak to him -again until the thing occurred which even now—though -seven years have slipped by—is as clearly -imprinted on my brain as if it had happened -last night.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I couldn’t sleep very well that night, and at -about two I switched on my light, with the idea of -reading. I was just reaching out for a book when -I heard the sound of voices from a room almost -opposite. I listened for a moment, then I got -up and went to the door. For the voices were -excited and angry; something unusual was -evidently happening. For a moment or two I -hesitated; then I slipped on a dressing-gown and -looked out. Across the passage the door of a -room was open, and through it the light was -streaming out. And then I heard Joe Maitland -speak, and his words literally rooted me to the -ground with amazement.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘So, Mr. Digby, you’re just a common -damned thief. The gentleman crook—what? -The amateur cracksman. That’s what they call -them on the stage, I believe. Sounds better. -But I prefer the more homely name of thief.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was then that I appeared in the door, and -Maitland swung round.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Oh, it’s you, is it, Tranton?’ He had a -revolver in his hand, and he lowered it when he -saw who it was. ‘A pretty tableau, isn’t it? -It appears that a second edition of—what was the -gentleman’s name—Raffles, wasn’t it?—has been -honouring me with his presence. Unfortunately, -Tom and I both happened to hear him.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But I was paying no attention to what he -was saying; my eyes were fixed on Digby and—Tom. -Digby, with a quiet smile on his face and -his hands in his pockets, was standing beside an -open safe. He was still in evening clothes, and -once he glanced my way. Then he looked back -again at his host, and I looked at Tom. He was -in his dressing-gown, and he was shivering as if he -had the ague. He was standing close to his -father, and a little behind him—and Joe Maitland -was too engrossed with Digby to notice the condition -he was in.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Can you advance any reason, Mr. Digby,’ -he demanded, ‘why I shouldn’t call up the local -police?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘None whatever, Mr. Maitland,’ he answered -gravely. ‘Your son caught me fair and square.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And it seemed to me that Tom made an effort -to speak, though no words came from his lips.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You damned scoundrel!’ cried Maitland. -‘You come to my house—you make love to my -daughter—and then you abuse my hospitality by -trying to steal my wife’s jewellery!’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was at that moment that the girl came in. -I saw Digby catch his breath and lean against -the wall for support; then he straightened up -and faced his host again. Just once had he -glanced at her, with her glorious hair falling over -her shoulders and a startled look of wonder in her -great eyes. Then resolutely he looked away.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘What’s happened, Daddy?’ she whispered. -‘I heard your voice and——’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘This has happened, my dear,’ said Maitland -grimly. ‘We have been privileged to discover -Mr. Digby’s method of earning a livelihood.’ He -pointed to the open safe. ‘He apparently -ingratiates himself with people for the express -purpose of stealing their valuables. In other -words, a common thief.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I don’t believe it!’ she flashed out, -imperiously. ‘Jack—a thief! How can you -say such a thing?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Then may I ask what he was doing when -your brother discovered him by the open safe? -Besides, he admits it himself.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Jack!’ The cry seemed to come from the -very depths of her soul. ‘Say it’s a lie!’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“For one second he hesitated; then he spoke -quite steadily, though he didn’t look at her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I am afraid, Miss Maitland—that I can’t -say it’s untrue.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And then there fell one of those silences that -can be felt. She was staring at Jack Digby, was -the girl—staring at him with a great amazement -dawning on her face.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Jack,’ she whispered, ‘look at me!’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He raised his eyes and looked at her, and a -little pulse was beating just above his jaw. Then, -after what seemed an interminable time, she gave -a little laugh that was half a sob and turned away.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I see,’ she said below her breath. ‘I see.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But what it was she saw, I didn’t at the -moment realise. It was to be made clear a little -later.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Doctor paused and threw a log on the fire.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, I found out later what she thought,” -he went on after a while, “and for the first and -probably the last time in my life I was guilty of a -breach of professional confidence. It was about -half an hour later that I went round to Jack -Digby’s room. Maitland, after thinking it over—and -it is possible that I had something to do with -his decision—had dismissed the idea of sending -for the police. Digby was to clear out by the -first train next morning, and was never to make -an attempt to communicate with the girl again. -And Jack Digby had bowed in silence and gone -to his own room. He wouldn’t look at me as he -passed; I think he knew that he hadn’t deceived -me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He was sitting by the open window when I -went in, still in his evening clothes, and he looked -round with a start as I entered. His face was -drawn and grey.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘My dear chap,’ I said, before he could speak, -‘is it worth while?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I don’t understand what you mean, Doctor,’ -he said slowly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Oh, yes, you do!’ I answered. ‘You -deceived Mr. Maitland all right—you didn’t -deceive me. It was Tom who opened the safe—not -you.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“For a moment I thought he was going to -deny it; then he gave a little mirthless laugh.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Perfectly correct,’ he said. ‘As you say, -it was Tom who opened the safe. I caught him -absolutely in the act. And then Mr. Maitland -came.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘But—good God!’ I cried, ‘what an unutterable -young waster he must be to let you -shoulder the blame!’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Digby faced me steadily. ‘I made him. -You see, I saw it was the chance I had been -looking for.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You mean you told him about your heart?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘No,’ he answered quietly. ‘But I told him -I was entangled with another woman, and that -the best way of saving his sister’s feelings was to -let her think——’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And then the boy broke down utterly. With -his hands on my shoulders he stood there facing -me, and he made me swear I wouldn’t tell the -girl.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘She must never know, Doctor. I’ve done -it for her. She must never know.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And even as he spoke, the words died away -on his lips, and he stood motionless, staring past -me at the door. Without looking round I knew -what had happened—I could smell the faint scent -she used.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘What have you done for me, Jack, and why -must I never know?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She came steadily up to him, and his hands -fell to his side.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Why, you’ve been crying, dear,’ she said. -‘What’s the matter?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“True to his purpose, he started some fantastic -story about sorrow at having been found out, but -she cut him short.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Don’t lie, Jack—not now,’ she whispered. -‘I know it wasn’t you who opened the safe. I -know it was Tom. But what I want to know is -why you said you did it.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was then I made up my mind.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I’m going to tell her, Digby, whether you -like it or not,’ and she looked at me quickly. He -didn’t say anything; things had got beyond him. -And very briefly I told her the truth about his -heart.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She listened to me in absolute silence, and -when I’d finished she just turned round to him -and held out both her arms.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Thank God! I know, my darling,’ she -whispered. ‘I thought it was because you’d got -fond of another woman. I thought—oh! -Heaven knows what I thought! But now—oh! -you stupid, wonderful boy!’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I went to the window and looked out! It -must have been five minutes later that I found -the girl at my side.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Is it absolutely hopeless?’ she asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Humanly speaking,’ I answered, ‘yes.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘How long?’ and she put her hand on my -arm.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Two days; two months; at the utmost, -two years,’ I said gravely.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘And why shouldn’t I look after him for those -two years?’ she demanded fiercely.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I’m thinking of a possible child,’ I said -quietly, and she began to tremble a little.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘That’s ridiculous,’ she cried—‘quite ridiculous.’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Doctor was carefully cleaning out the bowl -of his pipe. “In the morning Jack Digby had -gone, leaving behind him a note for her. She -showed it to me later.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘The Doctor is right, my darling,’ it ran. -‘It’s just Fate, and there’s not much use kicking. -I’m glad though that you know the truth—it -helps. Good-bye, dear heart. God bless you.’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Doctor paused.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is that all?” said the Ordinary Man.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Very nearly,” answered the Doctor. “I had -been right when I said two months, only the cause -of death was not what I expected. How he got -across the water so soon I don’t know. But he -did—in a cavalry regiment. And he stopped one—somewhere -up Ypres way.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And the girl?” asked the Soldier.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Has not got over it yet,” said the Doctor.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And did she ever hear from him again?” -demanded the Barrister.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Once, from France. Written just before—the -end. She didn’t show me <span class='it'>that</span> one. Pass the -whisky, Actor-man. Talking makes one’s throat -infernally dry.”</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<hr class='tbk110'/> - -<table id='tab6' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 5em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 31em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab6c1 tdStyle3'><a id='ch4'></a><span class='it'>IV</span></td><td class='tab6c2 tdStyle6'><span class='it'>The Ordinary Man’s Story, being The Pipes of Death</span></td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class='tbk111'/> - -<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>“Any</span> of you know Burma?” asked the -Ordinary Man, putting out his hand for the -tobacco-jar.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ve been there,” grunted the Soldier. -“Shooting. Years ago. West of the Irawadi -from Rangoon.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s years since I was there, too,” said the -Ordinary Man. “More than a score. And if I -wasn’t so beastly fat and lazy I’d like to go back -for a visit. Only a visit, mind you. I’ve got to -the time of life when I find that London is quite -good enough for my needs. But the story which -I propose to inflict on you fellows to-night concerns -Burma, and delving into the past to get the -details right has brought the fascination of the -place back to me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I was about thirty-five at the time—and my -benevolent Aunt Jane had not then expired and -endowed me with all her worldly goods. I was -working for a City firm who had considerable -interests out there—chiefly teak, with a strong -side-line in rubies.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“At that time, as you may know, the ruby -mines in the Mandalay area were second to none, -and it was principally to give my employers -a report on the many clashing interests in those -mines that I went back to England after a few -months in the country. And it was in their -office that I met a youngster, who had just joined -the firm, and who, it turned out, was going out to -Burma on the same boat as myself. Jack -Manderby was his name, and I suppose he must -have been ten or eleven years younger than I. -He was coming to my district, and somewhat -naturally I was a bit curious to see what sort of a -fellow he was.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I took to him from the very first moment, -and after we’d lunched together a couple of times -my first impression was strengthened. He was a -real good fellow—extraordinarily good-looking -and straight as a die, without being in the least -degree a prig.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We ran into a good south-westerly gale the -instant we were clear of the Isle of Wight, which -necessitated a period of seclusion on my part. -In fact, my next appearance in public was at -Gibraltar.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And the first person I saw as I came on deck -was Jack Manderby. He was leaning over the -side bargaining with some infernal robber below, -and at his side was a girl. In the intervals of -haggling he turned to her, and they both laughed; -and as I stood for a few minutes watching them, -it struck me that Master Jack had made good use -of the four days since we left England. Then I -strolled over and joined them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Hullo, old man!’ he cried, with a twinkle -in his eyes. ‘Is the rumour correct that you’ve -been engaged in research work below, and had -given orders not to be disturbed?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Your vulgar jests leave me unmoved,’ I -answered with dignity. ‘At any rate, I appear -to have arrived in time to save you being robbed. -That man is a thief and the son of a thief, and all -his children are thieves.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Jack laughed; then he swung round to the -girl.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘By the way, you haven’t met Mr. Walton, -have you? This is Miss Felsted, old boy, who -is going out to Rangoon.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We shook hands, and no more was said -at the time. But one thing was definitely certain. -Whatever the girl was going to Rangoon for, the -gain was Rangoon’s. She was an absolute -fizzer—looked you straight in the face with the -bluest of eyes that seemed to have a permanent -smile lurking in them. And then, suddenly, I -noticed her left hand. On the third finger was a -diamond ring. It couldn’t be Jack she was -engaged to, and I wondered idly who the lucky -man was. Because he was lucky—infernally -lucky.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I think,” continued the Ordinary Man, -pulling thoughtfully at his pipe, “that I first -began to scent complications at Malta. We -landed there for a few hours, and the idea was -that Miss Felsted, Jack, and I should explore -Valetta. Now, I don’t quite know how, but we -got separated. I spent a pleasant two hours with -a naval pal in the Union Club, while Jack and -the girl apparently went up by the narrow-gauge -railway to Citta Vecchia, in the centre of the -island. And since no one in the full possession -of their senses would go on that line for fun, -I wondered. I wondered still more when they -came back to the ship. Jack was far too open -and above-board to be very skilful at hiding his -feelings. And something had happened that -day.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Of course, it was no concern of mine. Jack’s -affairs were entirely his own; so were the girl’s. -But a ship is a dangerous place sometimes—it -affords unequalled and unending opportunities -for what in those days were known as flirtations, -and to-day, I believe, are known as ‘pashes.’ And -to get monkeying round with another fellow’s -fiancée—well, it leads to complications generally. -However, as I said, it was no concern of mine, -until it suddenly became so the evening before we -reached Port Said.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I was talking to Jack on deck just before -turning in. We were strolling up and down—the -sea like a mill-pond, and almost dazzling with -its phosphorescence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Is Miss Felsted going out to get married?’ -I asked him casually.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Yes,’ he answered abruptly. ‘She’s engaged -to a man called Morrison.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Morrison,’ I repeated, stopping and staring -at him. ‘Not Rupert Morrison, by any chance?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Yes. Rupert is his name. Do you know -him?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’d pulled myself together by this time, and -we resumed our stroll.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I know Rupert Morrison quite well,’ I -answered. ‘As distance goes in that country, -Jack, he’s a near neighbour of ours’; and I -heard him catch his breath a little quickly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘What sort of a fellow is he?’ asked Jack -quietly, and then he went on, which saved me the -trouble of a reply: ‘She hasn’t seen him for four -years. They got engaged before he left England, -and now she’s going out to marry him.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I see,’ I murmured non-committally, and -shortly afterwards I made my excuse and left him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I didn’t turn in at once when I got to my -cabin, I wanted to try and get things sorted out -in my mind. The first point, which was as -obvious as the electric light over the bunk, was -that if Jack Manderby was not in love with Molly -Felsted he was as near to it as made no odds. -The second and far more important point was -one on which I was in the dark—was the girl in -love with him? If so, it simplified matters considerably; -but if not, if she was only playing -the fool, there was going to be trouble when we -got to Burma. And the trouble would take the -form of Rupert Morrison. For the more I -thought of it the more amazed did I become that -such a girl could ever have become engaged to -such a man.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Of course, four years is a long time, especially -when they are passed in comparative solitude. -I had no idea what sort of fellow Morrison had -been when first he arrived in the country, but I -had a very shrewd idea what manner of man he -was now. Perhaps it had been the loneliness—loneliness -takes some men worse than others—but, -whatever the cause, Morrison, after four -years in Burma, was no fit mate for such a girl -as Molly Felsted. A brooding, sullen man, -given to fierce fits of almost animal rage, a heavy -drinker of the type who is never drunk, and——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Ordinary Man paused and shrugged his -shoulders.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, it’s unfair to mention the last point. -After all, most of us did that without thinking; -but the actual arrival of an English girl—a wife—who -was to step, blindly ignorant, into her -predecessor’s shoes, so to speak, made one pause -to think. Anyway, that was neither here nor -there. What frightened me was the prospect of -the girl marrying the Morrison of her imagination -and discovering, too late, the Morrison of reality. -When that happened, with Jack Manderby not -five miles away, the fat was going to be in the fire -with a vengeance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was after Colombo that matters came to a -head. We left the P. & O. there, and got into -another boat going direct to Rangoon. The -weather was glorious—hot as blazes by day, and -just right at night. And it was after dinner one -evening a couple of days before we were due in, -that quite inadvertently I butted into the pair of -them in a secluded spot on deck. His arms were -round her, and they both sounded a bit incoherent. -Of course, there was no use pretending -I hadn’t seen—they both looked up at me. I -could only mutter my apology and withdraw. -But I determined, even at the risk of being told -to go to hell, to have a word with young Jack -that night.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Look here, old man,’ I said to him a bit -later, ‘you’ve got a perfect right to request me -to mind my own business, but I’m going to risk -that. I saw you two to-night, kissing to beat the -band—confound it all, there wasn’t a dog’s -earthly of not seeing you—and what I want to -know is where Morrison comes in, or if he’s gone -out?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He looked at me a bit shamefacedly, then -he lit a cigarette.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Hugh,’ he said, with a twisted sort of smile, -‘I just worship the ground that girl walks on.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Maybe you do, Jack,’ I answered. ‘But -the point is, what are her feelings on the matter?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He didn’t answer, and after a while I went -on.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘This show is not my palaver,’ I said -ordering two whisky pegs from the bartender. -‘It’s nothing to do with me, except that you and -I are going to share the same bungalow, which is -within easy calling distance of Morrison’s. Now, -Morrison is a funny-tempered fellow, but, apart -from that altogether, the situation seems strained -to me. If she breaks off her engagement with him -and marries you, well and good. But if she isn’t -going to do that, if she still intends to marry -Morrison—well, then, old man, although I hold -no brief for him, you’re not playing the game. -I’m no sky pilot, but do one thing or the other. -Things are apt to happen, you know, Jack, when -one’s at the back of beyond and a fellow gets -playing around with another fellow’s wife—things -which might make an English court of justice sit -up and scratch its head.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He heard me out in silence, then he nodded -his head.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I know it must seem to you that I wasn’t -playing the game,’ he said quietly. ‘But, -believe me, it’s not for want of asking on my part -that Molly won’t marry me. And I believe -that she’s as fond of me—almost—as I am of -her.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Then why the——?’ I began, but he -stopped me with a weary little gesture of his hand.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘She feels that she’s bound to him in -honour,’ he went on. ‘I’ve told her that there -can’t be much question of honour if she doesn’t -love him any more, but she seems to think that, -as he has waited four years for her, she can’t -break her bargain. And she’s very fond of him; -if it hadn’t been for fate chucking us together -she would never have thought of not marrying -him. To-night we both forgot ourselves, I -suppose; it won’t occur again.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He sat back staring out of the port-hole. -The smoke-room was empty, and I fairly let -myself go.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You very silly idiot,’ I exploded, ‘do you -imagine I’ve been delivering a homily on the sins -of kissing another man’s fiancée. What I want -to get into your fat head is this. You’re going -to a place where the only white woman you’ll -see from year’s end to year’s end is that girl, if -she marries Morrison. You can prattle about -honour, and forgetting yourselves, and not letting -it occur again, and it’s worth the value of that -used match. Sooner or later it will occur again, -and it won’t stop at kissing next time. And then -Morrison will probably kill you, or you’ll kill him, -and there’ll be the devil to pay. For Heaven’s -sake, man, look the thing square in the face. -Either marry the girl, or cut her right out of your -life. And you can only do that by cabling the -firm—or I’ll cable them for you from Rangoon—asking -to be posted to another district. I shall -be sorry, but I’d far rather lose you than sit -on the edge of a young volcano.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I left him to chew over what I’d said and -went to bed, feeling infernally sorry for both of -them. But the one fact over which there was no -doubt whatever in my mind was that if Morrison -married Molly Felsted, then Jack Manderby -would have to be removed as far as geographically -possible from temptation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My remarks apparently had some effect, -because the next day Jack buttonholed me on -deck.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I’ve told Molly what you said last night, -old man, and we’ve been talking it over. Morrison -is meeting her apparently at Rangoon, and she -has agreed to tell him what has happened. And -when he knows how the land lies it’s bound to be -all right. Of course, I’m sorry for him, poor -devil, but——’ and he went babbling on in a way -common to those in love.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m afraid I didn’t pay much attention; I -was thinking of Morrison and wondering whether -Jack’s optimism was justified. Apart from his -moroseness and drinking, there were other stories -about the man—stories which are not good to -hear about a white man. I’d never paid any -heed to them before, but now they came back -to me—those rumours of strange things, which -only the ignorant sceptic pretends to scorn; -strange things done in secret with native priests -and holy men; strange things it is not well for the -white man to dabble in. And someone had it -that Rupert Morrison did more than dabble.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Ordinary Man paused and sipped his -whisky.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He met the boat at Rangoon,” he continued -after a while, “and came on board. Evidently -the girl wasted no time in telling him what had -occurred, because it was barely ten minutes before -I saw him coming towards Jack and myself. -There was a smouldering look in his eyes, but -outwardly he seemed quite calm. He gave me -a curt nod, then he addressed himself exclusively -to Jack.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Miss Felsted has just made a somewhat -unexpected announcement to me,’ he remarked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Jack bowed gravely. ‘I am more than sorry, -Mr. Morrison,’ he said, ‘if it should appear to you -that I have acted in any way caddishly.’ He -paused a little constrainedly and I moved away. -The presence of a third person at such an interview -helps nobody. But once or twice I glanced -at them during the next quarter of an hour, -and it seemed to me that, though he was trying -to mask it, the look of smouldering fury in -Morrison’s eyes was growing more pronounced. -From their attitude it struck me that Jack was -protesting against some course of action on which -the other was insisting, and I turned out to be -right.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Morrison has made the following proposal,’ -he said irritably to me when their conversation -had finished. ‘That Molly should be left here -in Rangoon with the English chaplain and his -wife—apparently he’d fixed that already—and -that we—he and I—should both go up country -for a month or six weeks. Neither of us to see -her during that time, and at the end of it she to be -free to choose. As he pointed out, I suppose -quite rightly, he had been engaged to her for more -than four years, and it was rather rough on him to -upset everything for what might prove only a -passing fancy, induced by being thrown together -on board ship. Of course, I pointed out to him -that this was no question of a passing fancy—but -he insisted.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘And you agreed?’ I asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘What else could I do?’ he cried. ‘Heaven -knows I didn’t want to—it’s such awful rot and -waste of time. But I suppose it is rather -rough luck on the poor devil, and if it makes it -any easier for him to have the agony prolonged -a few weeks, it’s up to me to give him that -satisfaction.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He went off to talk to the girl, leaving me -smoking a cigarette thoughtfully; for, try as I -would, I could not rid my mind of the suspicion -that there was something behind this suggestion -of Morrison’s—something sinister. Fortunately, -Jack would be under my eye—in my bungalow; -but even so, I felt uneasy. Morrison had been -too quiet for safety, bearing in mind what manner -of man he was.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We landed shortly after and I went round -to the club. I didn’t see Morrison—he seemed -to have disappeared shortly after his interview -with Jack; but he had given the girl full -directions as to how to get to the chaplain’s house. -Jack took her there, and I’d arranged with him -that he should come round after and join me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The first man I ran into was McAndrew—a -leather-faced Scotsman from up my part of the -country—who was down in Rangoon on business.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Seen the bridegroom?’ he grunted as soon -as he saw me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Travelled out with the bride,’ I said briefly, -not over-anxious to discuss the matter.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘And what sort of a lassie is she?’ he asked -curiously.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Perfectly charming,’ I answered, ringing -the bell for a waiter.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Is that so?’ he said slowly, and our eyes -met. ‘Man,’ he added still more slowly, ‘it -should not be, it should not be. Poor lassie! -Poor lassie!’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And then Jack Manderby came in, and I -introduced him to two or three other fellows. -I’d arranged to go up country that evening—train -to Mandalay, and ride from there the -following morning—and Jack, of course, was -coming with me. He had said good-bye to the -girl; he wasn’t going to see her again before he -went up country, and we spent the latter part of -the afternoon pottering round Rangoon. And it -was as we were strolling down one of the native -bazaars that he suddenly caught my arm.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Look—there’s Morrison!’ he muttered. -‘I distinctly saw his face peering out of that -shop.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I looked in the direction he was pointing. -It was an ordinary native shop where one could -buy ornaments and musical instruments and -trash like that—but of Morrison I could see no -sign.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I don’t see him,’ I said; ‘and anyway there -is no reason why he shouldn’t be in the shop -if he wants to.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘But he suddenly vanished,’ persisted Jack, -‘as if he didn’t want to be seen.’ He walked on -with me slowly. ‘I don’t like that man, Hugh; -I hate the swine. And it’s not because of Molly, -either.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He shut up at that, and I did not pursue the -topic. It struck me that we should have quite -enough of Morrison in the next few weeks.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Ordinary Man paused and lit a cigarette; -then he smiled a little grimly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t know what I expected,” he continued -thoughtfully: “I certainly never said a word -to Jack as to my vague suspicions. But all the -time during the first fortnight, while he was -settling down into the job, I had the feeling that -there was danger in the air. And then, when -nothing happened, my misgivings began to go.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“After all, I said to myself, what could happen, -anyway? And perhaps I had misjudged Rupert -Morrison. On the two or three occasions that -we met him he seemed perfectly normal; and -though, somewhat naturally, he was not over -effusive to Jack, that was hardly to be wondered -at.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And then one morning Jack came to breakfast -looking as if he hadn’t slept very well. I glanced -at him curiously, but made no allusion to his -appearance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Did you hear that music all through the -night?’ he said irritably, half-way through the -meal. ‘Some infernal native playing a pipe or -something just outside my window.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Why didn’t you shout at him to stop?’ -I asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I did. And I got up and looked.’ He took -a gulp of tea; then he looked at me as if he -were puzzled.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘There was no one there that I could see. -Only something black that moved over the compound, -about the size of a kitten.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘He was probably just inside the jungle -beyond the clearing,’ I said. ‘Heave half a -brick at him if you hear it again.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We said no more, and I dismissed the matter -from my mind. I was on the opposite side of the -bungalow, and it would take more than a native -playing on a pipe to keep me awake. But the -following night the same thing happened—and -the next, and the next.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘What sort of a noise is it?’ I asked him. -‘Surely to Heaven you’re sufficiently young and -healthy not to be awakened by a bally fellow -whistling?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘It isn’t that that wakes me, Hugh,’ he -answered slowly. ‘I wake before it starts. Each -night about the same time I suddenly find myself -wide awake—listening. Sometimes it’s ten minutes -before it starts—sometimes almost at once; -but it always comes. A faint, sweet whistle—three -or four notes, going on and on—until I -think I’ll go mad. It seems to be calling me.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘But why the devil don’t you go and see -what it is?’ I cried peevishly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Because’—and he stared at me with a -shamefaced expression in his eyes—‘because I -daren’t.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Rot!’ I said angrily. ‘Look here, young -fellow, nerves are bad things anywhere—here -they’re especially bad. You pull yourself -together.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He flushed all over his face, and shut up like -an oyster, which made me rather sorry I’d spoke -so sharply. But one does hear funny noises in -the jungle, and it doesn’t do to become fanciful.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And then one evening McAndrew came -over to dinner. It was during the meal that I -mentioned Jack’s nocturnal serenader, expecting -that Mac would treat it as lightly as I did.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Seven times you’ve heard him, Jack, -haven’t you,’ I said, ‘and always the same -tune?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Always the same tune,’ he answered quietly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Can you whistle it now?’ asked McAndrew, -laying down his knife and fork and staring at -Jack.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Easily,’ said Jack. ‘It goes like this’—and -he whistled about six notes. ‘On and on it -goes—never varying——Why, McAndrew, -what the devil is the matter?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I glanced at McAndrew in amazement; then -out of the corner of my eye I saw the native -servant, who was shivering like a jelly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Man—are you sure?’ said Mac, and his face -was white.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Of course I’m sure,’ answered Jack quietly. -‘Why?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘That tune you whistled—is not good for a -white man to hear.’ The Scotsman seemed -strangely uneasy. ‘And ye’ve heard it seven -nights? Do you know it, Walton?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I do not,’ I said grimly. ‘What’s the -mystery?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But McAndrew was shaking his head dourly, -and for a while he did not answer.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Mind ye,’ he said at length, ‘I’m not saying -there’s anything in it at all, but I would not care -to hear that whistled outside my window. I -heard it once—years ago—when I was ’way up in -the Arakan Mountains. Soft and sweet it was—rising -and falling in the night air, and going on -ceaselessly. ’Way up above me was a monastery, -one into which no white man has ever been. And -the noise was coming from there. I had to go; -my servants wouldn’t stop. And when I asked -them why, they told me that the priests were -calling for a sacrifice. If they stopped, they told -me, it might be one of us. That no one could tell -how Death would come, or to whom, but come it -must—when the Pipes of Death were heard. -And the tune you whistled, Manderby, was the -tune the Pipes of Death were playing.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘But that’s all bunkum, Mac,’ I said angrily. -‘We’re not in the Arakans here.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Maybe,’ he answered doggedly. ‘But I’m -a Highlander, and—I would not care to hear that -tune.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I could see Jack was impressed; as a matter -of fact I was myself—more than I cared to -admit. Sounds rot here, I know, but out there, -with the dim-lit forest around one, it was -different.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“McAndrew was stopping with us that night. -Jack, with the stubbornness of the young, had -flatly refused to change his room, and turned in -early, while Mac and I sat up talking. And it -was not till we went to bed ourselves that I again -alluded to the whistle.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You don’t really think it meant anything, -Mac, do you?’ I asked him, and he shrugged -his shoulders.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Maybe it is just a native who has heard -it,’ he said guardedly, and further than that he -refused to commit himself.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I suppose it was about two o’clock when I -was awakened by a hand being thrust through -my mosquito curtains.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Walton, come at once!’ It was McAndrew’s -voice, and it was shaking. ‘There’s -devil’s work going on, I tell you—devil’s work.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I was up in a flash, and together we crept -along the passage towards Jack’s room. Almost -instinctively I’d picked up a gun, and I held it -ready as we paused by the door.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Do you hear it?’ whispered Mac a little -fearfully, and I nodded. Sweet and clear the -notes rose and fell, on and on and on in the same -cadence. Sometimes the whistler seemed to be -far away, at others almost in the room.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘It’s the tune,’ muttered McAndrew, as we -tiptoed towards the bed. ‘The Pipes of Death. -Are ye awake, boy?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And then he gave a little cry and gripped -my arm.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘In God’s name,’ he whispered, ‘what’s that -on the pillow beside his head?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“For a while in the dim light I couldn’t make -out. There was something big and black and -motionless on the white pillow, and I crept -nearer to see what it was. And then suddenly -seemed to stand still. I saw two beady, unwinking -eyes staring at Jack’s face close by; -I saw Jack’s eyes wide open and sick with terror, -staring at the thing which shared his bed. And -still the music went on outside.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘What is it?’ I muttered through dry lips.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Give me your gun, man,’ whispered McAndrew -hoarsely. ‘If the pipes stop, the boy’s -doomed.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Slowly he raised the gun an inch at a time, -pushing the muzzle forward with infinite care -towards the malignant, glowing eyes, until at -last the gun was almost touching its head. And at -that moment the music died away and stopped -altogether. I had the momentary glimpse of two -black feelers shooting out towards Jack’s face—then -came the crack of the gun. And with a little -sob Jack rolled out of bed and lay on the floor -half-fainting, while the black mass on the pillow -writhed and writhed and then grew still.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We struck a light, and stared at what was -left of the thing in silence. And it was Jack who -spoke first.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I woke,’ he said unsteadily, ‘to feel something -crawling over me on the bed. Outside that -infernal whistling was going on, and at last I -made out what was—what was——My God!’ -he cried thickly, ‘what was it, Mac—what was -it?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Steady, boy!’ said McAndrew. ‘It’s dead -now, anyway. But it was touch and go. I’ve -seen ’em bigger than that up in the Arakans. -It’s a bloodsucking, poisonous spider. They’re -sacred to some of the sects.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Suddenly out of the jungle came one dreadful, -piercing cry.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘What was that?’ Jack muttered, and -McAndrew shook his head.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Well find out to-morrow,’ he said. ‘There -are strange things abroad to-night.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We saw the darkness out—the three of us—round -a bottle of whisky.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘They’ve been trying to get you for a week, -Manderby,’ said the Scotsman. ‘To-night they -very near succeeded.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘But why?’ cried Jack. ‘I’ve never done -’em any harm.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“McAndrew shrugged his shoulders.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Don’t ask me that,’ he answered. ‘Their -ways are not our ways.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Has that brute been in my room every -night?’ the boy asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Every night,’ answered McAndrew gravely. -‘Probably two of them. They hunt them in -pairs. They starve ’em, and then, when the -music stops, they feed.’ He thoughtfully poured -out some more whisky.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And then at last came the dawn, and we went -out to investigate. It was Jack who found him. -The face was puffed and horrible, and as we -approached, something black, about the size of a -big kitten, moved away from the body and -shambled sluggishly into the undergrowth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You’re safe, boy,’ said McAndrew slowly. -‘It was not the priests at all. Just murder—plain -murder.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And with that he took his handkerchief and -covered the dreadful, staring eyes of Rupert -Morrison.”</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<hr class='tbk112'/> - -<table id='tab7' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 5em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 31em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab7c1 tdStyle3'><a id='ch5'></a><span class='it'>V</span></td><td class='tab7c2 tdStyle6'><span class='it'>The Soldier’s Story, being A Bit of Orange Peel</span></td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class='tbk113'/> - -<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>“You</span> can set your minds at rest about one -thing, you fellows,” began the Soldier, with a -grin. “My yarn isn’t about the war. There -have been quite enough lies told already about -that performance without my adding to the -number. No; my story concerns peace soldiering, -and, strangely enough, I had an ocular -demonstration when dining at the Ritz two nights -ago that everything had finished up quite satisfactorily, -in the approved story-book manner. -At least, when I say quite satisfactorily—there -was a price, and it was paid by one of the principal -actors. But that is the unchangeable rule: -one can but shrug one’s shoulders and pay -accordingly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The regiment—I was a squadron-leader at -the time—was quartered at Murchester. Not a -bad station at all: good shooting, very fair -hunting, especially if you didn’t scorn the carted -stag, polo, and most excellent cricket. Also -some delightful houses in the neighbourhood; -and as we’d just come home from our foreign -tour we found the place greatly to our liking. -London was an hour and a bit by train; in fact, -there are many worse stations in England than -the spot I have labelled Murchester.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The only fly in the ointment when we first -arrived was a fairly natural one, and a thing -which only time could cure. The men were a -bit restive. We’d been abroad, don’t forget, -for more than ten years—India, Egypt, South -Africa—and the feel of the old country under -their feet unsettled ’em temporarily. Nothing -very bad, but an epidemic of absence without -leave and desertion broke out, and the officers -had to settle down to pull things together. -Continual courts-martial for desertion don’t do a -regiment any good with the powers that be, and -we had to stop it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Of course, one of the first things to look to, -when any trouble of that sort is occurring, is the -general type and standard of your N.C.O.’s. In -my squadron they were good, though just a little -on the young side. I remember one day I discussed -the matter pretty thoroughly with the -squadron sergeant-major—an absolute top-notcher.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘They’re all right, sir,’ he said. ‘In another -two or three years there will be none better in the -British Army. Especially Trevor.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Ah! Sergeant-Major,’ I said, looking him -straight in the face, ‘you think Trevor is a good -man, do you?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘The best we’ve got, sir,’ he answered quietly, -and he stared straight back at me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You weren’t so sure when he first came,’ -I reminded him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Well, I reckon there was a bit of jealousy, -sir,’ he replied, ‘his coming in from the link -regiment over a good many of the chaps’ heads. -But he’s been with us now three months—and we -know him better.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I wish I could say the same,’ I answered. -‘He defeats me, does Sergeant Trevor.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The Sergeant-Major smiled quietly. ‘Does -he, sir? I shouldn’t have thought he would -have. That there bloke Kipling has written -about the likes of Trevor.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Kipling has written a good deal about the -Army,’ I said, with an answering smile. ‘Mulvaney -and Co. are classics.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘It’s not Mulvaney I’m meaning, sir,’ he -answered. ‘But didn’t he write a little bit of -poetry about “Gentlemen-rankers out on the -spree”?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Why, yes, he did.’ I lit a cigarette -thoughtfully. ‘I’d guessed that much, Manfield. -Is Trevor his real name?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I don’t know, sir,’ and at that moment -the subject of our discussion walked past and -saluted.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Sergeant Trevor,’ I called after him, on the -spur of the moment, and he came up at the -double. I hadn’t anything really to say to him, -but ever since he’d joined us he’d puzzled me, and -though, as the sergeant-major said, the other -non-commissioned officers might know him -better, I certainly didn’t.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You’re a bit of a cricketer, aren’t you?’ -I said, as he came up.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A faint smile flickered across his face at my -question. ‘I used to play quite a lot, sir,’ he -answered.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Good; we want to get games going really -strong.’ I talked with them both—squadron -‘shop’—a bit longer, and all the time I was trying -to probe behind the impassive mask of Trevor’s -face. Incidentally, I think he knew it; once or -twice I caught a faint gleam of amusement in his -eyes—a gleam that seemed to me a little weary. -And when I left them and went across the parade -ground towards the mess, his face haunted me. -I hadn’t probed—not the eighth of an inch; -he was still as much a mystery as ever. But he’d -got a pair of deep blue eyes, and though I wasn’t -a girl to be attracted by a man’s eyes, I couldn’t -get his out of my mind. They baffled me; the -man himself baffled me—and I’ve always disliked -being baffled.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was a few nights after, in mess, that the -next piece in the puzzle came along. We had in -the regiment—he was killed in the war, poor -devil!—a fellow of the name of Blenton, a fairly -senior captain. He wasn’t in my squadron, and -his chief claim to notoriety was as a cricketer. -Had he been able to play regularly he would have -been easily up to first-class form—as it was he -periodically turned out for the county; but -he used to go in first wicket down for the Army. -So you can gather his sort of form.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was over the port that the conversation -cropped up, and it interested me because it -was about Trevor. As far as cricket was concerned -I hardly knew which end of a bat one -held.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Dog-face has got a winner,’ I heard Blenton -say across the table. I may say that I answered -to that tactful sobriquet, for reasons into which -we need not enter. ‘One Sergeant Trevor in -your squadron, old boy,’ he turned to me. ‘I -was watching him at the nets to-night.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Is he any good?’ I said.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘My dear fellow,’ answered Blenton, deliberately, -‘he is out and away the best bat we’ve had -in the regiment for years. He’s up to Army -form!’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Who’s that?’ demanded the commanding -officer, sitting up and taking notice at once.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Sergeant Trevor in B squadron, Colonel,’ -said Blenton. ‘I was watching him this evening -at nets. Of course, the bowling was tripe, but -he’s in a completely different class to the average -soldier cricketer.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Did you talk to him?’ I asked, curiously.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I did. And he struck me as being singularly -uncommunicative. Asked him where he learnt -his cricket, and he hummed and hawed, and -finally said he’d played a lot in his village before -joining the Army. I couldn’t quite make him -out, Dog-face. And why the devil didn’t he play -for us out in Jo’burg?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Because he only joined a couple of months -before we sailed,’ I answered. ‘Came with that -last draft we got.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Well, I wish we had a few more trained in -his village,’ said Blenton. ‘We could do with -them.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“After mess, I tackled Philip Blenton in the -ante-room.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘What’s your candid opinion of Trevor, -Philip?’ I demanded.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He stopped on his way to play bridge, and -bit the end off his cigar.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘As a cricketer,’ he said, ‘or as a man?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Both,’ I answered.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Well, my candid opinion is that he learned -his game at a first-class public school,’ he replied. -‘And I am further of the opinion, from the few -words I spoke to him, that one would have -expected to find him here and not in the -Sergeants’ Mess. What’s his story? Do you -know?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I don’t,’ I shook my head. ‘Haven’t -an idea. But you’ve confirmed my own impressions.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And there I had to leave it for some months. -Periodically I talked to Trevor, deliberately tried -to trap him into some admission which would give -me a clue to his past, but he was as wary as a fox -and as close as an oyster. I don’t know why I -took the trouble—after all, it was his business -entirely, but the fellow intrigued me. He was -such an extraordinarily fine N.C.O., and there -was never a sign of his hitting the bottle, which is -the end of a good many gentlemen-rankers. -Moreover, he didn’t strike me as a fellow who had -come a cropper, which is the usual cause of his -kind.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And then one day, when I least expected it, -the problem began to solve itself. Philip -Blenton rang me up in the morning after breakfast, -from a house in the neighbourhood, where -he was staying for a couple of two-day matches. -Could I possibly spare Sergeant Trevor for the -first of them? Against the I Z., who had brought -down a snorting team, and Carter—the Oxford -blue—had failed the local eleven at the last -moment. If I couldn’t they’d have to rake in -one of the gardeners, but they weren’t too strong -as it was.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So I sent for Trevor, and asked him if he’d -care to play. I saw his eyes gleam for a moment; -then he shook his head.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I think not, thank you, sir,’ he said, -quietly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘It’s not quite like you to let Captain Blenton -down, Trevor,’ I remarked. ‘He’s relying on -you.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I knew it was the right note to take with -him, and I was very keen on his playing. I was -going out myself that afternoon to watch, and I -wanted to see him in different surroundings. We -argued for a bit—I knew he was as keen as -mustard in one way to play—and after a while he -said he would. Then he went out of the office, -and as it happened I followed him. There was -an old cracked mirror in the passage outside, -and as I opened the door he had just shut behind -him, I had a glimpse of Sergeant Trevor examining -his face in the glass. He’d got his hand so -placed that it blotted out his moustache, and he -seemed very intent on his reflection. Then he -saw me, and for a moment or two we stared -at one another in silence. Squadron-leader -and troop-sergeant had gone; we were just two -men, and the passage was empty. And I acted -on a sudden impulse, and clapped him on the -back.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Don’t be a fool, man,’ I cried. ‘Is -there any reason why you shouldn’t be recognised?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Nothing shady, Major,’ he answered, -quietly. ‘But if one starts on a certain course, -it’s best to go through with it!’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“At that moment the pay-sergeant appeared, -and Trevor pulled himself together, saluted -smartly, and was gone.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I suppose these things are planned out beforehand,” -went on the Soldier, thoughtfully. “To -call it all blind chance seems a well-nigh impossible -solution to me. And yet the cynic would -assuredly laugh at connecting a child eating an -orange in a back street in Oxford, and the death -while fishing in Ireland of one of the greatest-hearted -men that ever lived. But unless that -child had eaten that orange, and left the peel on -the pavement for Carter, the Oxford blue, to slip -on and sprain his ankle, the events I am going -to relate would, in all probability, never have -taken place. However, since delving too deeply -into cause and effect inevitably produces insanity, -I’d better get on with it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I turned up about three o’clock at Crosby -Hall, along with four or five other fellows from -the regiment. Usual sort of stunt—marquee and -lemonade, with whisky in the background for the -hopeless cases. The I Z. merchants were in the -field, and Trevor was batting. There was an -Eton boy in with him, and the score was two -hundred odd for five wickets. Philip Blenton -lounged up as soon as he saw me, grinning all over -his face.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Thank Heaven you let him come, old -man! He’s pulled eighty of the best out of -his bag already, and doesn’t look like getting -out.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘He wouldn’t come at first, Philip,’ I said, -and he stared at me in surprise. ‘I think he was -afraid of being recognised.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A burst of applause greeted a magnificent -drive past cover-point, and for a while we watched -the game in silence, until another long round of -cheering announced that Sergeant Trevor had got -his century. As I’ve said before, I’m no -cricketer, but there was no need to be an expert -to realise that he was something out of the way. -He was treating the by-no-means-indifferent I Z. -bowling with the utmost contempt, and old Lord -Apson, our host, was beside himself with joy. -He was a cricket maniac; his week was an annual -fixture; and for the first time for many years he -saw his team really putting it across the I Z. And -it was just as I was basking in a little reflected -glory that I saw a very dear old friend of mine -arrive in the enclosure, accompanied by a perfectly -charming girl.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Why, Yeverley, old man!’ I cried, ‘how -are you?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Dog-face, as I live!’ he shouted, seizing -me by both hands. ‘Man-alive, I’m glad to -see you. Let me introduce you to my wife; -Doris, this is Major Chilham—otherwise Dog-face.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I shook hands with the girl, who was standing -smiling beside him, and for a while we stopped -there talking. He was fifteen years or so older -than I, and had left the service as a Captain, but -we both came from the same part of the country, -and in days gone by I’d known him very well -indeed. His marriage had taken place four -years previously while I was abroad, and now, -meeting his wife for the first time, I recalled bit by -bit the gossip I’d heard in letters I got from home. -How to everyone’s amazement he’d married a girl -young enough to be his daughter; how everybody -had prophesied disaster, and affirmed that -she was not half good enough for one of the elect -like Giles Yeverley; how she’d been engaged to -someone else and thrown him over. And yet -as I looked at them both it struck me that the -Jeremiahs had as usual been completely wrong: -certainly nothing could exceed the dog-like -devotion in Giles’s eyes whenever he looked at his -wife.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We strolled over to find some easy chairs, -and he fussed round her as if she was an invalid. -She took it quite naturally and calmly with a -faint and charming smile, and when he finally -bustled away to talk to Apson, leaving me alone -with her, she was still smiling.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You know Giles well?’ she said.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Awfully well,’ I answered. ‘And having -now returned from my sojourn in the wilds, -I hope I shall get to know his wife equally -well.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘That’s very nice of you, Dog-face’—she -turned and looked at me—and, by Jove, she was -pretty. ‘If you’re anything like Giles—you must -be a perfect dear.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now I like that sort of a remark when it’s -made in the right way. It establishes a very -pleasant footing at once, with no danger of miconstruction—like -getting on good terms with a -new horse the moment you put your feet in the -irons, instead of messing around for half the -hunt. Anyway, for the next ten minutes or so -I didn’t pay very much attention to the cricket. -I gathered that there was one small son—Giles -junior—who was the apple of his father’s eye; -and that at the moment a heavy love affair was -in progress between the young gentleman aged -three and the General’s daughter, who was as -much as four, and showed no shame over the -matter whatever. Also that Giles and she were -stopping with the General and his wife for a week -or ten days.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And it was at that stage of the proceedings -that a prolonged burst of applause made us look -at the cricket. Sergeant Trevor was apparently -out—how I hadn’t an idea—and was half-way -between the wickets and the tent next to the one -in which we were sitting, and which Apson -always had erected for the local villagers -and their friends. I saw them put up one -hundred and twenty-five on the board as Trevor’s -score, and did my share in the clapping line.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘A fine player—that fellow,’ I said, following -him with my eyes. ‘Don’t know much about -the game myself, but the experts tell me——’ -And at that moment I saw her face, and stopped -abruptly. She had gone very white, and her -knuckles were gleaming like the ivory on the -handle of her parasol.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Major Chilham,’ she said—and her voice -was the tensest thing I’ve ever heard—‘who is -that man who has just come out?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Trevor is his name,’ I answered, quietly. -‘He’s one of the troop-sergeants in my squadron.’ -I was looking at her curiously, as the colour -slowly came back to her face. ‘Why? Did -you think you knew him?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘He reminded me of someone I knew years -ago,’ she said, sitting back in her chair. ‘But -of course I must have been mistaken.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And then rather abruptly she changed the -conversation, though every now and then she -glanced towards the next tent, as if trying to see -Trevor. And sitting beside her I realised that -there was something pretty serious in the wind. -She was on edge, though she was trying not to -show it—and Trevor was the cause, or the man -who called himself Trevor. All my curiosity -came back, though I made no allusion to him; -I was content to await further developments.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They weren’t long in coming. The house -team, with the respectable total of three hundred -and fifty odd, were all out by tea-time, and both -elevens forgathered in the tent behind. All, -that is, except Trevor, who remained in the other -until Apson himself went and pulled him out. I -watched the old man, with his cheery smile, take -Trevor by the elbow and literally drag him out -of his chair; I watched Trevor in his blue undress -jacket, smart as be damned, coming towards us -with our host. And then very deliberately I -looked at Giles Yeverley’s wife. She was staring -over my head at the two men; then she lowered -her parasol.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘So you weren’t mistaken after all, Mrs. -Giles,’ I said, quietly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘No, Dog-face, I wasn’t,’ she answered. -‘Would you get hold of Giles for me, and tell him -I’d like to get back. Say I’m not feeling very -well.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I got up at once and went in search of her -husband. I found him talking to the Zingari -captain and Sergeant Trevor. He seemed quite -excited, appealing as he spoke to the I Z. skipper, -while Trevor stood by listening with a faint -smile.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘What he says is quite right, Sergeant -Trevor,’ remarked the Zingari man as I came up. -‘If you cared to consider it—you are absolutely -up to the best county form. Of course, I don’t -know about your residential qualifications, but -that can generally be fixed.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Dog-face,’ cried Yeverley, as soon as he saw -me, ‘he’s in your squadron, isn’t he? Well, -it’s so long since I left the Army that I’ve -forgotten all about discipline—but I tell you -here—right now in front of him—that Sergeant -Trevor ought to chuck soldiering and take up -professional cricket. Bimbo here agrees with -me.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Giles, you’ll burst your waistcoat if you -get so excited,’ I remarked, casually. ‘And, -incidentally, Mrs. Yeverley wants to go home.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“As I said the name I looked at Trevor, and -my last doubt vanished. He gave a sudden -start, which Giles, who had immediately torn off -to his wife, didn’t see, and proceeded to back -into the farthest corner of the tea-tent. But once -again old Apson frustrated him. Not for him -the endless pauses and waits of first-class cricket; -five minutes to roll the pitch and he was leading -his team into the field. Trevor had to go from -his sanctuary, and there was only one exit from -the enclosure in front of the tent.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They met—Mrs. Giles and Trevor—actually -at that exit. By the irony of things, I think -it was Giles who caused the meeting. He hurried -forward as he saw Trevor going out, and caught -him by the arm; dear old chap!—he was cricket -mad if ever a man was. And so blissfully -unconscious of the other, bigger thing going on -right under his nose.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Don’t you forget what I said, Trevor,’ he -said, earnestly. ‘Any county would be glad to -have you. I’m going to talk to Major Chilham -about it seriously.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And I doubt if Trevor heard a word. Over -Giles’s shoulder he was staring at Giles’s wife—and -she was staring back at him, while her breast -rose and fell in little gasps, and it seemed to me -that her lips were trembling. Then it was over; -Trevor went out to field—Giles bustled back to his -wife. And I, being a hopeless case, went in -search of alcohol.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Soldier paused to light another cigar.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He carried out his threat, did Giles with -regard to me. Two or three days later I lunched -with the General, and it seemed to me that we -never got off the subject of Trevor. It wasn’t -only his opinion; had not Bimbo Lawrence, the -I Z. captain, and one of the shrewdest judges of -cricket in England, agreed with him? And so on -without cessation about Trevor, the cricketer, -while on the opposite side of the table, next to -me, sat his wife, who could not get beyond -Trevor, the man. Once or twice she glanced at -me appealingly, as if to say: ‘For God’s sake, -stop him!’—but it was a task beyond my -powers. I made one or two abortive attempts, -and then I gave it up. The situation was beyond -me; one could only let him ramble on and pray -for the end of lunch.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And then he left the cricket and came to -personalities.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Know anything about him, Dog-face?’ -he asked. ‘Up at old Apson’s place he struck me -as being a gentleman. Anyway, he’s a darned -nice fellow. Wonder why he enlisted?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Oh, Giles, for goodness’ sake, let’s try -another topic?’ said his wife, suddenly. ‘We’ve -had Sergeant Trevor since lunch began.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Poor old Giles looked at her in startled -surprise, and she gave him a quick smile which -robbed her words of their irritability. But I -could see she was on the rack, and though I didn’t -know the real facts, it wasn’t hard to make a -shrewd guess as to the cause.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was just before we rose from the table, -I remember, that she said to me under the cover -of the general conversation: ‘My God! Dog-face—it’s -not fair.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Will you tell me?’ I answered. ‘I might -help.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Perhaps I will some day,’ she said, quietly. -‘But you can’t help; no one can do that. It -was my fault all through, and the only thing -that matters now is that Giles should never -know.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t quite know why she suddenly confided -in me, even to that extent. I suppose with -her woman’s intuition she realised that I’d -guessed something, and it helps to get a thing -off one’s chest at times. Evidently it had been -an unexpected meeting, and I cursed myself for -having made him play. And yet how could -one have foretold? It was just a continuation -of the jig-saw started by that damned bit of -orange peel. As she said, all that mattered -was that Giles—dear old chap!—should never -know.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Soldier smiled a little sadly. “So -do the humans propose; but the God that moves -the pieces frequently has different ideas. He -did—that very afternoon. It was just as I was -going that two white-faced nurses clutching two -scared children appeared on the scene and babbled -incoherently. And then the General’s groom -hove in sight—badly cut across the face and -shaky at the knees—and from him we got the -story.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They’d started off in the General’s dogcart -to go to some children’s party, and something -had frightened the horse, which had promptly -bolted. I knew the brute—a great raking black, -though the groom, who was a first-class whip, -generally had no difficulty in managing him. But -on this occasion apparently he’d got clean away -along the road into the town. He might have -got the horse under control after a time, when, to -his horror, he saw that the gates were closed at -the railway crossing in front. And it was at that -moment that a man—one of the sergeants from -the barracks—had dashed out suddenly from the -pavement and got to the horse’s head. He was -trampled on badly, but he hung on—and the -horse had ceased to bolt when they crashed into -the gates. The shafts were smashed, but -nothing more. And the horse wasn’t hurt. And -they’d carried away the sergeant on an improvised -stretcher. No; he hadn’t spoken. He was -unconscious.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Which sergeant was it?’ I asked, quietly—though -I knew the answer before the groom gave -it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Sergeant Trevor, sir,’ he said. ‘B -squadron.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Is he—is he badly hurt?’ said the girl, and -her face was ashen.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I dunno, mum,’ answered the groom. -‘They took ’im off to the ’orspital, and I was -busy with the ’orse.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I’ll ring up, if I may, General,’ I said, and -he nodded.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I spoke to Purvis, the R.A.M.C. fellow, and -his voice was very grave. They’d brought Trevor -in still unconscious, and, though he wouldn’t -swear to it at the moment, he was afraid his back -was broken. But he couldn’t tell absolutely -for certain until he came to. I hung up the -receiver and found Mrs. Giles standing behind -me. She said nothing—but just waited for me -to speak.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Purvis doesn’t know for certain,’ I said, -taking both her hands in mine. ‘But there’s a -possibility, my dear, that his back is broken.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She was a thoroughbred, that girl. She -didn’t make a fuss or cry out; she just looked -me straight in the face and nodded her head once -or twice.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I must go to him, of course,’ she -said, gravely. ‘Will you arrange it for me, -please?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘He’s unconscious still,’ I told her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Then I must be beside him when he comes -to,’ she answered. ‘Even if there was nothing -else—he’s saved my baby’s life.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I’ll take you in my car,’ I said, when I -saw that she was absolutely determined. ‘Leave -it all to me.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I must see him alone, Dog-face.’ She -paused by the door, with her handkerchief -rolled into a tight little ball in her hand. ‘I -want to know that he’s forgiven me.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You shall see him alone if it’s humanly -possible,’ I answered gravely, and at that she -was gone.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t quite know how I did it, but somehow -or other I got her away from the General’s house -without Giles knowing. Giles junior was quite -unhurt, and disposed to regard the entire thing -as an entertainment got up especially for his -benefit. And when she’d made sure of that, and -kissed him passionately to his intense disgust, she -slipped away with me in the car.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You mustn’t be disappointed,’ I warned -her as we drove along, ‘if you can’t see him alone. -He may have been put into a ward with other -men.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Then they must put some screens round him,’ -she whispered. ‘I must kiss him before—before——.’ -She didn’t complete the sentence; -but it wasn’t necessary.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We didn’t speak again until I turned in at -the gates of the hospital. And then I asked her -a question which had been on the tip of my -tongue a dozen times.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Who is he—really?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Jimmy Dallas is his name,’ she answered, -quietly. ‘We were engaged. And then his -father lost all his money. He thought that was -why—why I was beastly to him—but oh! -Dog-face, it wasn’t at all. I thought he was -fond of another girl—and it was all a mistake. -I found it out too late. And then Jimmy had -disappeared—and I’d married Giles. Up at -that cricket match was the first time I’d seen -him since my wedding.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We drew up at the door, and I got out. -It’s the little tragedies, the little misunderstandings, -that are so pitiful, and in all conscience -this was a case in point. A boy and a girl—each -too proud to explain, or ask for an explanation; -and now the big tragedy. God! it seemed -so futile.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I left her sitting in the car, and went in -search of Purvis. I found him with Trevor—I -still thought of him under that name—and -he was conscious again. The doctor -looked up as I tiptoed in, and shook his head -at me warningly. So I waited, and after a -while Purvis left the bed and drew me out into -the passage.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘He’s so infernally -bruised and messed about. His left arm is -broken in two places, and three ribs—and I’m -afraid his back as well. He seems so numb. -But I can’t be certain.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Mrs. Yeverley is here,’ I said. ‘The -mother of one of the kids he saved. She wants -to see him.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Out of the question,’ snapped Purvis. -‘I absolutely forbid it.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘But you mustn’t forbid it, Doctor.’ We -both swung round, to see the girl herself standing -behind us. ‘I’ve got to see him. There are -other reasons besides his having saved my baby’s -life.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘They must wait, Mrs. Yeverley,’ answered -the Doctor. ‘In a case of this sort the only -person I would allow to see him would be his -wife.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘If I hadn’t been a fool,’ she said deliberately, -‘I should have been his wife,’ and Purvis’s jaw -dropped.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Without another word she swept past -him into the ward, and Purvis stood there -gasping.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Well, I’m damned!’ he muttered, and I -couldn’t help smiling. It was rather a startling -statement to come from a woman stopping -with the G.O.C. about a sergeant in a cavalry -regiment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And then, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, -came the final turn in the wheel. I was strolling -up and down outside with Purvis, who was a -sahib as well as a Doctor and had asked no -questions.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘If his back is broken it can’t hurt him,’ he -had remarked, ‘and if it isn’t it will do him -good.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“At that we had left it, when suddenly, to -my horror, I saw Giles himself going into the -hospital.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Good Lord, Doc!’ I cried, sprinting after -him, ‘that’s her husband. And he doesn’t know -she’s here.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But a lot can happen in a few seconds, and I -was just a few seconds too late. As I got to the -door I saw Giles in front of me—standing at the -entrance to the ward as if he had been turned to -stone. A big screen hid the bed from sight—but -a screen is not sound proof. He looked at me as -I came up, and involuntarily I stopped as I saw -his face. And then quite clearly from the room -beyond came his wife’s voice.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘My darling, darling boy!—it’s you and only -you for ever and ever!’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t quite know how much Giles had -guessed before. I think he knew about her -previous engagement, but I’m quite sure he had -never associated Trevor with it. A year or two -later she told me that when she married him she -had made no attempt to conceal the fact that she -had loved another man—and loved him still. -And Giles had taken her on those terms. But at -the time I didn’t know that: I only knew that a -very dear friend’s world had crashed about his -head with stunning suddenness. It was Giles -who pulled himself together first—Giles, with a -face grey and lined, who said in a loud voice -to me: ‘Well, Dog-face, where is the invalid?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And then he waited a moment or two before -he went round the screen.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Ah! my dear,’ he said, quite steadily, as -he saw his wife, ‘you here?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He played his part for ten minutes, stiff-lipped -and without a falter; then he went, and -his wife went with him to continue the play in -which they were billed for life. Trevor’s back -was not broken—in a couple of months he was -back at duty. And so it might have continued -for the duration, but for Giles being drowned -fishing in Ireland.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Soldier stared thoughtfully at the fire.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He was a first-class fisherman and a wonderful -swimmer, was Giles Yeverley, and sometimes—I -wonder. They say he got caught in a bore—that -perhaps he got cramp. But, as I say, -sometimes—I wonder.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I saw them—Jimmy Dallas, sometime -Sergeant Trevor, and his wife—at the Ritz two -nights ago. They seemed wonderfully in love, -though they’d been married ten years, and I -stopped by their table.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Sit down, Dog-face,’ she ordered, ‘and have -a liqueur.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So I sat down and had a liqueur. And it -was just as I was going that she looked at me -with her wonderful smile, and said, very softly: -‘Thank God! dear old Giles never knew; and -now, if he does, he’ll understand.’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Soldier got up and stretched himself.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A big result for a bit of yellow peel.”</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<hr class='tbk114'/> - -<table id='tab8' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 5em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 31em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab8c1 tdStyle3'><a id='ch6'></a><span class='it'>VI</span></td><td class='tab8c2 tdStyle6'><span class='it'>The Writer’s Story, being The House at Appledore</span></td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class='tbk115'/> - -<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>“I’m</span> not certain, strictly speaking, that my -story can be said to concern my trade,” began the -Writer, after he had seen his guests were comfortable. -“But it happened—this little adventure -of mine—as the direct result of pursuing -my trade, so I will interpret the rule accordingly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My starting-point is the Largest Pumpkin -Ever Produced in Kent. It was the sort of -pumpkin which gets a photograph all to itself -in the illustrated papers—the type of atrocity -which is utterly useless to any human being. And -yet that large and unpleasant vegetable proved -the starting-point of the most exciting episode -in my somewhat prosaic life. In fact, but for -very distinct luck, that pumpkin would have -been responsible for my equally prosaic funeral.’ -The Writer smiled reminiscently.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was years ago, in the days before a misguided -public began to read my books and supply -me with the necessary wherewithal to keep the -wolf from the door. But I was young and full -of hope, and Fleet Street seemed a very wonderful -place. From which you can infer that I was a -journalist, and candour compels me to admit—a -jolly bad one. Not that I realised it at the time. -I regarded my Editor’s complete lack of appreciation -of my merits as being his misfortune, not -my fault. However, I pottered around, doing -odd jobs and having the felicity of seeing my -carefully penned masterpieces completely obscured -by blue pencil and reduced to two -lines.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then one morning I was sent for to the inner -sanctuary. Now, although I had the very lowest -opinion of the Editor’s abilities, I knew sufficient -of the office routine to realise that such a -summons was unlikely to herald a rise of screw -with parchment certificate of appreciation for -services rendered. It was far more likely to -herald the order of the boot—and the prospect -was not very rosy. Even in those days Fleet -Street was full of unemployed journalists who -knew more than their editors.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The news editor was in the office when I -walked in, and he was a kindly man, was old -Andrews. He looked at me from under his great -bushy eyebrows for a few moments without -speaking; then he pointed to a chair.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Graham,’ he remarked in a deep bass voice, -‘are you aware that this paper has never yet -possessed a man on its staff that writes such -unutterable slush as you do?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I remained discreetly silent; to dissent -seemed tactless, to agree, unnecessary.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘What do you propose to do about it?’ -he continued after a while.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I told him that I hadn’t realised I was as -bad as all that, but that I would do my best to -improve my style and give satisfaction in the -future.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘It’s not so much your style,’ he conceded. -‘Years ago I knew a man whose style was worse. -Only a little—but it was worse. But it’s your -nose for news, my boy—that’s the worst thing -that ever came into Fleet Street. Now, what were -you doing yesterday?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I was reporting that wedding at the -Brompton Oratory, sir,’ I told him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Just so,’ he answered. ‘And are you aware -that in a back street not three hundred yards -from the church a man died through eating a -surfeit of winkles, as the result of a bet? Actually -while you were there did that man die by the -winkle-barrow—and you knew nothing about it. -I’m not denying that your report on the wedding -isn’t fair—but the public is entitled to know -about the dangers of winkle-eating to excess. -Not that the rights of the public matter in the -least, but it’s the principle I want to impress on -you—the necessity of keeping your eyes open for -other things beside the actual job you’re on. -That’s what makes the good journalist.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I assured him that I would do so in future, -and he grunted non-committally. Then he began -rummaging in a drawer, while I waited in -trepidation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘We’ll give you a bit longer, Graham,’ -he announced at length, and I breathed freely -again. ‘But if there is no improvement you’ll -have to go. And in the meantime I’ve got a job -for you this afternoon. Some public-spirited -benefactor has inaugurated an agricultural fête -in Kent, somewhere near Ashford. From what I -can gather, he seems partially wanting in intelligence, -but it takes people all ways. He is giving -prizes for the heaviest potato and the largest egg—though -I am unable to see what the hen’s -activity has to do with her owner. And I want -you to go down and write it up. Half a column. -Get your details right. I believe there is a -treatise on soils and manures in the office -somewhere. And put in a paragraph about -the paramount importance of the Englishman -getting back to the land. Not that it will -have any effect, but it might help to clear -Fleet Street.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He was already engrossed in something else, -and dismissed me with a wave of his hand. And -it was just as I got to the door that he called after -me to send Cresswill to him—Cresswill, the star -of all the special men. His reception, I reflected -a little bitterly as I went in search of him, would -be somewhat different from mine. For he had -got to the top of the tree, and was on a really big -job at the time. He did all the criminal work—murder -trials and so forth, and how we youngsters -envied him! Perhaps, in time, one might reach -those dazzling heights, I reflected, as I sat in my -third-class carriage on the way to Ashford. Not -for him mammoth tubers and double-yolkers—but -the things that really counted.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I got out at Ashford, where I had to change. -My destination was Appledore, and the connection -on was crowded with people obviously bound, -like myself, for the agricultural fête. It was a -part of Kent to which I had never been, and when -I got out at Appledore station I found I was in -the flat Romney Marsh country which stretches -inland from Dungeness. Houses are few and -far between, except in the actual villages themselves—the -whole stretch of land, of course, must -once have been below sea-level—and the actual -fête was being held in a large field on the outskirts -of Appledore. It was about a mile from the -station, and I proceeded to walk.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The day was warm, the road was dusty—and -I, I am bound to admit, was bored. I felt -I was destined for better things than reporting -on bucolic flower shows, much though I loved -flowers. But I like them in their proper place, -growing—not arranged for show in a stuffy tent -and surrounded by perspiring humanity. And so -when I came to the gates of a biggish house and -saw behind them a garden which was a perfect -riot of colour, involuntarily I paused and looked -over.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The house itself stood back about a hundred -yards from the road—a charming old place -covered with creepers, and the garden was lovely. -A little neglected, perhaps—I could see a respectable -number of weeds in a bed of irises close to the -drive—but then it was quite a large garden. -Probably belonged to some family that could not -afford a big staff, I reflected, and that moment -I saw a man staring at me from between some -shrubs a few yards away.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There was no reason why he shouldn’t -stare at me—he was inside the gate and presumably -had more right to the garden than I -had—but there was something about him that -made me return the stare, in silence, for a few -moments. Whether it was his silent approach -over the grass and unexpected appearance, or -whether it was that instinctively he struck me as -an incongruous type of individual to find in such -a sleepy locality, I can’t say. Or, perhaps, it -was a sudden lightning impression of hostile -suspicion on his part, as if he resented anyone -daring to look over his gate.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then he came towards me, and I felt I had -to say something. But even as I spoke the -thought flashed across my mind that he would -have appeared far more at home in a London bar -than in a rambling Appledore garden.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I was admiring your flowers,’ I said as he -came up. ‘Your irises are wonderful.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He looked vaguely at some lupins, then his -intent gaze came back to me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘The garden is well known locally,’ he remarked. -‘Are you a member of these parts?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘No,’ I answered, ‘I come from London,’ -and it seemed to me his gaze grew more intent.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I am only a bird of passage, too,’ he said -easily. ‘Are you just down for the day?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I informed him that I had come down to -write up the local fête; being young and foolish, -I rather think I implied that only the earnest -request of the organiser for me in particular had -persuaded the editor to dispense with my -invaluable services even for a few hours. And all -the time his eyes, black and inscrutable, never -left my face.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘The show is being held in a field about a -quarter of a mile farther on,’ he said when I -had finished. ‘Good morning.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He turned abruptly on his heels and walked -slowly away towards the house, leaving me a little -annoyed, and with a feeling that not only had I -been snubbed, but, worse still, had been seen -through. I felt that I had failed to convince -him that editors tore their hair and bit their nails -when they failed to secure my services; I felt, -indeed, just that particular type of ass that one -does feel when one has boasted vaingloriously, -and been listened to with faintly amused -boredom. I know that as I resumed my walk -towards the agricultural fête I endeavoured to -restore my self-respect by remembering that he -was merely a glorified yokel, who probably knew -no better.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Writer leant back in his chair with a faint -smile.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That awful show still lives in my memory,” -he continued after a while. “There were swing -boats, and one of those ghastly shows where -horses go round and round with a seasick motion -and ‘The Blue Bells of Scotland’ emerges without -cessation from the bowels of the machine. -There were coco-nut shies and people peering -through horse-collars to have their photographs -taken, and over everything an all-pervading -aroma of humanity unsuitably clad in its Sunday -best on a warm day. However, the job had to be -done, so I bravely plunged into the marquees -devoted to the competing vegetables. I listened -to the experts talking around me with the idea of -getting the correct local colour, but as most of -their remarks were incomprehensible, I soon gave -that up as a bad job and began looking about me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There were potatoes and carrots and a lot of -things which I may have eaten, but completely -failed to recognise in a raw state. And then -suddenly, through a gap in the asparagus, I saw -a vast yellowy-green object. It seemed about -four times the size of an ordinary Rugby football, -and a steady stream of people circled slowly -round it and an ancient man, who periodically -groomed it with a vast coloured handkerchief. So -I steered a zigzag course between a watery-eyed -duck on my right and a hand-holding couple on -my left, and joined the stream. At close quarters -it seemed even vaster than when viewed from the -other side of the tent, and after I’d made the -grand tour twice, I thought I’d engage the ancient -man in conversation. Unfortunately, he was -stone deaf, and his speech was a little indistinct -owing to a regrettable absence of teeth, so we -managed between us to rivet the fascinated attention -of every human being in the tent. In -return for the information that it was the largest -pumpkin ever produced in Kent, I volunteered -that I had come from London specially to write -about it. He seemed a bit hazy about London, -but when I told him it was larger than Appledore -he appeared fairly satisfied that his pumpkin -would obtain justice.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He also launched into a voluble discourse, -which was robbed of much of its usefulness by -his habit of holding his false teeth in position with -his thumb as he spoke. Luckily a local interpreter -was at hand, and from him I gathered that -the old man was eighty-five, and had never been -farther afield than Ashford, forty-eight years -ago. Also that he was still gardener at Cedarlime, -a house which I must have passed on my -way from the station. Standing well back it -was: fine flower gardens—‘but not what they -was. Not since the new gentleman come—a -year ago. Didn’t take the same interest—not -him. A scholard, they said ’e was; crates and -crates of books had come to the house—things -that ’eavy that they took three and four men to -lift them.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He rambled on did that interpreter, while the -ancient man polished the pumpkin in the time-honoured -manner, and wheezed spasmodically. -But I wasn’t paying much attention, because it -had suddenly come back to me that Cedarlime -was the name of the house where I had spoken to -the inscrutable stranger. Subconsciously I had -noticed it as I crossed the road; now it was -brought back to my memory.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Is the owner of Cedarlime a youngish, man?’ -I asked my informant. ‘Dark hair; rather -sallow face?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He shook his head. The owner of Cedarlime -was a middle-aged man with grey hair, but he -often had friends stopping with him who came -from London, so he’d heard tell—friends who didn’t -stop long—just for the week-end, maybe, or four -or five days. Probably the man I meant was -one of these friends.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My informant passed on to inspect a red and -hairy gooseberry, and I wandered slowly out of -the stuffy tent. Probably a friend—in fact, -undoubtedly a friend. But try as I would to -concentrate on that confounded flower show, my -thoughts kept harking back to Cedarlime. For -some reason or other, that quiet house and the -man who had come so silently out of the bushes -had raised my curiosity. And at that moment -I narrowly escaped death from a swing boat, -which brought me back to the business in hand.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I suppose it was about three hours later -that I started to stroll back to the station. I -was aiming at a five o’clock train, and intended to -write my stuff on the way up to Town. But just -as I was getting to the gates of the house that -interested me, who should I see in front of me -but the venerable pumpkin polisher. He turned -as I got abreast of him and recognised me with -a throaty chuckle. And he promptly started to -talk. I gathered that he had many other priceless -treasures in his garden—wonderful sweet-peas, -more pumpkins of colossal dimensions. And after -a while I further gathered that he was suggesting -I should go in and examine them for myself.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“For a moment I hesitated. I looked at my -watch—there was plenty of time. Then I looked -over the gates and made up my mind. I would -introduce this ancient being into my account of -the fête; write up, in his own setting, this -extraordinary old man who had never left -Appledore for forty-eight years. And, in addition, -I would have a closer look at the house—possibly -even see the scholarly owner.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I glanced curiously round as I followed him -up the drive. We went about half-way to the -house, then turned off along a path into the -kitchen garden. And finally he came to rest in -front of the pumpkins—he was obviously a -pumpkin maniac. I should think he conducted -a monologue for five minutes on the habits of -pumpkins while I looked about me. Occasionally -I said ‘Yes’; occasionally I nodded my -head portentously; for the rest of the time I paid -no attention.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I could see half the front and one side of the -house—but there seemed no trace of any -occupants. And I was just going to ask the old -man who lived there, when I saw a man in his -shirt-sleeves standing at one of the windows. -He was not the man who had spoken to me at the -gate; he was not a grey-headed man either, so -presumably not the owner. He appeared to be -engrossed in something he was holding in his -hands, and after a while he held it up to the -light in the same way one holds up a photographic -plate. It was then that he saw me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now, I have never been an imaginative -person, but there was something positively uncanny -in the way that man disappeared. -Literally in a flash he had gone and the window -was empty. And my imagination began to stir. -Why had that man vanished so instantaneously -at the sight of a stranger in the kitchen garden?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And then another thing began to strike me. -Something which had been happening a moment -or two before had abruptly stopped—a noise, -faint and droning, but so steady that I hadn’t -noticed it until it ceased. It had been the sort -of noise which, if you heard it to-day, you would -say was caused by an aeroplane a great way -off—and quite suddenly it had stopped. A -second or two after the man had seen me and -vanished from the window, that faint droning -noise had ceased. I was sure of it, and my -imagination began to stir still more.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“However, by this time my venerable guide -had exhausted pumpkins, and, muttering strange -words, he began to lead me towards another part -of the garden. It was sweet-peas this time, and -I must say they were really magnificent. In -fact, I had forgotten the disappearing gentleman -at the window in my genuine admiration of the -flowers, when I suddenly saw the old man -straighten himself up, take a firm grip of his false -teeth with his one hand and touch his cap with -the other. He was looking over my shoulder, and -I swung round.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Three men were standing behind me on the -path. One was the man I had spoken to that -morning; one was the man I had seen at the -window; the other was grey-haired, and, I -assumed, the owner of the house. It was to him -I addressed myself.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I must apologise for trespassing,’ I began, -‘but I am reporting the agricultural fête down -here, and your gardener asked me in to see -your sweet-peas. They are really magnificent -specimens.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The elderly man stared at me in silence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I don’t quite see what the sweet-peas in -my garden have to do with the fête,’ he remarked -coldly. ‘And it is not generally customary, when -the owner is at home, to wander round his garden -at the invitation of his gardener.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Then I can only apologise and withdraw -at once,’ I answered stiffly. ‘I trust that I have -not irreparably damaged your paths.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He frowned angrily and seemed on the point -of saying something, when the man I had spoken -to at the gate took his arm and whispered something -in his ear. I don’t know what it was he -said, but it had the effect of restoring the grey-haired -man to a better temper at once.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I must apologise,’ he said affably, ‘for my -brusqueness. I am a recluse, Mr.—ah—Mr.——’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Graham is my name,’ I answered, partially -mollified.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He bowed. ‘A recluse, Mr. Graham—and -my garden is a hobby of mine. That and my -books. I fear I may have seemed a little irritable -when I first spoke, but I have a special system -of my own for growing sweet-peas, and I guard it -jealously. I confess that for a moment I was -unjust and suspicious enough to think you might -be trying to pump information from my -gardener.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I looked at old Methuselah, still clutching his -false teeth, and smiled involuntarily. The -elderly man guessed my thoughts and smiled, -too.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I am apt to forget that it takes several -months to interpret old Jake,’ he continued. -‘Those false teeth of his fascinate one, don’t -they? I shall never forget the dreadful occasion -he dropped them in the hot bed. We had the -most agonising search, and finally persistence -triumphed. They were rescued unscathed and -restored to their rightful place.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And so he went on talking easily, until half-unconsciously -I found myself strolling with him -towards the house. Every now and then he -stopped to point out some specimen of which he -was proud, and, without my realising it, twenty -minutes or so slipped by. It was the sound of a -whistle at the station that recalled me to the -passage of time, and I hurriedly looked at my -watch.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Good Heavens!’ I cried, ‘I’ve missed my -train. When is the next?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘The next, Mr. Graham. I’m afraid there -isn’t a next till to-morrow morning. This is a -branch line, you know.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Jove! how I swore inwardly. After what -old Andrews had said to me only that morning, -to go and fail again would finally cook my goose. -You must remember that it was before the days of -motor-cars, and, with the fête in progress, the -chance of getting a cart to drive me some twelve -miles to Ashford was remote—anyway for the -fare I could afford to pay.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I suppose my agitation showed on my face, -for the grey-haired man became quite upset.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘How stupid of me not to have thought of -the time,’ he cried. ‘We must think of the best -thing to do. I know,’ he said suddenly—‘you -must telegraph your report. Stop the night here -and telegraph.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I pointed out to him rather miserably that -newspapers did not like the expense of wiring -news unless it was important, and that by no -stretch of imagination could the Appledore -Flower Show be regarded as coming under that -category.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I will pay the cost,’ he insisted, and waved -aside my refusal. ‘Mr. Graham,’ he said, ‘it -was my fault. I am a wealthy man; I would -not dream of letting you suffer for my verbosity. -You will wire your article, and I shall pay.’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Writer smiled reminiscently.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What could have been more charming,” -he continued—“what more considerate and -courteous? My stupid, half-formed suspicions, -which had been growing fainter and fainter as I -strolled round the garden with my host, had by -this time vanished completely, and when he -found me pens, ink, and paper, as they say in the -French exercise book, I stammered out my -thanks. He cut me short with a smile, and told -me to get on with my article. He would send it -to the telegraph office, and tell his servants to get -a room ready for me. And with another smile -he left me alone, and I saw him pottering about -the garden outside as I wrote.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t know whether it has ever happened -to any of you fellows”—the Writer lit a cigarette—“to -harbour suspicions which are gradually -lulled, only to have them suddenly return with -redoubled force. There was I, peacefully writing -my account of the Appledore fête, while outside -my host, an enthusiastic gardener, as he had told -me, pursued his hobby. Could anything have -been more commonplace and matter of fact? -He was engaged on the roses at the moment, -spraying them with some solution, presumably -for green fly, and unconsciously I watched him. -No, I reflected, it couldn’t be for green fly, -because he was only spraying the roots, and even -I, though not an expert, knew that green fly -occur round the buds. And at that moment I -caught a momentary glimpse of the two other -men. They were roaring with laughter, and it -seemed to me that my host was the cause of the -merriment. He looked up and saw them, and the -hilarity ceased abruptly. The next moment -they had disappeared, and my host was continuing -the spraying. He went on industriously for -a few minutes, then he crossed the lawn towards -the open window of the room where I was writing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Nearly finished?’ he asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Very nearly,’ I answered. ‘Green fly bad -this year?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Green fly?’ he said a little vaguely. -‘Oh! so-so.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I thought you must be tackling them on the -roses,’ I pursued.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Er, quite—quite,’ he remarked. ‘Nasty -things, aren’t they?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Is it a special system of yours to go for the -roots?’ I asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He gave me one searching look, then he -laughed mysteriously.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Ah, ha! my young friend,’ he answered. -‘Don’t you try and get my stable secrets out of -me.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And I felt he was lying. Without thinking -something made me draw a bow at a venture, and -the arrow went home with a vengeance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Wonderful delphiniums you’ve got,’ I -remarked, leaning out of the window and -pointing to a bed underneath.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m very proud of those.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And the flowers at which I was pointing were -irises. So this enthusiastic gardener did not -know the difference between a delphinium and an -iris. Back in an overwhelming wave came all -my suspicions; I knew there was a mystery -somewhere. This man wasn’t a gardener; and, -if not, why this pretence? I remember now that -every time he had drawn my attention to a -specimen he had taken the attached label in his -hand. Quite unobtrusive it had been, unnoticeable -at the time, now it suddenly became significant. -Why was he playing this part—pretending -for my benefit? Futilely spraying the roots of -roses, making me miss my train. I was convinced -now that that had been part of the plan—but -why? Why the telegraphing? Why the -invitation to stop the night?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The old brain was working pretty quickly by -this time. No one, whatever his business, would -object to a <span class='it'>bona fide</span> journalist writing an account -of a fête, and if the business were crooked, the -people engaged on it would be the first to speed -that journalist on his way. People of that type -dislike journalists only one degree less than the -police. Then why—why? The answer simply -stuck out—they suspected me of not being a -journalist, or, even if they did not go as far -as that, they were taking no chances on the -matter.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“In fact, I was by this time definitely convinced -in my own mind that I had quite -unwittingly stumbled into a bunch of criminals, -and it struck me that the sooner I stumbled out -again the better for my health. So I put my -article in my pocket and went to the door. I -would wire it off, and I would not return.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The first hitch occurred at the door, which -had thoughtfully been locked. Not being a hero -of fiction, I confess it gave me a nasty shock—that -unyielding door. And as I stood there -taking a pull at myself I heard the grey-haired -man’s voice outside the window:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Finished yet, Mr. Graham?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I walked across the room, and in as steady -a voice as I could muster I mentioned the fact -that the door was locked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘So that you shouldn’t be disturbed, Mr. -Graham’—and I thought of the Wolf in ‘Red -Riding Hood,’ with his satisfactory answers to all -awkward questions.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘If someone would open it, I’ll get along to -the telegraph office,’ I remarked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I wouldn’t dream of your going to so much -trouble,’ he said suavely. ‘I’ve a lazy boy I -employ in the garden; he’ll take it.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“For a moment I hesitated, and a glint came -into his eyes, which warned me to be careful.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was then that I had my brainstorm. If -I hadn’t had it I shouldn’t be here now; if the -powers that be in the newspaper world were not -the quickest people on the uptake you can meet -in a day’s march, I shouldn’t be here now either. -But like a flash of light there came to my mind -the story I had once been told of how a war -correspondent in the South African War, at a time -when they were tightening the censorship, got -back full news of a battle by alluding to the rise -and fall of certain stock. And the editor in -England read between the lines—substituted -troops for stocks, Canadians for C.P.R., and so -on—and published the only account of the -battle.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Could I do the same? I hesitated.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Oh! there’s one thing I’ve forgotten,’ I -remarked. ‘I’ll just add it if the boy can -wait.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So I sat down at the table, and to my report -I added the following sentences:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘There was also some excellent mustard and -cress. Will come at once, but fear to-morrow -morning may be too late for me to be of further -use over Ronaldshay affair.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And then I handed it to the grey-haired man -through the window.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Writer leant back in his chair, and the -Soldier stared at him, puzzled.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s a bit too cryptic for me,” he confessed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Thank God! it wasn’t too cryptic for the -office,” said the Writer. “There was no Ronaldshay -affair, so I knew that would draw their -attention. And perhaps you’ve forgotten the -name of our star reporter, who dealt in criminal -matters. It was Cresswill. And if you write -the word cress with a capital C and leave out the -full stop after it, you’ll see the message I got -through to the office.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s uncommon lucky for you his name -wasn’t Snooks,” remarked the Actor with a grin. -“What happened?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, we had dinner, and I can only suppose -that my attempts to appear at ease had failed to -convince my companions.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The last thing I remember that night was -drinking a cup of coffee—the old trick—and -suddenly realising it was drugged. I staggered -to my feet, while they remained sitting round the -table watching me. Then, with a final glimpse -of the grey-haired man’s face, I passed into -oblivion.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“When I came to I was in a strange room, -feeling infernally sick. And I shall never forget -my wild relief when the man by the window -turned round and I saw it was Cresswill himself. -He came over to the bed and smiled down -at me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Well done, youngster,’ he said, and a glow -of pride temporarily replaced my desire for a -basin. ‘Well done, indeed. We’ve got the -whole gang, and we’ve been looking for ’em for -months. They were bank-note forgers on a big -scale, but we were only just in time to save you.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘How was that?’ I asked weakly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I think they had decided that your sphere -of usefulness was over,’ he remarked with a grin. -‘So after having removed suspicion by telegraphing -your report, they gave you a very good -dinner, when, as has been known to happen with -young men before, you got very drunk.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I was drugged,’ I said indignantly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘The point is immaterial,’ he answered -quietly. ‘Drunk or drugged, it’s much the same -after you’ve been run over by a train. And we -found two of them carrying you along a lane -towards the line at half-past eleven. The down -goods to Hastings passes at twenty to twelve.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And at that moment Providence was kind. -I ceased to <span class='it'>feel</span> sick. I was.”</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<hr class='tbk116'/> - -<table id='tab9' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 5em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 31em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab9c1 tdStyle3'><a id='ch7'></a><span class='it'>VII</span></td><td class='tab9c2 tdStyle6'><span class='it'>The Old Dining-Room</span></td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class='tbk117'/> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>I don’t</span> pretend to account for it; I am -merely giving the plain unvarnished tale of what -took place to my certain knowledge at Jack -Drage’s house in Kent during the week-end which -finished so disastrously. Doubtless there is an -explanation: maybe there are several. The -believers in spiritualism and things psychic -will probably say that the tragedy was due to the -action of a powerful influence which had remained -intact throughout the centuries; the materialists -will probably say it was due to indigestion. I -hold no brief for either side: as the mere -narrator, the facts are good enough for me. And, -anyway, the extremists of both schools of thought -are quite irreconcilable.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There were six of us there, counting Jack -Drage and his wife. Bill Sibton in the Indian -Civil, Armytage in the Gunners, and I—Staunton -by name, and a scribbler of sorts—were the men: -little Joan Neilson—Armytage’s fiancée—supported -Phyllis Drage. Ostensibly we were there -to shoot a few pheasants, but it was more than a -mere shooting party. It was a reunion after -long years of us four men who had been known at -school as the Inseparables. Bill had been in -India for twelve years, save for the inevitable gap -in Mesopotamia; Dick Armytage had soldiered -all over the place ever since he’d left the Shop. -And though I’d seen Jack off and on since our -school-days, I’d lost touch with him since he’d -married. Wives play the deuce with bachelor -friends though they indignantly deny it—God -bless ’em. At least, mine always does.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was the first time any of us had been inside -Jack’s house, and undoubtedly he had the most -delightful little property. The house itself was -old, but comfortably modernised by an expert, -so that the charm of it still remained. In fact, -the only room which had been left absolutely -intact was the dining-room. And to have -touched that would have been sheer vandalism. -The sole thing that had been done to it was to -install central heating, and that had been carried -out so skilfully that no trace of the work could -be seen.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was a room by itself, standing apart from the -rest of the house, with a lofty vaulted roof in -which one could just see the smoky old oak -beams by the light of the candles on the dinner-table. -A huge open fireplace jutted out from one -of the longer walls; while on the opposite side a -door led into the garden. And then, at one end, -approached by the original staircase at least six -centuries old, was the musicians’ gallery.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A wonderful room—a room in which it seemed -almost sacrilege to eat and smoke and discuss -present-day affairs—a room in which one felt -that history had been made. Nothing softened -the severe plainness of the walls save a few -mediæval pikes and battleaxes. In fact, two old -muskets of the Waterloo era were the most -modern implements of the collection. Of pictures -there was only one—a very fine painting of a man -dressed in the fashion of the Tudor period—which -hung facing the musicians’ gallery.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was that that caught my eye as we sat down -to dinner, and I turned to Jack.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“An early Drage?” I asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“As a matter of fact—no relation at all,” he -answered. “But a strong relation to this -room. That’s why I hang him there.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Any story attached thereto?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There is; though I can’t really do it justice. -The parson here is the only man who knows the -whole yarn.—By the way, old dear,” he spoke -to his wife across the table, “the reverend bird -takes tea with us to-morrow. But he is the only -man who has the thing at his finger tips. The -previous owner was a bit vague himself, but -having a sense of the fitness of things, he gave me -a chance of buying the picture. Apparently it’s -a painting of one Sir James Wrothley who lived -round about the time of Henry VIII. He was -either a rabid Protestant or a rabid Roman -Catholic—I told you I was a bit vague over -details—and he used this identical room as a -secret meeting-place for himself and his pals to -hatch plots against his enemies.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Jack <span class='it'>is</span> so illuminating, isn’t he?” laughed -his wife.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, I bet you can’t tell it any better yourself,” -he retorted with a grin. “I admit my history -is weak. But anyway, about that time, if -the jolly old Protestants weren’t burning the -R.C.’s, the R.C.’s were burning the Protestants. -A period calling for great tact, I’ve always -thought. Well, at any rate, this Sir James -Wrothley—when his party was being officially -burned—came here and hatched dark schemes to -reverse the procedure. And then, apparently, -one day somebody blew the gaff, and the whole -bunch of conspirators in here were absolutely -caught in the act by the other crowd, who put -’em all to death on the spot. Which is all I can -tell you about it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I must ask the padre to-morrow,” I said -to his wife. “I’d rather like to hear the whole -story. I felt when I first came into this room -there was history connected with it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She looked at me rather strangely for a -moment; then she gave a little forced laugh.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you know, Tom,” she said slowly, “at -times I almost hate this room. All my friends -gnash their teeth with envy over it—but sometimes, -when Jack’s been away, and I’ve dined in -here by myself—it’s terrified me. I feel as if—I -wasn’t alone: as if—there were people all -round me—watching me. Of course, it’s absurd, -I know. But I can’t help it. And yet I’m not a -nervy sort of person.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t think it’s at all absurd,” I assured -her. “I believe I should feel the same myself. -A room of this size, which, of necessity, is dimly -lighted in the corners, and which is full of -historical associations, must cause an impression -on the least imaginative person.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We used it once for a dance,” she laughed; -“with a ragtime band in the gallery.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And a great show it was, too,” broke in her -husband. “The trouble was that one of the -musicians got gay with a bottle of whisky, and -very nearly fell clean through that balustrade -effect on to the floor below. I haven’t had that -touched—and the wood is rotten.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I pray you be seated, gentlemen.” A sudden -silence fell on the table, and everybody stared at -Bill Sibton.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is it a game, Bill?” asked Jack Drage. -“I rather thought we were. And what about the -ladies?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With a puzzled frown Bill Sibton looked at him. -“Did I speak out loud, then?” he asked slowly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And so early in the evening too!” Joan -Neilson laughed merrily.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I must have been day-dreaming, I suppose. -But that yarn of yours has rather got me, Jack; -though in the course of a long and evil career -I’ve never heard one told worse. I was thinking -of that meeting—all of them sitting here. And -then suddenly that door bursting open.” He was -staring fixedly at the door, and again a silence fell -on us all.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The thunder of the butts of their muskets on -the woodwork.” He swung round and faced the -door leading to the garden. “And on that one, -too. Can’t you hear them? No escape—none. -Caught like rats in a trap.” His voice died away -to a whisper, and Joan Neilson gave a little -nervous laugh.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re the most realistic person, Mr. Sibton. -I think I prefer hearing about the dance.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I glanced at my hostess—and it seemed to me -that there was fear in her eyes as she looked at -Bill. Sometimes now I wonder if she had some -vague premonition of impending disaster: something -too intangible to take hold of—something -the more terrifying on that very account.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was after dinner that Jack Drage switched -on the solitary electric light of which the room -boasted. It was so placed as to show up the -painting of Sir James Wrothley, and in silence -we all gathered round to look at it. A pair of -piercing eyes set in a stern aquiline face stared -down at us from under the brim of a hat adorned -with sweeping plumes; his hand rested on the -jewelled hilt of his sword. It was a fine picture -in a splendid state of preservation, well worthy -of its place of honour on the walls of such a room, -and we joined in a general chorus of admiration. -Only Bill Sibton was silent, and he seemed fascinated—unable -to tear his eyes away from the -painting.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“As a matter of fact, Bill,” said Dick Armytage, -studying the portrait critically, “he might -well be an ancestor of yours. Wash out your -moustache, and give you a fancy-dress hat, and -you’d look very much like the old bean.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He was quite right: there was a distinct -resemblance, and it rather surprised me that I -had not noticed it myself. There were the same -deep-set piercing eyes, the same strong, slightly -hatchet face, the same broad forehead. Even -the colouring was similar: a mere coincidence -that, probably—but one which increased the -likeness. In fact, the longer I looked the more -pronounced did the resemblance become, till it -was almost uncanny.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, he can’t be, anyway,” said Bill -abruptly. “I’ve never heard of any Wrothley -in the family.” He looked away from the -picture almost with an effort and lit a cigarette. -“It’s a most extraordinary thing, Jack,” he -went on after a moment, “but ever since we -came into this room I’ve had a feeling that I’ve -been here before.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good Lord, man, that’s common enough in -all conscience. One often gets that idea.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I know one does,” answered Bill. “I’ve had -it before myself; but never one-tenth as strongly -as I feel it here. Besides, that feeling generally -dies—after a few minutes: it’s growing stronger -and stronger with me every moment I stop in -here.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then let’s go into the drawing-room,” said -our hostess. “I’ve had the card-table put in -there.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We followed her and Joan Neilson into the -main part of the house; and since neither of the -ladies played, for the next two hours we four -men bridged. And then, seeing that it was a -special occasion, we sat yarning over half-forgotten -incidents till the room grew thick with -smoke and the two women fled to bed before -they died of asphyxiation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Bill, I remember, waxed eloquent on the -subject of politicians, with a six weeks’ experience -of India, butting in on things they knew less -than nothing about; Dick Armytage grew melancholy -on the subject of the block in promotion. -And then the reminiscences grew more personal, -and the whisky sank lower and lower in the -tantalus as one yarn succeeded another.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At last Jack Drage rose with a yawn and -knocked the ashes out of his pipe.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Two o’clock, boys. What about bed?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Lord! is it really?” Dick Armytage -stretched himself. “However, no shooting to-morrow, -or, rather, to-day. We might spend -the Sabbath dressing Bill up as his nibs in the -next room.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A shadow crossed Bill’s face.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’d forgotten that room,” he said, frowning. -“Damn you, Dick!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My dear old boy,” laughed Armytage, “you -surely don’t mind resembling the worthy Sir -James! He’s a deuced sight better-looking -fellow than you are.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Bill shook his head irritably.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It isn’t that at all,” he said. “I wasn’t -thinking of the picture.” He seemed to be on -the point of saying something else—then he -changed his mind. “Well—bed for master.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We all trooped upstairs, and Jack came round -to each of us to see that we were all right.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Breakfast provisionally nine,” he remarked. -“Night-night, old boy.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The door closed behind him, and his steps -died away down the passage as he went to his -own room.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:2em;'>· · · · ·</p> - -<p class='pindent'>By all known rules I should have been asleep -almost as my head touched the pillow. A day’s -rough shooting, followed by bed at two in the -morning should produce that result if anything -can, but in my case that night it didn’t. Whether -I had smoked too much, or what it was, I know -not, but at half-past three I gave up the attempt -and switched on my light. Then I went over, -and pulling up an armchair, I sat down by the -open window. There was no moon, and the -night was warm for the time of year. Outlined -against the sky the big dining-room stretched -out from the house, and, as I lit a cigarette, -Jack Drage’s vague story returned to my mind. -The conspirators, meeting by stealth to hatch -some sinister plot; the sudden alarm as they -found themselves surrounded; the desperate -fight against overwhelming odds—and then, the -end. There should be a story in it, I reflected; -I’d get the parson to tell me the whole thing -accurately next day. The local colour seemed -more appropriate when one looked at the room -from the outside, with an occasional cloud -scudding by over the big trees beyond. Savoured -more of conspiracy and death than when dining -inside, with reminiscences of a jazz band in the -musicians’ gallery.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And at that moment a dim light suddenly -filtered out through the windows. It was so dim -that at first I thought I had imagined it; so dim -that I switched off my own light in order to make -sure. There was no doubt about it: faint but -unmistakable the reflection showed up on the -ground outside. A light had been lit in the old -dining-room: therefore someone must be in -there. At four o’clock in the morning!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For a moment or two I hesitated: should I go -along and rouse Jack? Someone might have -got in through the garden door, and I failed to -see why I should fight another man’s burglar in -his own house. And then it struck me it would -only alarm his wife—I’d get Bill, whose room was -opposite mine.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I put on some slippers and crossed the landing -to rouse him. And then I stopped abruptly. -His door was open; his room was empty. -Surely it couldn’t be he who had turned on the -light below?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As noiselessly as possible I went downstairs, -and turned along the passage to the dining-room. -Sure enough the door into the main part of the -house was ajar, and the light was shining -through the opening. I tiptoed up to it and -looked through the crack by the hinges.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At first I could see nothing save the solitary -electric light over the portrait of Sir James. And -then in the gloom beyond I saw a tall figure -standing motionless by the old oak dining-table. -It was Bill—even in the dim light I recognised -that clean-cut profile; Bill clad in his pyjamas -only, with one hand stretched out in front of -him, pointing. And then, suddenly, he spoke.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You lie, Sir Henry!—you lie!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Nothing more—just that one remark; his -hand still pointing inexorably across the table. -Then after a moment he turned so that the light -fell full on his face, and I realised what was the -matter. Bill Sibton was walking in his sleep.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Slowly he came towards the door behind which -I stood, and passed through it—so close that he -almost touched me as I shrank back against the -wall. Then he went up the stairs, and as soon -as I heard him reach the landing above, I quickly -turned out the light in the dining-room and -followed him. His bedroom door was closed: -there was no sound from inside.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was nothing more for me to do: my -burglar had developed into a harmless somnambulist. -Moreover, it suddenly struck me that I -had become most infernally sleepy myself. So -I did not curse Bill mentally as much as I might -have done. I turned in, and my nine o’clock -next morning was very provisional.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>So was Bill Sibton’s: we arrived together for -breakfast at a quarter to ten. He looked -haggard and ill, like a man who has not slept, and -his first remark was to curse Dick Armytage.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I had the most infernal dreams last night,” -he grumbled. “Entirely through Dick reminding -me of this room. I dreamed the whole show -that took place in here in that old bird’s time.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He pointed to the portrait of Sir James.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Did you!” I remarked, pouring out some -coffee. “Must have been quite interesting.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I know I wasn’t at all popular with the -crowd,” he said. “I don’t set any store by -dreams myself—but last night it was really extraordinarily -vivid.” He stirred his tea thoughtfully.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I can quite imagine that, Bill. Do you ever -walk in your sleep?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Walk in my sleep? No.” He stared at me -surprised. “Why?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You did last night. I found you down here -at four o’clock in your pyjamas. You were -standing just where I’m sitting now, pointing -with your hand across the table. And as I -stood outside the door you suddenly said, ‘You -lie, Sir Henry!—you lie!’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Part of my dream,” he muttered. “Sir -Henry Brayton was the name of the man—and -he was the leader. They were all furious with -me about something. We quarrelled—and after -that there seemed to be a closed door. It was -opening slowly, and instinctively I knew there -was something dreadful behind it. You know -the terror of a dream; the primordial terror of -the mind that cannot reason against something -hideous—unknown——” I glanced at him: his -forehead was wet with sweat. “And then the -dream passed. The door didn’t open.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Undoubtedly, my lad,” I remarked lightly, -“you had one whisky too many last night.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t be an ass, Tom,” he said irritably. -“I tell you—though you needn’t repeat it—I’m -in a putrid funk of this room. Absurd, I know: -ridiculous. But I can’t help it. And if there -was a train on this branch line on Sunday, I’d -leave to-day.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But, good Lord, Bill,” I began—and then -I went on with my breakfast. There was a look -on his face which it is not good to see on the -face of a man. It was terror: an abject, dreadful -terror.</p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p class='pindent'>He and Jack Drage were out for a long walk -when the parson came to tea that afternoon—a -walk of which Bill had been the instigator. He -had dragged Jack forth, vigorously protesting, -after lunch, and we had cheered them on their -way. Bill had to get out of the house—I could -see that. Then Dick and the girl had disappeared, -in the way that people in their condition -<span class='it'>do</span> disappear, just before Mr. Williams -arrived. And so only Phyllis Drage was there, -presiding at the tea-table, when I broached the -subject of the history of the dining-room.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He spoils paper, Mr. Williams,” laughed my -hostess, “and he scents copy. Jack tried to -tell the story last night, and got it hopelessly -wrong.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The clergyman smiled gravely.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’ll have to alter the setting, Mr. Staunton,” -he remarked, “because the story is quite -well known round here. In my library at the -vicarage I have an old manuscript copy of the -legend. And indeed, I have no reason to believe -that it is a legend: certainly the main points -have been historically authenticated. Sir James -Wrothley, whose portrait hangs in the dining-room, -lived in this house. He was a staunch -Protestant—bigoted to a degree; and he fell -very foul of Cardinal Wolsey, who you may -remember was plotting for the Papacy at the -time. So bitter did the animosity become, -and so high did religious intoleration run in -those days, that Sir James started counter-plotting -against the Cardinal; which was a -dangerous thing to do. Moreover, he and his -friends used the dining-room here as their -meeting-place.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The reverend gentleman sipped his tea; if -there was one thing he loved it was the telling -of this story, which reflected so magnificently on -the staunch no-Popery record of his parish.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So much is historical certainty; the rest is -not so indisputably authentic. The times of the -meetings were, of course, kept secret—until the -fatal night occurred. Then, apparently, someone -turned traitor. And, why I cannot tell you, -Sir James himself was accused by the others—especially -Sir Henry Brayton. Did you say -anything, Mr. Staunton?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nothing,” I remarked quietly. “The name -surprised me for a moment. Please go on.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sir Henry Brayton was Sir James’s next-door -neighbour, almost equally intolerant of -anything savouring of Rome. And even while, -so the story goes, Wolsey’s men were hammering -on the doors, he and Sir Henry had this dreadful -quarrel. Why Sir James should have been -suspected, whether the suspicions were justified -or not I cannot say. Certainly, in view of what -we know of Sir James’s character, it seems hard -to believe that he could have been guilty of such -infamous treachery. But that the case must -have appeared exceedingly black against him is -certain from the last and most tragic part of -the story.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Once again Mr. Williams paused to sip his -tea; he had now reached that point of the -narrative where royalty itself would have failed -to hurry him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“In those days, Mrs. Drage, there was a door -leading into the musicians’ gallery from one of -the rooms of the house. It provided no avenue -of escape if the house was surrounded—but its -existence was unknown to the men before whose -blows the other doors were already beginning to -splinter. And suddenly through this door -appeared Lady Wrothley. She had only recently -married Sir James: in fact, her first baby -was then on its way. Sir James saw her, and -at once ceased his quarrel with Sir Henry. With -dignity he mounted the stairs and approached -his girl-wife—and in her horror-struck eyes he -saw that she, too, suspected him of being the -traitor. He raised her hand to his lips; and -then as the doors burst open simultaneously and -Wolsey’s men rushed in—he dived headforemost -on to the floor below, breaking his neck and dying -instantly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The story goes on to say,” continued Mr. -Williams, with a diffident cough, “that even -while the butchery began in the room below—for -most of the Protestants were unarmed—the poor -girl collapsed in the gallery, and shortly afterwards -the child was born. A girl baby, who -survived, though the mother died. One likes to -think that if she had indeed misjudged her -husband, it was a merciful act on the part of -the Almighty to let her join him so soon. Thank -you, I will have another cup of tea. One lump, -please.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A most fascinating story, Mr. Williams,” -said Phyllis. “Thank you so much for having -told us. Can you make anything out of it, -Tom?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I laughed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The criminal reserves his defence. But it’s -most interesting, Padre, most interesting, as Mrs. -Drage says. If I may, I’d like to come and see -that manuscript.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I shall be only too delighted,” he murmured -with old-fashioned courtesy. “Whenever you -like.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And then the conversation turned on things -parochial until he rose to go. The others had -still not returned, and for a while we two sat -on talking as the spirit moved us in the darkening -room. At last the servants appeared to draw -the curtains, and it was then that we heard -Jack and Bill in the hall.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I don’t know what made me make the remark; -it seemed to come without my volition.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If I were you, Phyllis,” I said, “I don’t -think I’d tell the story of the dining-room to -Bill.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She looked at me curiously.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why not?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t know—but I wouldn’t.” In the -brightly lit room his fears of the morning seemed -ridiculous; yet, as I say, I don’t know what -made me make the remark.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“All right; I won’t,” she said gravely. “Do -you think——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But further conversation was cut short by the -entrance of Bill and her husband.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Twelve miles if an inch,” growled Drage, -throwing himself into a chair. “You awful -fellow.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Sibton laughed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you good, you lazy devil. He’s getting -too fat, Phyllis, isn’t he?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I glanced at him as he, too, sat down: in his -eyes there remained no trace of the terror of the -morning.</p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p class='pindent'>And now I come to that part of my story -which I find most difficult to write. From the -story-teller’s point of view pure and simple, it is -the easiest; from the human point of view I -have never tackled anything harder. Because, -though the events I am describing took place -months ago—and the first shock is long since -past—I still cannot rid myself of a feeling that I -was largely to blame. By the cold light of -reason I can exonerate myself; but one does not -habitually have one’s being in that exalted -atmosphere. Jack blames himself; but in view -of what happened the night before—in view of -the look in Bill’s eyes that Sunday morning—I -feel that I ought to have realised that there were -influences at work which lay beyond my ken—influences -which at present lie not within the -light of reason. And then at other times I -wonder if it was not just a strange coincidence -and an—accident. God knows: frankly, I -don’t.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We spent that evening just as we had spent -the preceding one, save that in view of shooting -on Monday morning we went to bed at midnight. -This time I fell asleep at once—only to be roused -by someone shaking my arm. I sat up blinking: -it was Jack Drage.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Wake up, Tom,” he whispered. “There’s -a light in the dining-room, and we’re going down -to investigate. Dick is getting Bill.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In an instant I was out of bed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s probably Bill himself,” I said. “I -found him down there last night walking in his -sleep.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The devil you did!” muttered Jack, and -at that moment Dick Armytage came in.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Bill’s room is empty,” he announced; and -I nodded.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s Bill right enough,” I said. “He went -back quite quietly last night. And, for Heaven’s -sake, you fellows, don’t wake him. It’s very -dangerous.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Just as before the dining-room door was open, -and the light filtered through into the passage -as we tiptoed along it. Just as before we saw -Bill standing by the table—his hand outstretched.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then came the same words as I had heard -last night.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You lie, Sir Henry!—you lie!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What the devil——” muttered Jack; but -I held up my finger to ensure silence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He’ll come to bed now,” I whispered. -“Keep quite still.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But this time Bill Sibton did not come to bed; -instead, he turned and stared into the shadows of -the musicians’ gallery. Then, very slowly, he -walked away from us and commenced to mount -the stairs. And still the danger did not strike -us.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dimly we saw the tall figure reach the top and -walk along the gallery, as if he saw someone at -the end—and at that moment the peril came to -the three of us.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>To Dick and Jack the rottenness of the -balustrade; to me—<span class='it'>the end of the vicar’s story</span>. -What they thought I know not; but to my dying -day I shall never forget my own agony of mind. -In that corner of the musicians’ gallery—though -we could see her not—stood Lady Wrothley; to -the man walking slowly towards her the door -was opening slowly—the door which had remained -shut the night before—the door behind -which lay the terror.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And then it all happened very quickly. In a -frenzy we raced across the room, to get at him—but -we weren’t in time. There was a rending of -wood—a dreadful crash—a sprawling figure on -the floor below. To me it seemed as if he had -hurled himself against the balustrade, had -literally dived downwards. The others did not -notice it—so they told me later. But I did.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And then we were kneeling beside him on the -floor.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Dear God!” I heard Drage say in a hoarse -whisper. “He’s dead; he’s broken his neck.”</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:2em;'>· · · · ·</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Such is my story. Jack Drage blames himself -for the rottenness of the woodwork, but I feel -it was my fault. Yes—it was my fault. I ought -to have known, ought to have done something. -Even if we’d only locked the dining-room door.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And the last link in the chain I haven’t -mentioned yet. The vicar supplied that—though -to him it was merely a strange coincidence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The baby-girl—born in the gallery—a strange, -imaginative child, so run the archives, subject -to fits of awful depression and, at other times, -hallucinations—married. She married in 1551, -on the 30th day of October, Henry, only son of -Frank Sibton and Mary his wife.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>God knows: I don’t. It may have been an -accident.</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<hr class='tbk118'/> - -<table id='tab10' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 5em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 31em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab10c1 tdStyle3'><a id='ch8'></a><span class='it'>VIII</span></td><td class='tab10c2 tdStyle6'><span class='it'>When Greek meets Greek</span></td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class='tbk119'/> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>“But</span>, Bill, I don’t understand. How much did -you borrow from this man?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Sybil Daventry looked at her brother, sitting -huddled up in his chair, with a little frown.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I borrowed a thousand,” he answered, -sulkily. “And like a fool I didn’t read the -thing he made me sign—at least, not carefully. -Hang it, I’ve only had the money six months, -and now he’s saying that I owe him over two. I -saw something about twenty-five per cent., and -now I find it was twenty-five per cent. a month. -And the swine is pressing for payment unless——” -He broke off and stared into the fire -shamefacedly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Unless what?” demanded his sister.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, you see, it’s this way.” The boy -stammered a little, and refused to look at her. -“I was jolly well up the spout when this blighter -told me what I owed him, and I suppose I must -have showed it pretty clearly. Anyway, I was -propping up the bar at the Cri., getting a cocktail, -when a fellow standing next me started gassing. -Not a bad sort of cove at all; knows you very -well by sight.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Knows me?” said the girl, bewildered. -“Who was he?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m coming to that later,” went on her -brother. “Well, we had a couple more and -then he suggested tearing a chop together. And -I don’t know—he seemed so decent and all that—that -I told him I was in the soup. Told him -the whole yarn and asked his advice sort of -business. Well, as I say, he was bally sporting -about it all, and finally asked me who the bird -was who had tied up the boodle. I told him, -and here’s the lucky part of the whole show—this -fellow Perrison knew him. Perrison was -the man I was lunching with.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He paused and lit a cigarette, while the girl -stared at him gravely.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well,” she said at length, “go on.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was after lunch that he got busy. He -said to me: ‘Look here, Daventry, you’ve made -a bally fool of yourself, but you’re not the first. -I’ll write a note to Messrs. Smith and Co.’—those -are the warriors who gave me the money—‘and -try and persuade them to give you more -time, or even possibly reduce the rate of interest.’ -Of course, I was all on this, and I arranged to -lunch with him again next day, after Smith and -Co. had had time to function. And sure enough -they did. Wrote a letter in which they were all -over me; any friend of Mr. Perrison’s was -entitled to special treatment, and so on and so -forth. Naturally I was as bucked as a dog with -two tails, and asked Perrison if I couldn’t do -something more material than just thank him. -And—er—he—I mean it was then he told me -he knew you by sight.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He glanced at his sister, and then quickly -looked away again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He suggested—er—that perhaps I could -arrange to introduce him to you; that it would -be an honour he would greatly appreciate, and -all that sort of rot.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The girl was sitting very still. “Yes,” she -said, quietly, “and you—agreed.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, of course I did. Hang it, he’s quite a -decent fellow. Bit Cityish to look at, and I -shouldn’t think he knows which end of a horse -goes first. But he’s got me out of the devil of -a hole, Sybil, and the least you can do is to be -moderately decent to the bird. I mean it’s -not asking much, is it? I left the governor -looking at him in the hall as if he was just going -to tread on his face, and that long slab—your -pal—is gazing at him through his eyeglasses as if -he was mad.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He’s not my pal, Bill.” Sybil Daventry’s -colour heightened a little.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, you asked him here, anyway,” grunted -the boy. Then with a sudden change of tone he -turned to her appealingly. “Syb, old girl—for -the Lord’s sake play the game. You know what -the governor is, and if he hears about this show—especially -as it’s—as it’s not the first time—there’ll -be the deuce to pay. You know he said -last time that if it happened again he’d turn me -out of the house. And the old man is as stubborn -as a mule. I only want you to be a bit -decent to Perrison.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She looked at him with a grave smile. “If -Mr. Perrison is satisfied with my being decent to -him, as you put it, I’m perfectly prepared to play -the game. But——” She frowned and rose abruptly. -“Come on, and I’ll have a look at him.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In silence they went downstairs. Tea had -just been brought in, and the house-party was -slowly drifting into the hall. But Sybil barely -noticed them; her eyes were fixed on the man -talking to her father. Or rather, at the moment, -her father was talking to the man, and his -remark was painfully audible.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There is a very good train back to London -at seven-thirty, Mr.—ah—Mr.——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Her brother stepped forward. “But I say, -Dad,” he said, nervously, “I asked Perrison to -stop the night. I’ve just asked Sybil, and she -says she can fix him up somewhere.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How do you do, Mr. Perrison?” With a -charming smile she held out her hand. “Of -course you must stop the night.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then she moved away to the tea-table, -feeling agreeably relieved; it was better than -she had expected. The man was well-dressed; -perhaps, to her critical eye, a little too well-dressed—but -still quite presentable.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You averted a catastrophe, Miss Daventry.” -A lazy voice beside her interrupted her thoughts, -and with a smile she turned to the speaker.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Dad is most pestilentially rude at times, -isn’t he? And Bill told me he left <span class='it'>you</span> staring -at the poor man as if he was an insect.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Archie Longworth laughed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He’d just contradicted your father flatly as -you came downstairs. And on a matter concerning -horses. However—the breeze has -passed. But, tell me,” he stared at her gravely, -“why the sudden invasion?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Her eyebrows went up a little. “May I ask -why not?” she said, coldly. “Surely my -brother can invite a friend to the house if he -wishes.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I stand corrected,” answered Longworth, -quietly. “Has he known him long?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I haven’t an idea,” said the girl. “And -after all, Mr. Longworth, I hadn’t known you -very long when I asked you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And then, because she realised that there was -a possibility of construing rather more into her -words than she had intended, she turned abruptly -to speak to another guest. So she failed to see -the sudden inscrutable look that came into -Archie Longworth’s keen blue eyes—the quick -clenching of his powerful fists. But when a few -minutes later she again turned to him, he was -just his usual lazy self.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you think your logic is very good?” he -demanded. “You might have made a mistake -as well.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You mean that you think my brother has?” -she said, quickly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is visible on the surface to the expert -eye,” he returned, gravely. “But, in addition, -I happen to have inside information.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you know Mr. Perrison, then?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He nodded. “Yes, I have—er—met him -before.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But he doesn’t know you,” cried the girl.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No—at least—er—we’ll leave it at that. -And I would be obliged, Miss Daventry, in case -you happen to be speaking to him, if you would -refrain from mentioning the fact that I know -him.” He stared at her gravely.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re very mysterious, Mr. Longworth,” -said the girl, with an attempt at lightness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And if I may I will prolong my visit until -our friend departs,” continued Longworth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, of course,” she said, bending over the -tea-tray. “You weren’t thinking of going—going -yet, were you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I was thinking after lunch that I should -have to go to-morrow,” he said, putting down his -tea-cup.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But why so soon?” she asked, and her -voice was low. “Aren’t you enjoying yourself?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“In the course of a life that has taken me into -every corner of the globe,” he answered, slowly, -“I have never dreamed that I could be so -utterly and perfectly happy as I have been here. -It has opened my mind to a vista of the Things -that Might Be—if the Things that Had Been -were different. But as you grow older, Sybil, -you will learn one bitter truth: no human being -can ever be exactly what he seems. Masks? -just masks! And underneath—God and that -being alone know.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He rose abruptly, and she watched him bending -over Lady Granton with his habitual lazy -grace. The indolent smile was round his lips—the -irrepressible twinkle was in his eyes. But -for the first time he had called her Sybil; for -the first time—she <span class='it'>knew</span>. The vague forebodings -conjured up by his words were swamped by that -one outstanding fact; she <span class='it'>knew</span>. And nothing -else mattered.</p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p class='pindent'>It was not until Perrison joined her in the -conservatory after dinner that she found herself -called on to play the part set her by her -brother.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She had gone there—though nothing would -have induced her to admit the fact—in the hope -that someone else would follow: the man with -the lazy blue eyes and the eyeglass. And then -instead of him had come Perrison, with a shade -too much deference in his manner, and a shade -too little control of the smirk on his face. With -a sudden sick feeling she realised at that moment -exactly where she stood. Under a debt of -obligation to this man—under the necessity of a -<span class='it'>tête-à-tête</span> with him, one, moreover, when, if she -was to help Bill, she must endeavour to be extra -nice.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For a while the conversation was commonplace, -while she feverishly longed for someone to -come in and relieve the tension. But Bridge -was in progress, and there was Snooker in the -billiard-room, and at length she resigned herself -to the inevitable. Presumably she would have -to thank him for his kindness to Bill; after all -he undoubtedly had been very good to her -brother.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Bill has told me, Mr. Perrison, how kind -you’ve been in the way you’ve helped him -in this—this unfortunate affair.” She plunged -valiantly, and gave a sigh of relief as she cleared -the first fence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Perrison waved a deprecating hand. “Don’t -mention it, Miss Daventry, don’t mention it. -But—er—of course, something will have to be -done, and—well, there’s no good mincing matters—done -very soon.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The girl’s face grew a little white, but her -voice was quite steady.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But he told me that you had arranged things -with these people. Please smoke, if you want -to.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Perrison bowed his thanks and carefully -selected a cigarette. The moment for which he -had been playing had now arrived, in circumstances -even more favourable than he had dared -to hope.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Up to a point that is quite true,” he remarked, -quietly. “Messrs. Smith and Co. have -many ramifications of business—money-lending -being only one of the irons they have in the fire. -And because I have had many dealings with the -firm professionally—over the sale of precious -stones, I may say, which is my own particular -line of work—they were disposed to take a -lenient view about the question of the loan. Not -press for payment, and perhaps—though I can’t -promise this—even be content with a little less -interest. But—er—Miss Daventry, it’s the -other thing where the trouble is going to occur.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The girl stared at him with dilated eyes. -“What other thing, Mr. Perrison?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hasn’t your brother told you?” said -Perrison, surprised. “Oh, well, perhaps I—er—shouldn’t -have mentioned it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Go on, please.” Her voice was low. “What -is this other thing?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For a moment he hesitated—a well-simulated -hesitation. Then he shrugged his shoulders -slightly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well—if you insist. As a matter of fact, -your brother didn’t tell me about it, and I only -found it out in the course of my conversation -with one of the Smith partners. Apparently -some weeks ago he bought some distinctly valuable -jewellery—a pearl-necklace, to be exact—from -a certain firm. At least, when I say he -bought it—he did not pay for it. He gave your -father’s name as a reference, and the firm considered -it satisfactory. It was worth about -eight hundred pounds, this necklace, and your -very stupid brother, instead of giving it to the -lady whom, presumably, he had got it for, -became worse than stupid. He became criminal.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What do you mean?” The girl was looking -at him terrified.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He pawned this necklace which he hadn’t -paid for, Miss Daventry, which is, I regret to say, -a criminal offence. And the trouble of the -situation is that the firm he bought the pearls -from has just found it out. He pawned it at a -place which is one of the ramifications of Smith -and Co., who gave him, I believe, a very good -price for it—over five hundred pounds. The -firm, in the course of business, two or three days -ago—and this is the incredibly unfortunate part -of it—happened to show this self-same necklace, -while they were selling other things, to the man -it had originally come from. Of course, being -pawned, it wasn’t for sale—but the man recognised -it at once. And then the fat was in the -fire.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you mean to say,” whispered the girl, -“that—that they might send him to prison?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Unless something is done very quickly, Miss -Daventry, the matter will certainly come into -the law courts. Messrs. Gross and Sons”—a -faint noise from the darkness at the end of the -conservatory made him swing round suddenly, -but everything was silent again—“Messrs. Gross -and Sons are very difficult people in many ways. -They are the people it came from originally, I -may tell you. And firms, somewhat naturally, -differ, like human beings. Some are disposed to -be lenient—others are not. I’m sorry to say -Gross and Sons are one of those who are not.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But couldn’t you see them, or something, -and explain?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My dear Miss Daventry,” said Perrison, -gently, “I must ask you to be reasonable. What -can I explain? Your brother wanted money, -and he adopted a criminal method of getting it. -That I am afraid—ugly as it sounds—is all there -is to it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then, Mr. Perrison—can nothing be done?” -She bent forward eagerly, her hands clasped, her -lips slightly parted; and once again came that -faint noise from the end of the conservatory.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But Mr. Perrison was too engrossed to heed -it this time; the nearness, the appeal of this -girl, who from the time he had first seen her six -months previously at a theatre had dominated -his life, was making his senses swim. And with -it the veneer began to drop; the hairy heel -began to show, though he made a tremendous -endeavour to keep himself in check.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There is one thing,” he said, hoarsely. -“And I hope you will understand that I should -not have been so precipitate—except for the -urgency of your brother’s case. If I go to -Messrs. Gross and say to them that a prosecution -by them would affect me personally, I think I -could persuade them to take no further steps.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Wonder was beginning to dawn in the girl’s -eyes. “Affect you personally?” she repeated.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If, for instance, I could tell them that for -family reasons—urgent, strong family reasons—they -would be doing me a great service by letting -matters drop, I think they would do it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She rose suddenly—wonder replaced by horror. -She had just realised his full meaning.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What on earth are you talking about, Mr. -Perrison?” she said, haughtily.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And then the heel appeared in all its hairiness. -“If I may tell them,” he leered, “that I am -going to marry into the family I’ll guarantee they -will do nothing more.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Marry you?” The biting scorn in her tone -changed the leer to a snarl.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes—marry me, or see your brother jugged. -Money won’t save him—so there’s no good going -to your father. Money will square up the Smith -show—it won’t square the other.” And then -his tone changed. “Why not, little girl? I’m -mad about you; have been ever since I saw you -at a theatre six months ago. I’m pretty well -off even for these days, and——” He came -towards her, his arms outstretched, while she -backed away from him, white as a sheet. Her -hands were clenched, and it was just as she had -retreated as far as she could, and the man was -almost on her, that she saw red. One hand -went up; hit him—hit the brute—was her only -coherent thought. And the man, realising it, -paused—an ugly look in his eyes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then occurred the interruption. A strangled -snort, as of a sleeper awakening, came from -behind some palms, followed by the creaking of -a chair. With a stifled curse Perrison fell back -and the girl’s hand dropped to her side as the -branches parted and Archie Longworth, rubbing -his eyes, stepped into the light.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Lord save us, Miss Daventry, I’ve been -asleep,” he said, stifling a yawn. “I knew I -oughtn’t to have had a third glass of port. -Deuced bad for the liver, but very pleasant for -all that, isn’t it, Mr.—Mr. Perrison?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He smiled engagingly at the scowling Perrison, -and adjusted his eyeglass.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You sleep very silently, Mr. Longworth,” -snarled that worthy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes—used to win prizes for it at an infant -school. Most valuable asset in class. If one -snores it disconcerts the lecturer.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Perrison swung round on his heel. “I would -like an answer to my suggestion by to-morrow, -Miss Daventry,” he said, softly. “Perhaps I -might have the pleasure of a walk where people -don’t sleep off the effects of dinner.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With a slight bow he left the conservatory, -and the girl sat down weakly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Pleasant type of bird, isn’t he?” drawled -Longworth, watching Perrison’s retreating -back.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He’s a brute—an utter brute,” whispered the -girl, shakily.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I thought the interview would leave you -with that impression,” agreed the man.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She sat up quickly. “Did you hear what was -said?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Every word. That’s why I was there.” He -smiled at her calmly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then why didn’t you come out sooner?” -she cried, indignantly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I wanted to hear what he had to say, and -at the same time I didn’t want you to biff him -on the jaw—which from your attitude I gathered -you were on the point of doing.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why not? I’d have given anything to have -smacked his face.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I know. I’d have given anything to have -seen you do it. But—not yet. In fact, to-morrow -you’ve got to go for a walk with -him.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I flatly refuse!” cried Sybil Daventry.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“More than that,” continued Longworth, -calmly, “you’ve got to keep him on the hook. -Play with him; let him think he’s got a chance.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But why?” she demanded. “I loathe -him.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Because it is absolutely essential that he -should remain here until the day after to-morrow -at the earliest.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t understand.” She looked at him -with a puzzled frown.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You will in good time.” It seemed to her -his voice was just a little weary. “Just now it -is better that you shouldn’t. Do you trust me -enough to do that, Sybil?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I trust you absolutely,” and she saw him -wince.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then keep him here till I come back.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Are you going away, Archie?” Impulsively -she laid her hand on his arm.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“To-morrow, first thing. I shall come back -as soon as possible.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For a moment or two they stood in silence, -then, with a gesture strangely foreign to one so -typically British, he raised her hand to his lips. -And the next instant she was alone.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A little later she saw him talking earnestly to -her brother in a corner; then someone suggested -billiard-fives. An admirable game, but not one -in which it is wise to place one’s hand on the -edge of the table with the fingers over the -cushion. Especially if the owner of the hand is -not paying attention to the game. It was -Perrison’s hand, and the agony of being hit on -the fingers by a full-sized billiard ball travelling -fast must be experienced to be believed. Of -course it was an accident: Longworth was most -apologetic. But in the middle of the hideous -scene that followed she caught his lazy blue -eye and beat a hasty retreat to the hall. Unrestrained -mirth in such circumstances is not -regarded as the essence of tact.</p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p class='pindent'>It was about ten o’clock on the morning of the -next day but one that a sharp-looking, flashily-dressed -individual presented himself at the door -of Messrs. Gross and Sons. He was of the type -that may be seen by the score any day of the -week propping up the West-end bars and discoursing -on racing form in a hoarse whisper.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mornin’,” he remarked. “Mr. Johnson here -yet?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What do you want to see him about?” -demanded the assistant.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“To tell him that your hair wants cutting,” -snapped the other. “Hop along, young fellah; -as an ornament you’re a misfit. Tell Mr. Johnson -that I’ve a message from Mr. Perrison.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The youth faded away, to return in a minute -or two with a request that the visitor would -follow him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Message from Perrison? What’s up?” Mr. -Johnson rose from his chair as the door closed -behind the assistant.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The flashy individual laughed and pulled out -his cigarette-case.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He’s pulled it off,” he chuckled. “At the -present moment our one and only Joe is clasping -the beauteous girl to his bosom.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Strike me pink—he hasn’t, has he?” Mr. -Johnson slapped his leg resoundingly and shook -with merriment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That’s why I’ve come round,” continued the -other. “From Smith, I am. Joe wants to give -her a little present on account.” He grinned -again, and felt in his pocket. “Here it is—and -he wants a receipt signed by you—acknowledging -the return of the necklace which was sent out—on -approval.” He winked heavily. “He’s infernally -deep, is Joe.” He watched the other -man as he picked up the pearls, and for a moment -his blue eyes seemed a little strained. “He -wants to give that receipt to the girl—so as to -clinch the bargain.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why the dickens didn’t he ’phone me -direct?” demanded Johnson, and once again -the other grinned broadly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Strewth!” he said, “I laughed fit to burst -this morning. The ’phone at his girl’s place is -in the hall, as far as I could make out, and Joe -was whispering down it like an old woman with -lumbago. ‘Take ’em round to Johnson,’ he -said. ‘Approval—approval—you fool.’ And -then he turned away and I heard him say—‘Good -morning, Lady Jemima.’ Then back he -turns and starts whispering again. ‘Do you get -me, Bob?’ ‘Yes,’ I says, ‘I get you. You -want me to take round the pearls to Johnson and -get a receipt from him. And what about the -other thing—you know, the money the young -boob borrowed?’ ‘Put it in an envelope and -send it to me here, with the receipt,’ he says. -‘I’m going out walking this morning.’ Then he -rings off, and that’s that. Lord! think of Joe -walking.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The grin developed into a cackling laugh, in -which Mr. Johnson joined.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He’s deep—you’re right,” he said, admiringly. -“Uncommonly deep. I never thought -he’d pull it off. Though personally, mark -you, I think he’s a fool. They’ll fight like -cat and dog.” He rang a bell on his desk -then opening a drawer he dropped the necklace -inside.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Bring me a formal receipt form,” he said to -the assistant. “Have you got the other paper?” -he asked, as he affixed the firm’s signature to the -receipt, and the flashy individual produced it -from his pocket.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Here it is,” he announced. “Put ’em both -in an envelope together and address it to Joe. -I’m going along; I’ll post it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Will you have a small tiddley before you -go?” Mr. Johnson opened a formidable-looking -safe, disclosing all the necessary-looking -ingredients for the manufacture of small tiddleys.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t mind if I do,” conceded the other. -“Here’s the best—and to the future Mrs. Joe.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A moment or two later he passed through the -outer office and was swallowed up in the crowd. -And it was not till after lunch that day that Mr. -Johnson got the shock of his life—when he -opened one of the early evening papers.</p> - -<div class='blockquote100percent'> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:1.2em;'>“DARING ROBBERY IN WELL-KNOWN CITY FIRM.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>A most daring outrage was carried out last -night at the office of Messrs. Smith and Co., the -well-known financial and insurance brokers. At -a late hour this morning, some time after work was -commenced, the night watchman was discovered -bound and securely gagged in a room at the top of -the premises. Further investigation revealed that -the safe had been opened—evidently by a master -hand—and the contents rifled. The extent of the -loss is at present unknown, but the police are -believed to possess several clues.</span>”</p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>And at the same time that Mr. Johnson was -staring with a glassy stare at this astounding -piece of news, a tall, spare man with lazy blue -eyes, stretched out comfortably in the corner of a -first-class carriage, was also perusing it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Several clues,” he murmured. “I wonder! -But it was a very creditable job, though I say it -myself.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Which seemed a strange soliloquy for a well-dressed -man in a first-class carriage. And what -might have seemed almost stranger, had there -been any way of knowing such a recondite fact, -was that in one of the mail bags reposing in the -back of the train, a mysterious transformation -had taken place. For a letter which had -originally contained two documents and had -been addressed to J. Perrison, Esq., now contained -three and was consigned to Miss Sybil -Daventry. Which merely goes to show how -careful one should be over posting letters.</p> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good evening, Mr. Perrison. All well, and -taking nourishment, so to speak?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Archie Longworth lounged into the hall, -almost colliding with the other man.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You look pensive,” he continued, staring at -him blandly. “<span class='it'>Agitato, fortissimo.</span> Has aught -occurred to disturb your masterly composure?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But Mr. Perrison was in no mood for fooling: -a message he had just received over the telephone -had very considerably disturbed his composure.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Let me have a look at that paper,” he -snapped, making a grab at it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Tush! Tush!” murmured Archie. “Manners, -laddie, manners! You’ve forgotten that -little word.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And then at the far end of the hall he saw the -girl, and caught his breath. For the last two -days he had almost forgotten her in the stress -of other things; now the bitterness of what had -to come rose suddenly in his throat and choked -him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There is the paper. Run away and play in -a corner.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then he went forward to meet her with his -usual lazy smile.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What’s happened?” she cried, a little -breathlessly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Heaps of things,” he said, gently. “Heaps -of things. The principal one being that a very -worthless sinner loves a very beautiful girl—as -he never believed it could be given to man to -love.” His voice broke and faltered: then he -went on steadily. “And the next one—which -is really even more important—is that the very -beautiful girl will receive a letter in a long -envelope by to-night’s mail. The address will be -typed, the postmark Strand. I do not want the -beautiful girl to open it except in my presence. -You understand?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I understand,” she whispered, and her eyes -were shining.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Have you seen this?” Perrison’s voice—shaking -with rage—made Longworth swing -round.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Seen what, dear lad?” he murmured, taking -the paper. “Robbery in City—is that what you -mean? Dear, dear—what dastardly outrages -do go unpunished these days! Messrs. Smith and -Co. Really! Watchman bound and gagged. -Safe rifled. Work of a master hand. Still, -though I quite understand your horror as a law-abiding -citizen at such a thing, why this thusness? -I mean—altruism is wonderful, laddie; -but it seems to me that it’s jolly old Smith and -Co. who are up the pole.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He burbled on genially, serenely unconscious -of the furious face of the other man.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m trying to think where I’ve met you -before, Mr. Longworth,” snarled Perrison.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Never, surely,” murmured the other. -“Those classic features, I feel sure, would have -been indelibly printed on my mind. Perhaps in -some mission, Mr. Perrison—some evangelical -revival meeting. Who knows? And there, if I -mistake not, is the mail.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He glanced at the girl, and she was staring at -him wonderingly. Just for one moment did he -show her what she wanted to know—just for one -moment did she give him back the answer which -was to him the sweetest and at the same time -the most bitter in the world. Then he crossed -the hall and picked up the letters.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A business one for you, Miss Daventry,” he -murmured, mildly. “Better open it at once, and -get our business expert’s advice. Mr. Perrison -is a wonderful fellah for advice.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With trembling fingers she opened the envelope, -and, as he saw the contents, Perrison, with -a snarl of ungovernable fury, made as if to -snatch them out of her hand. The next moment -he felt as if his arm was broken, and the blue -eyes boring into his brain were no longer lazy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You forgot yourself, Mr. Perrison,” said -Archie Longworth, gently. “Don’t do that -again.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But I don’t understand,” cried the girl, bewildered. -“What are these papers?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“May I see?” Longworth held out his hand, -and she gave them to him at once.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They’re stolen.” Perrison’s face was livid. -“Give them to me, curse you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Control yourself, you horrible blighter,” said -Longworth, icily. “This,” he continued, calmly, -“would appear to be a receipt from Messrs. Gross -and Sons for the return of a pearl-necklace—sent -out to Mr. Daventry on approval.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But you said he’d bought it and pawned it.” -She turned furiously on Perrison.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So he did,” snarled that gentleman. “That’s -a forgery.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is it?” said Longworth. “That strikes -me as being Johnson’s signature. Firm’s official -paper. And—er—he has the necklace, I—er—assume.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes—he has the necklace. Stolen last night -by—by——” His eyes were fixed venomously -on Longworth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Go on,” murmured the other. “You’re -being most entertaining.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But a sudden change had come over Perrison’s -face—a dawning recognition. “By God!” he -muttered, “you’re—you’re——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes. I’m—who? It’ll come in time, -laddie—if you give it a chance. And in the -meantime we might examine these other papers. -Now, this appears to my inexperienced eye to be -a transaction entered into on the one part by -Messrs. Smith and Co. and on the other by -William Daventry. And it concerns filthy lucre. -Dear, dear. Twenty-five per cent. per month. -Three hundred per cent. Positive usury, Mr. -Perrison. Don’t you agree with me? A -rapacious bloodsucker is Mr. Smith.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But the other man was not listening: full -recollection had come to him, and with a cold -look of triumph he put his hands into his pockets -and laughed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Very pretty,” he remarked. “Very pretty -indeed. And how, in your vernacular, do you -propose to get away with the swag, Mr. Flash -Pete? I rather think the police—whom I -propose to call up on the ’phone in one minute—will -be delighted to see such an old and elusive -friend.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He glanced at the girl, and laughed again at -the look on her face.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What’s he mean, Archie?” she cried, -wildly. “What’s he mean?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I mean,” Perrison sneered, “that Mr. -Archie Longworth is what is generally described -as a swell crook with a reputation in certain -unsavoury circles extending over two or three -continents. And the police, whom I propose -to ring up, will welcome him as a long-lost -child.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He walked towards the telephone, and with a -little gasp of fear the girl turned to Archie.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Say it’s not true, dear—say it’s not true.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For a moment he looked at her with a whimsical -smile; then he sat down on the high fender -round the open fire.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I think, Mr. Perrison,” he murmured, gently, -“that if I were you I would not be too precipitate -over ringing up the police. The engaging -warrior who sent this letter to Miss Daventry -put in yet one more enclosure.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Perrison turned round: then he stood very -still.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A most peculiar document,” continued the -man by the fire, in the same gentle voice, “which -proves very conclusively that amongst their -other activities Messrs. Smith and Co. are not -only the receivers of stolen goods, but are mixed -up with illicit diamond buying.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In dead silence the two men stared at one -another; then Longworth spoke again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I shall keep these three documents, Mr. -Perrison, as a safeguard for your future good -behaviour. Mr. Daventry can pay a certain fair -sum or not as he likes—that is his business: and -I shall make a point of explaining exactly to him -who and what you are—and Smith—and Gross. -But should you be disposed to make any trouble -over the necklace—or should the idea get abroad -that Flash Pete was responsible for the burglary -last night—it will be most unfortunate for you—most. -This document would interest Scotland -Yard immensely.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Perrison’s face had grown more and more livid -as he listened, and when the quiet voice ceased, -unmindful of the girl standing by, he began to -curse foully and hideously. The next moment -he cowered back, as two iron hands gripped -his shoulders and shook him till his teeth -rattled.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Stop, you filthy swine,” snarled Longworth, -“or I’ll break every bone in your body. Quite -a number of men are blackguards, Perrison—but -you’re a particularly creeping and repugnant -specimen. Now—get out—and do it quickly. -The nine-thirty will do you nicely. And don’t -forget what I’ve just said: because, as there’s a -God above, I mean it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ll be even with you for this some day, -Flash Pete,” said the other venomously over his -shoulder. “And then——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And then,” said Longworth, contemptuously, -“we will resume this discussion. Just -now—get out.”</p> - -<h3>V</h3> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes: it is quite true.” She had known it -was—and yet, womanlike, she had clung to the -hope that there was some mistake—some explanation. -And now, alone with the man she -had grown to love, the faint hope died. With -his lazy smile, he stared down at her—a smile so -full of sorrow and pain that she could not bear -to see it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m Flash Pete—with an unsavoury reputation, -as our friend so kindly told you, in three -continents. It was I who broke open the safe -at Smith’s last night, I who got the receipt from -Gross. You see, I spotted the whole trick from -the beginning; as I said, I had inside information. -And Perrison is Smith and Co.; moreover -he’s very largely Gross as well—and half a dozen -other rotten things in addition. The whole -thing was worked with one end in view right -from the beginning: the girl your brother -originally bought the pearls for was in it; it was -she who suggested the pawning. Bill told me -that the night before last.” He sighed and paced -two or three times up and down the dim-lit -conservatory. And after a while he stopped in -front of her again, and his blue eyes were very -tender.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Just a common sneak-thief—just a common -worthless sinner. And he’s very, very glad that -he has been privileged to help the most beautiful -girl in all the world. Don’t cry, my dear, don’t -cry: there’s nothing about that sinner’s that’s -worth a single tear of yours. You must forget -his wild presumption in falling in love with that -beautiful girl: his only excuse is that he couldn’t -help it. And maybe, in the days to come, the -girl will think kindly every now and then of a -man known to some as Archie Longworth—known -to others as Flash Pete—known to himself -as—well, we won’t bother about that.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He bent quickly and raised her hand to his -lips; then he was gone almost before she had -realised it. And if he heard her little gasping -cry—“Archie, my man, come back—I love you -so!” he gave no sign.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For in his own peculiar code a very worthless -sinner must remain a very worthless sinner to -the end—and he must run the course alone.</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<hr class='tbk120'/> - -<table id='tab11' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 5em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 31em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab11c1 tdStyle3'><a id='ch9'></a><span class='it'>IX</span></td><td class='tab11c2 tdStyle6'><span class='it'>Jimmy Lethbridge’s Temptation</span></td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class='tbk121'/> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>“What</span> a queer little place, Jimmy!” The -girl glanced round the tiny restaurant with frank -interest, and the man looked up from the menu -he was studying with a grin.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t let François hear you say that, or -you’ll be asked to leave.” The head-waiter was -already bearing down on them, his face wreathed -in an expansive smile of welcome. “To him it -is the only restaurant in London.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah, m’sieur! it is long days since you were -here.” The little Frenchman rubbed his hands -together delightedly. “And mam’selle—it is -your first visit to Les Coquelins, n’est-ce-pas?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But not the last, I hope, François,” said the -girl with a gentle smile.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah, mais non!” Outraged horror at such -an impossible idea shone all over the head-waiter’s -face. “My guests, mam’selle, they -come here once to see what it is like—and they -return because they know what it is like.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Jimmy Lethbridge laughed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There you are, Molly,” he cried. “Now you -know what’s expected of you. Nothing less than -once a week—eh, François?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mais oui, m’sieur. There are some who come -every night.” He produced his pencil and stood -waiting. “A few oysters,” he murmured. -“They are good ce soir: real Whitstables. And -a bird, M’sieur Lethbridge—with an omelette aux -fines herbes——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sounds excellent, François,” laughed the -man. “Anyway, I know that once you have -decided—argument is futile.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is my work,” answered the waiter, shrugging -his shoulders. “And a bottle of Corton—with -the chill just off. Toute de suite.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>François bustled away, and the girl looked -across the table with a faintly amused smile in -her big grey eyes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He fits the place, Jimmy. You must bring -me here again.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Just as often as you like, Molly,” answered -the man quietly, and after a moment the girl -turned away. “You know,” he went on steadily, -“how much sooner I’d bring you to a spot like -this, than go to the Ritz or one of those big places. -Only I was afraid it might bore you. I love it: -it’s so much more intimate.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why should you think it would bore me?” -she asked, drawing off her gloves and resting her -hands on the table in front of her. They were -beautiful hands, ringless save for one plain signet -ring on the little finger of her left hand. And, -almost against his will, the man found himself -staring at it as he answered:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Because I can’t trust myself, dear; I can’t -trust myself to amuse you,” he answered slowly. -“I can’t trust myself not to make love to you—and -it’s so much easier here than in the middle -of a crowd whom one knows.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The girl sighed a little sadly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Jimmy, I wish I could! You’ve been -such an absolute dear. Give me a little longer, -old man, and then—perhaps——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My dear,” said the man hoarsely, “I don’t -want to hurry you. I’m willing to wait years for -you—years. At least”—he smiled whimsically—“I’m -not a little bit willing to wait years—really. -But if it’s that or nothing—then, believe -me, I’m more than willing.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ve argued it out with myself, Jimmy.” -And now she was staring at the signet ring on -her finger. “And when I’ve finished the argument, -I know that I’m not a bit further on. You -can’t argue over things like that. I’ve told -myself times out of number that it isn’t fair to -you——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He started to speak, but she stopped him with -a smile.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, dear man, it is not fair to you—whatever -you like to say. It isn’t fair to you even though -you may agree to go on waiting. No one has a -right to ask another person to wait indefinitely, -though I’m thinking that is exactly what I’ve -been doing. Which is rather like a woman,” and -once again she smiled half sadly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But I’m willing to wait, dear,” he repeated -gently. “And then I’m willing to take just as -much as you care to give. I won’t worry you, -Molly; I won’t ask you for anything you don’t -feel like granting me. You see, I know now that -Peter must always come first. I had hoped that -you’d forget him; I still hope, dear, that in time -you will——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She shook her head, and the man bit his lip.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, even if you don’t, Molly,” he went on -steadily, “is it fair to yourself to go on when you -know it’s hopeless? There can be no doubt now -that he’s dead; you know it yourself—you’ve -taken off your engagement ring—and is it fair -to—you? Don’t worry about me for the -moment—but what is the use? Isn’t it better -to face facts?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The girl gave a little laugh that was half a -sob.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Of course it is, Jimmy. Much better. I -always tell myself that in my arguments.” Then -she looked at him steadily across the table. -“You’d be content, Jimmy—would you?—with -friendship at first.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes,” he answered quietly. “I would be -content with friendship.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And you wouldn’t bother me—ah, no! -forgive me, I know you wouldn’t. Because, -Jimmy, I don’t want there to be any mistake. -People think I’ve got over it because I go about; -in some ways I have. But I seem to have lost -something—some part of me. I don’t think I -shall ever be able to <span class='it'>love</span> a man again. I like -you, Jimmy—like you most frightfully—but I -don’t know whether I’ll ever be able to love you -in the way I loved Peter.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I know that,” muttered the man. “And -I’ll risk it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You dear!” said the girl—and her eyes were -shining. “That’s where the unfairness comes in. -You’re worth the very best—and I can’t promise -to give it to you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You are the very best, whatever you give -me,” answered the man quietly. “I’d sooner -have anything from you than everything from -another woman. Oh, my dear!” he burst out, -“I didn’t mean to worry you to-night—though I -knew this damned restaurant would be dangerous—but -can’t you say yes? I swear you’ll never -regret it, dear—and I—I’ll be quite content to -know that you care just a bit.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For a while the girl was silent; then with a -faint smile she looked at him across the table.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“All right, Jimmy,” she said.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You mean you will, Molly?” he cried, a -little breathlessly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And the girl nodded.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, old man,” she answered steadily. “I -mean I will.”</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:2em;'>· · · · ·</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was two hours later when Molly Daventry -went slowly upstairs to her room and shut the -door. Jimmy Lethbridge had just gone; she -had just kissed him. And the echo of his last -whispered words—“My dear! my very dear -girl!”—was still sounding in her ears.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For a while she stood by the fireplace smiling -a little sadly. Then she crossed the room and -switched on a special light. It was so placed -that it shone directly on the photograph of an -officer in the full dress of the 9th Hussars. And -at length she knelt down in front of the table on -which the photograph stood, so that the light fell -on her own face also—glinting through the red-gold -of her hair, glistening in the mistiness of her -eyes. For maybe five minutes she knelt there, -till it seemed to her as if a smile twitched round -the lips of the officer—a human smile, an understanding -smile.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Peter!” she whispered, “he was your -pal. Forgive me, my love—forgive me. He’s -been such a dear.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And once again the photograph seemed to smile -at her tenderly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s only you, Peter, till Journey’s End—but -I must give him the next best, mustn’t I? -It’s only fair, isn’t it?—and you hated unfairness. -But, dear God! it’s hard.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Slowly she stretched out her left hand, so that -the signet ring touched the big silver frame.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Your ring, Peter,” she whispered, “your -dear ring.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And with a sudden little choking gasp she -raised it to her lips.</p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p class='pindent'>It was in a side-street close to High Street, -Kensington, that it happened—the unbelievable -thing. Fate decided to give Jimmy two months -of happiness; cynically allowed him to come -within a fortnight of his wedding, and then——</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For a few seconds he couldn’t believe his eyes; -he stood staring like a man bereft of his senses. -There on the opposite side of the road, playing a -barrel-organ, was Peter himself—Peter, who had -been reported “Missing, believed killed,” three -years before. Peter, whom a sergeant had -categorically said he had seen killed with his own -eyes. And there he was playing a barrel-organ -in the streets of London.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Like a man partially dazed Jimmy Lethbridge -went over towards him. As he approached the -player smiled genially, and touched his cap with -his free hand. Then after a while the smile -faded, and he stared at Jimmy suspiciously.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My God, Peter!” Lethbridge heard himself -say, “what are you doing this for?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And as he spoke he saw a girl approaching—a -girl who placed herself aggressively beside -Peter.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why shouldn’t I?” demanded the player. -“And who the hell are you calling Peter?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But,” stammered Jimmy, “don’t you know -me, old man?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No!” returned the other truculently. -“And I don’t want to, neither.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A ruddy torf, ’e is, Bill,” chimed in the girl.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good God!” muttered Lethbridge, even -then failing to understand the situation. “You -playing a barrel-organ!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Look here, ’op it, guv’nor.” Peter spoke -with dangerous calmness. “I don’t want no -blinking scenes ’ere. The police ain’t too friendly -as it is, and this is my best pitch.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But why didn’t you let your pals know you -were back, old man?” said Jimmy feebly. -“Your governor, and all of us?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“See ’ere, mister,” the girl stepped forward, -“ ’e ain’t got no pals—only me. Ain’t that so, -Billy?” she turned to the man, who nodded.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I looks after him, I do, d’yer see?” went on -the girl. “And I don’t want no one coming -butting their ugly heads in. It worries ’im, it -does.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But do you mean to say——” began Jimmy -dazedly, and then he broke off. At last he understood, -something if not all. In some miraculous -way Peter had not been killed; Peter was there -in front of him—but a new Peter; a Peter whose -memory of the past had completely gone, whose -mind was as blank as a clean-washed slate.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How long have you been doing this?” he -asked quietly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Never you mind,” said the girl sharply. -“He ain’t nothing to you. I looks after ’im, I -do.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Not for a second did Jimmy hesitate, though -deep down inside him there came a voice that -whispered—“Don’t be a fool! Pretend it’s a -mistake. Clear off! Molly will never know.” -And if for a moment his hands clenched with the -strength of the sudden hideous temptation, his -voice was calm and quiet as he spoke.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That’s where you’re wrong.” He looked -at her gently. “He is something to me—my -greatest friend, whom I thought was dead.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And now Peter was staring at him fixedly, -forgetting even to turn the handle of the machine.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t remember yer, guv’nor,” he said, -and Jimmy flinched at the appalling accent. -“I’ve kind o’ lost my memory, yer see, and -Lizzie ’ere looks after me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I know she does,” continued Jimmy quietly. -“Thank you, Lizzie, thank you a thousand times. -But I want you both to come to this house to-night.” -He scribbled the address of his rooms -on a slip of paper. “We must think what is best -to be done. You see, Lizzie, it’s not quite fair -to him, is it? I want to get a good doctor to see -him.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m quite ’appy as I am, sir,” said Peter. -“I don’t want no doctors messing about with -me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yer’d better go, Bill.” The girl turned to -him. “The gentleman seems kind. But”—she -swung round on Jimmy fiercely—“you ain’t -going to take ’im away from me, guv’nor? ’E’s -mine, yer see—mine——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I want you to come with him to-night, -Lizzie,” said Lethbridge gravely. “I’m not -going to try and take him away from you. I -promise that. But will you promise to come? -It’s for his sake I ask you to bring him.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For a while she looked at him half fearfully; -then she glanced at Peter, who had apparently -lost interest in the matter. And at last she -muttered under her breath: “Orl right—I’ll -bring him. But ’e’s mine—mine. An’ don’t yer -go forgetting it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And Jimmy, walking slowly into the main -street, carried with him the remembrance of a -small determined face with the look on it of a -mother fighting for her young. That and Peter; -poor dazed memory-lost Peter—his greatest pal.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At first, as he turned towards Piccadilly, he -grasped nothing save the one stupendous fact that -Peter was not dead. Then, as he walked on, -gradually the realisation of what it meant to him -personally came to his mind. And with that -realisation there returned with redoubled force -the insidious tempting voice that had first -whispered: “Molly will never know.” She -would never know—could never know—unless -he told her. And Peter was happy; he’d said -so. And the girl was happy—Lizzie. And -perhaps—in fact most likely—Peter would never -recover his memory. So what was the use? -Why say anything about it? Why not say it was -a mistake when they came that evening? And -Jimmy put his hand to his forehead and found it -was wet with sweat.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>After all, if Peter didn’t recover, it would -only mean fearful unhappiness for everyone. -He wouldn’t know Molly, and it would break her -heart, and the girl’s, and—but, of course, <span class='it'>he</span> -didn’t count. It was the others he was thinking -of—not himself.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He turned into the Park opposite the Albert -Hall, and passers-by eyed him strangely, though -he was supremely unaware of the fact. But -when all the demons of hell are fighting inside a -man, his face is apt to look grey and haggard. -And as he walked slowly towards Hyde Park -Corner, Jimmy Lethbridge went through his -Gethsemane. They thronged him; pressing in -on him from all sides, and he cursed the devils out -loud. But still they came back, again and again, -and the worst and most devilish of them all was -the insidious temptation that by keeping silent -he would be doing the greatest good for the -greatest number. Everyone was happy now—why -run the risk of altering things?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And then, because it is not good that man -should be tempted till he breaks, the Fate that -had led him to Peter, led him gently out of the -Grim Garden into Peace once more. He gave a -short hard laugh which was almost a sob, and -turning into Knightsbridge he hailed a taxi. -It was as it drew up at the door of Molly’s house -that he laughed again—a laugh that had lost its -hardness. And the driver thought his fare’s -“Thank you” was addressed to him. Perhaps -it was. Perhaps it was the first time Jimmy had -prayed for ten years.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, Jimmy, old man—you’re early, I’m -not dressed yet.” Molly met him in the hall, and -he smiled at her gravely.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you mind, dear,” he said, “if I cry off to-night? -I’ve got a very important engagement—even -more important than taking you out to -dinner, if possible.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The smile grew whimsical, and he put both his -hands on her shoulders.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It concerns my wedding present for you,” -he added.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“From the bridegroom to the bride?” she -laughed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Something like that,” he said, turning away -abruptly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Of course, dear,” she answered. “As a -matter of fact, I’ve got a bit of a head. Though -what present you can be getting at this time of -day, I can’t think.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You mustn’t try to,” said Jimmy. “It’s -a surprise, Molly—a surprise. Pray God you like -it, and that it will be a success!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He spoke low under his breath, and the girl -looked at him curiously.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What’s the matter, dear?” she cried. “Has -something happened?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Jimmy Lethbridge pulled himself together; -he didn’t want her to suspect anything yet.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good heavens, no!” he laughed. “What -should have? But I want to borrow something -from you, Molly dear, and I don’t want you to ask -any questions. I want you to lend me that -photograph of Peter that you’ve got—the one in -full dress.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And now she was staring at him wonderingly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Jimmy,” she said breathlessly, “does it -concern the present?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes; it concerns the present.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re going to have a picture of him -painted for me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Something like that,” he answered quietly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, you dear!” she whispered, “you -dear! I’ve been thinking about it for months. -I’ll get it for you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She went upstairs, and the man stood still -in the hall staring after her. And he was still -standing motionless as she came down again, the -precious frame clasped in her hands.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’ll take care of it, Jimmy?” she said, -and he nodded.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then for a moment she laid her hand on his -arm.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t think, old man,” she said quietly, -“that you’ll have to wait very long with -friendship only.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The next moment she was alone with the slam -of the front-door echoing in her ears. It was like -Fate to reserve its most deadly arrow for the end.</p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p class='pindent'>“You say he has completely lost his -memory?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mainwaring, one of the most brilliant of London’s -younger surgeons, leaned back in his chair -and looked thoughtfully at his host.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, he didn’t know me, and I was his -greatest friend,” said Lethbridge.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The two men were in Jimmy’s rooms, waiting -for the arrival of Peter and the girl.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He looked at me without a trace of recognition,” -continued Lethbridge. “And he’s -developed a typical lower-class Cockney accent.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Interesting, very,” murmured the surgeon, -getting up and examining the photograph on the -table. “This is new, isn’t it, old boy; I’ve -never seen it before?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I borrowed it this afternoon,” said Jimmy -briefly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“From his people, I suppose? Do they -know?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No one knows at present, Mainwaring—except -you and me. That photograph I got this -afternoon from Miss Daventry.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Something in his tone made the surgeon swing -round.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You mean your fiancée?” he said slowly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes—my fiancée. You see, she was—she -was engaged to Peter. And she thinks he’s -dead. That is the only reason she got engaged -to me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For a moment there was silence, while Mainwaring -stared at the other. A look of wonder -had come into the doctor’s eyes—wonder mixed -with a dawning admiration.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But, my God! old man,” he muttered at -length, “if the operation is successful——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Can you think of a better wedding present to -give a girl than the man she loves?” said -Jimmy slowly, and the doctor turned away. -There are times when it is not good to look on -another man’s face.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And if it isn’t successful?” he said quietly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“God knows, Bill. I haven’t got as far as -that—yet.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And it was at that moment that there came a -ring at the front-door bell. There was a brief -altercation; then Jimmy’s man appeared.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Two—er—persons say you told them——” -he began, when Lethbridge cut him short.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Show them in at once,” he said briefly, and -his man went out again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’ve got to remember, Bill,” said Jimmy -as they waited, “that Peter Staunton is literally, -at the moment, a low-class Cockney.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mainwaring nodded, and drew back a little as -Peter and the girl came into the room. He -wanted to leave the talking to Jimmy, while he -watched.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good evening, Lizzie,” Lethbridge smiled at -the girl reassuringly. “I’m glad you came.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Who’s that cove?” demanded the girl -suspiciously, staring at Mainwaring.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A doctor,” said Jimmy. “I want him to -have a look at Peter later on.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“His name ain’t Peter,” muttered the girl -sullenly. “It’s Bill.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, at Bill, then. Don’t be frightened, -Lizzie; come farther into the room. I want you -to see a photograph I’ve got here.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Like a dog who wonders whether it is safe to -go to a stranger, she advanced slowly, one step -at a time; while Peter, twirling his cap awkwardly -in his hands, kept beside her. Once or -twice he glanced uneasily round the room, but -otherwise his eyes were fixed on Lizzie as a child -looks at its mother when it’s scared.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My God, Jimmy!” whispered the doctor, -“there’s going to be as big a sufferer as you if -we’re successful.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And he was looking as he spoke at the girl, -who, with a sudden instinctive feeling of -protection, had put out her hand and taken -Peter’s.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Like a pair of frightened children they crept -on until they came to the photograph; then they -stopped in front of it. And the two men came a -little closer. It was the girl who spoke first, in -a low voice of wondering awe:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Gawd! it’s you, Bill—that there bloke in -the frame. You were a blinking orficer.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With a look of pathetic pride on her face, she -stared first at the photograph and then at the -man beside her. “An orficer! Bill—an -orficer! What was ’is regiment, mister?” -The girl swung round on Jimmy. “Was ’e in -the Guards?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, Lizzie,” said Lethbridge. “Not the -Guards. He was in the cavalry. The 9th -Hussars,” and the man, who was holding the -frame foolishly in his hands, suddenly looked -up. “The Devil’s Own, Peter,” went on -Lethbridge quietly. “C Squadron of the Devil’s -Own.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But the look had faded; Peter’s face was -blank again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t remember, guv’nor,” he muttered. -“And it’s making me ’ead ache—this.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With a little cry the girl caught his arm, and -faced Lethbridge fiercely.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Wot’s the good of all this?” she cried. -“All this muckin’ abaht? Why the ’ell can’t -you leave ’im alone, guv’nor? ’E’s going to ’ave -one of ’is ’eads now—’e nearly goes mad, ’e does, -when ’e gets ’em.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I think, Lizzie, that perhaps I can cure those -heads of his.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was Mainwaring speaking, and the girl, still -holding Peter’s arm protectingly, looked from -Lethbridge to the doctor.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And I want to examine him, in another room -where the light is a little better. Just quite -alone, where he won’t be distracted.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But instantly the girl was up in arms.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re taking ’im away from me—that’s wot -yer doing. And I won’t ’ave it. Yer don’t -want to go, Bill, do yer? Yer don’t want to -leave yer Liz?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And Jimmy Lethbridge bit his lip; Mainwaring -had been right.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m not going to take him away, Lizzie,” -said the doctor gently. “I promise you that. -You shall see him the very instant I’ve made my -examination. But if you’re there, you see, you’ll -distract his attention.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She took a step forward, staring at the doctor -as if she would read his very soul. And in the -infinite pathos of the scene, Jimmy Lethbridge -for the moment forgot his own suffering. Lizzie—the -little slum girl—fighting for her man -against something she couldn’t understand; -wondering if she should trust these two strangers. -Caught in a net that frightened her; fearful -that they were going to harm Bill. And at the -bottom of everything the wild, inarticulate -terror that she was going to lose him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You swear it?” she muttered. “I can see -’im after yer’ve looked at ’im.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I swear it,” said Mainwaring gravely.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She gave a little sob. “Orl right, I believe -yer on the level. You go with ’im, Bill. Perhaps -’e’ll do yer ’ead good.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ’E’s queer sometimes at night,” said Lizzie, -as the door closed behind Mainwaring. “Seems -all dazed like.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is he?” said Jimmy. “How did you find -him, Lizzie?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ’E was wandering round—didn’t know -nuthing about ’imself,” she answered. “And I -took ’im in—and looked after ’im, I did. Saved -and pinched a bit, ’ere and there—and then -we’ve the barrel-organ. And we’ve been so -’appy, mister—so ’appy. Course ’e’s a bit queer, -and ’e don’t remember nuthing—but ’e’s orl -right if ’e don’t get ’is ’eadaches. And when ’e -does, I gets rid of them. I jest puts ’is ’ead on -me lap and strokes ’is forehead—and they goes -after a while. Sometimes ’e goes to sleep when -I’m doing it—and I stops there till ’e wakes -again with the ’ead gone. Yer see, I understands -’im. ’E’s ’appy with me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She was staring at the photograph—a pathetic -little figure in her tawdry finery—and for a -moment Jimmy couldn’t speak. It had to be -done; he had to do it—but it felt rather like -killing a wounded bird with a sledge-hammer—except -that it wouldn’t be so quick.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He’s a great brain surgeon, Lizzie—the -gentleman with Bill,” he said at length, and the -girl turned round and watched him gravely. -“And he thinks that an operation might cure -him and give him back his memory.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So that ’e’d know ’e was an orficer?” -whispered the girl.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So that he’d know he was an officer,” said -Jimmy. “So that he’d remember all his past -life. You see, Lizzie, your Bill is really Sir Peter -Staunton—whom we all thought had been killed -in the war.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sir Peter Staunton!” she repeated dazedly. -“Gawd!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He was engaged, Lizzie,” he went on quietly, -and he heard her breath come quick—“engaged -to that lady.” He pointed to a picture of Sybil -on the mantelpiece.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No one wouldn’t look at me with ’er about,” -said the girl thoughtfully.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She loved him very dearly, Lizzie—even as -he loved her. I don’t think I’ve ever known two -people who loved one another quite so much. -And——” for a moment Jimmy faltered, then -he went on steadily: “I ought to know in this -case, because I’m engaged to her now.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And because the Cockney brain is quick, she -saw—and understood.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So if yer doctor friend succeeds,” she said, -“she’ll give yer the chuck?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, Lizzie,” answered Jimmy gravely, -“she’ll give me the chuck.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And yer love ’er? Orl right, old sport. I -can see it in yer face. Strikes me”—and she -gave a little laugh that was sadder than any -tears—“strikes me you ’anded out the dirty end -of the stick to both of us when you come round -that street to-day.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Strikes me I did, Lizzie,” he agreed. “But, -you see, I’ve told you this because I want you -to understand that we’re both of us in it—we’ve -both of us got to play the game.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Play the game!” she muttered. “Wot -d’yer want me to do?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The doctor doesn’t want him excited, -Lizzie,” explained Lethbridge. “But he wants -him to stop here to-night, so that he can operate -to-morrow. Will you tell him that you want -him to stop here?—and stay here with him if -you like.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And to-morrer she’ll tike ’im.” The girl -was staring at Sybil’s photograph. “ ’E won’t -look at me—when ’e knows. Gawd! why did -yer find ’im—why did yer find ’im? We was -’appy, I tells yer—’appy!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She was crying now—crying as a child cries, -weakly and pitifully, and Lethbridge stood -watching her in silence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Poor kid!” he said at length. “Poor little -kid!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t want yer pity,” she flared up. “I -want my man.” And then, as she saw Jimmy -looking at the photograph on the mantelpiece, in -an instant she was beside him. “Sorry, old -sport,” she whispered impulsively. “Reckon -you’ve backed a ruddy loser yourself. I’ll do -it. Shake ’ands. I guess I knew all along that -Bill wasn’t really my style. And I’ve ’ad my -year.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re lucky, Lizzie,” said Jimmy gravely, -still holding her hand. “Very, very lucky.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ve ’ad my year,” she went on, and for a -moment her thoughts seemed far away. “A ’ole -year—and——” she pulled herself together and -started patting her hair.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And what, Lizzie?” said Jimmy quietly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Never you mind, mister,” she answered. -“That’s my blooming business.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And then the door opened and Mainwaring -came in.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Does Lizzie agree?” he asked eagerly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, Bill—she agrees,” said Jimmy. “What -do you think of him?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“As far as I can see there is every hope that -an operation will be completely successful. -There is evidently pressure on the right side of -the skull which can be removed. I’ll operate -early to-morrow morning. Keep him quiet -to-night—and make him sleep, Lizzie, if you -can.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What d’yer think, mister?” she said -scornfully. “Ain’t I done it fer a year?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Without another word she left the room, and -the two men stood staring at one another.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Will she play the game, Jimmy!” Mainwaring -was lighting a cigarette.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes—she’ll play the game,” answered Lethbridge -slowly. “She’ll play the game—poor -little kid!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What terms are they on—those two?” -The doctor looked at him curiously.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I think,” said Lethbridge even more slowly, -“that that is a question we had better not -inquire into too closely.”</p> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p class='pindent'>It was successful—brilliantly successful—the -operation. Lizzie made it so; at any rate she -helped considerably. It was she who held his -hand as he went under the anæsthetic; it was she -who cheered him up in the morning, when he -awoke dazed and frightened in a strange room. -And then she slipped away and disappeared from -the house. It was only later that Lethbridge -found a scrawled pencil note, strangely smudged, -on his desk:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Let me no wot appens.—<span class='sc'>Lizzie.</span>”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He didn’t know her address, so he couldn’t -write and tell her that her Bill had come to -consciousness again, completely recovered except -for one thing. There was another blank in his -mind now—the last three years. One of his -first questions had been to ask how the fight -had gone, and whether we’d broken through -properly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And then for a day or two Lizzie was forgotten; -he had to make his own renunciation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Molly came, a little surprised at his unusual -invitation, and he left the door open so that she -could see Peter in bed from one part of his -sitting-room.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Where have you buried yourself, Jimmy?” -she cried. “I’ve been——” And then her face -grew deathly white as she looked into the bedroom. -Her lips moved, though no sound came -from them; her hands were clenching and -unclenching.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But I’m mad,” he heard her whisper at -length, “quite mad. I’m seeing things, Jimmy—seeing -things. Why—dear God! it’s Peter!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She took a step or two forward, and Peter saw -her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Molly,” he cried weakly, “Molly, my -darling——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And Jimmy Lethbridge saw her walk forward -slowly and uncertainly to the man who had come -back. With a shaking little cry of pure joy she -fell on her knees beside the bed, and Peter put a -trembling hand on her hair. Then Jimmy shut -the door, and stared blankly in front of him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was Lizzie who roused him—Lizzie coming -shyly into the room from the hall.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I seed her come in,” she whispered. “She -looked orl right. ’Ow is ’e?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He’s got his memory back, Lizzie,” he said -gently. “But he’s forgotten the last three -years.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Forgotten me, as ’e?” Her lips quivered.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, Lizzie. Forgotten everything—barrel-organ -and all. He thinks he’s on sick leave -from the war.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And she’s wiv ’im now, is she?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes—she’s with him, Lizzie.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She took a deep breath—then she walked -to the glass and arranged her hat—a dreadful hat -with feathers in it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, I reckons I’d better be going. I don’t -want to see ’im. It would break me ’eart. And -I said good-bye to ’im that last night before the -operation. So long, mister. I’ve ’ad me year—she -can’t tike that away from me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And then she was gone. He watched her from -the window walking along the pavement, with -the feathers nodding at every step. Once she -stopped and looked back—and the feathers -seemed to wilt and die. Then she went on -again—and this time she didn’t stop. She’d -“ ’ad ’er year,” had Lizzie; maybe the remembrance -of it helped her gallant little soul when -she returned the barrel-organ—the useless barrel-organ.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So this was your present, Jimmy.” Molly -was speaking just behind him, and her eyes were -very bright.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, Molly,” he smiled. “Do you like it?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t understand what’s happened,” she -said slowly. “I don’t understand anything -except the one big fact that Peter has come -back.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Isn’t that enough?” he asked gently. -“Isn’t that enough, my dear? Peter’s come -back—funny old Peter. The rest will keep.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And then he took her left hand and drew -off the engagement ring he had given her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not on that finger now—Molly; though I’d -like you to keep it now if you will.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For a while she stared at him wonderingly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Jimmy, but you’re big!” she whispered -at length. “I’m so sorry!” She turned away -as Peter’s voice, weak and tremulous, came from -the other room.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Come in with me, old man,” she said. “Come -in and talk to him.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But Jimmy shook his head.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He doesn’t want me, dear; I’m just—just -going out for a bit——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Abruptly he left the room—they didn’t want -him: any more than they wanted Lizzie.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Only she had had her year.</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<hr class='tbk122'/> - -<table id='tab12' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 5em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 31em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab12c1 tdStyle3'><a id='ch10'></a><span class='it'>X</span></td><td class='tab12c2 tdStyle6'><span class='it'>Lady Cynthia and the Hermit</span></td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class='tbk123'/> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>“My</span> dear Cynthia, you haven’t seen our Hermit -yet. He’s quite the show exhibit of the place.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Lady Cynthia Stockdale yawned and lit a -cigarette. Hermits belonged undoubtedly to the -class of things in which she was <span class='it'>not</span> interested; -the word conjured up a mental picture of a dirty -individual of great piety, clothed in a sack. And -Lady Cynthia loathed dirt and detested piety.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A hermit, Ada!” she remarked, lazily. “I -thought the brand was extinct. Does he feed -ravens and things?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It is to be regretted that theological knowledge -was not her strong point, but Ada Laverton, her -hostess, did not smile. From beneath some -marvellously long eyelashes she was watching the -lovely girl lying back in the deck-chair opposite, -who was vainly trying to blow smoke rings. A -sudden wild idea had come into her brain—so wild -as to be almost laughable. But from time -immemorial wild ideas anent their girl friends -have entered the brains of young married women, -especially the lucky ones who have hooked the -right man. And Ada Laverton had undoubtedly -done that. She alternately bullied, cajoled, -and made love to her husband John, in a way -that eminently suited that cheerful and easygoing -gentleman. He adored her quite openly -and ridiculously, and she returned the compliment -just as ridiculously, even if not quite so -openly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Moreover, Cynthia Stockdale was her best -friend. Before her marriage they had been -inseparable, and perhaps there was no one living -who understood Cynthia as she did. To the -world at large Cynthia was merely a much -photographed and capricious beauty. Worthy -mothers of daughters, who saw her reproduced -weekly in the society papers, sighed inwardly -with envy, and commented on the decadence of -the aristocracy: the daughters tore out the -pictures in a vain endeavour to copy her frocks. -But it wasn’t the frocks that made Cynthia -Stockdale: it was she who made the frocks. -Put her in things selected haphazard from a -jumble sale—put her in remnants discarded by -the people who got it up, and she would still -have seemed the best-dressed woman in the -room. It was a gift she had—not acquired, but -natural.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Lady Cynthia was twenty-five, and looked -four years younger. Since the war she had been -engaged twice—once to a man in the Blues, and -once to a young and ambitious member of Parliament. -Neither had lasted long, and on the second -occasion people had said unkind things. They -had called her heartless and capricious, and she -had scorned to contradict them. It mattered -nothing to her what people said: if they didn’t -like her they could go away and have nothing -to do with her. And since in her case it wasn’t -a pose, but the literal truth, people did not go -away. Only to Ada Laverton did she give her -real confidence: only to Ada Laverton did she -show the real soul that lay below the surface.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m trying,” she had said, lying in that same -chair a year previously, “I’m trying to find the -real thing. I needn’t marry if I don’t want to; -I haven’t got to marry for a home and a roof. -And it’s got to be the right man. Of course I -may make a mistake—a mistake which I shan’t -find out till it’s too late. But surely when one -has found it out before it’s too late, it’s better to -acknowledge it at once. It’s no good making a -second worse one by going through with it. I -thought Arthur was all right”—Arthur was the -member of Parliament—“I’m awfully fond of -Arthur still. But I’m not the right wife for him. -We jarred on one another in a hundred little -ways. And he hasn’t got a sense of humour. -I shall never forget the shock I got when I first -realised that. He seemed to think that a sense of -humour consisted of laughing at humorous things, -of seeing a jest as well as anyone else. He -didn’t seem to understand me when I told him -that the real sense of humour is often closer to -tears than laughter. Besides”—she had added -inconsequently—“he had a dreadful trick of -whistling down my neck when we danced. No -woman can be expected to marry a permanent -draught. And as for poor old Bill—well Bill’s -an angel. I still adore Bill. He is, I think, -the most supremely handsome being I’ve ever -seen in my life—especially when he’s got his full -dress on. But, my dear, I blame myself over Bill. -I ought to have known it before I got engaged to -him; as a matter of fact I did know it. Bill is, -without exception, the biggest fool in London. I -thought his face might atone for his lack of brains; -I thought that perhaps if I took him in hand he -might do something in the House of Lords—his -old father can’t live much longer—but I gave it -up. He is simply incapable of any coherent -thought at all. He can’t spell; he can’t add, and -once when I asked him if he liked Rachmaninoff, -he thought it was the man who had built the -Pyramids.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This and much more came back to Ada -Laverton as she turned over in her mind the -sudden wild idea that had come to her. Above -all things she wanted to see Cynthia married; -she was so utterly happy herself that she longed -for her friend to share it too. She knew, as no -one else did, what a wonderful wife and pal -Cynthia would make to the right man. But it -must be the right man; it must be the real thing. -And like a blinding flash had come the thought of -the Hermit—the Hermit who had come into the -neighbourhood six months previously, and taken -the little farm standing in the hollow overlooking -the sea. For, as she frequently told John, if it -hadn’t been for the fact that she was tied to a -silly old idiot of a husband, she’d have married the -Hermit herself.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, he doesn’t feed ravens,” she remarked -at length. “Only puppies. He breeds Cairns -and Aberdeens. We’ll stroll up and see him -after tea.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A hermit breeding dogs!” Cynthia sat up -lazily. “My dear, you intrigue me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh! he’s not a bad young man,” said Ada -Laverton, indifferently. “Quite passable looking, -D.S.O. and M.C. and that sort of thing. Been -all over the world, and is really quite interesting -when you can get him to talk.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What sort of age?” asked her friend.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Thirty to thirty-five. You shall see him. -But you’re not to go and turn his head; he’s very -peaceful and happy as he is.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Lady Cynthia smiled.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t think hermits are much in my line. -A man’s job is to be up and doing; not to bury -himself alive and breed dogs.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You tell him so,” said her hostess. “It will -do him good.”</p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p class='pindent'>An excited rush of puppies—fat, bouncing, -lolloping puppies; a stern order: “Heel, you -young blighters, heel!” in a pleasant, cheerful -voice; a laughing greeting from Ada Laverton, -and Lady Cynthia Stockdale found herself shaking -hands with the Hermit. She shook hands -as a man shakes hands, with a firm, steady -grasp, and she looked the person she was greeting -straight in the eyes. To her that first handshake -meant, more often than not, the final -estimate of a stranger’s character; it always -meant the first. And her first estimate of -Desmond Brooke was good. She saw a man of -clear skin and clear eye. He wore no hat, and -his brown hair, curling a little at the temples, was -slightly flecked with grey. His face was bronzed -and a faint smile hovered in the corners of the -eyes that met hers fair and square. His shirt -was open at the neck; the sleeves were rolled up, -showing a pair of muscular brown arms. He was -clean-shaven, and his teeth were very white and -regular. So much, in detail, she noticed during -that first half-second; then she turned her -attention to the puppies.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What toppers!” she remarked. “What -absolute toppers!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She picked a fat, struggling mixture of legs -and ecstatically slobbering tongue out of the -mêlée at her feet, and the Hermit watched her -gravely. It struck him that in the course of a -fairly crowded life he had never seen a more lovely -picture than the one made by this tall slender girl -with the wriggling puppy in her arms. And -another thing struck him also, though he said -nothing. Possibly it was accidental, but the -puppy she had picked up, and which was now -making frantic endeavours to lick her face, was -out and away the best of the litter. Almost -angrily he told himself that it <span class='it'>was</span> an accident, -and yet he could not quite banish the thought -that it was an accident which would happen -every time. Thoroughbred picks thoroughbred; -instinctively the girl would pick the best. His -mouth set a little, giving him a look of sternness, -and at that moment their eyes met over the -puppy’s head.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is he for sale?” asked the girl.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Undoubtedly he was for sale; Desmond -Brooke, though he was in no need of money, did -not believe in running anything save on business -lines. But now something that he did not stop to -analyse made him hesitate. He felt a sudden -inconsequent distaste against selling the puppy -to her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’ve picked the best, I see,” he said -quietly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Of course,” she answered, with the faintest -trace of hauteur. Insensibly she felt that this -man was hostile to her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I am afraid that that one is not for sale,” -he continued. “You can have any of the -others if you like.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Abruptly she restored the puppy to its mother.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Having chosen the best, Mr. Brooke,” she -said, looking him straight in the face, “I don’t -care about taking anything second-rate.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For a second or two they stared at one -another. Ada Laverton had wandered away and -was talking shop to the gardener; the Hermit -and Lady Cynthia were alone.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You surprise me,” said the Hermit, calmly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That is gratuitously rude,” answered the girl -quietly. “It is also extremely impertinent. -And lastly it shows that you are a very bad judge -of character.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The man bowed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I sincerely hope that your ‘lastly’ is true. -Am I to understand, then, that you do not care -to buy one of the other puppies?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And suddenly the girl laughed half-angrily.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What do you mean by daring to say such a -thing to me? Why, you haven’t known me for -more than two minutes.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That is not strictly true, Lady Cynthia. -Anyone who is capable of reading and takes in -the illustrated papers can claim your acquaintance -weekly.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I see,” she answered. “You disapprove of -my poor features being reproduced.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Personally not at all,” he replied. “I know -enough of the world, and am sufficiently broadminded, -I trust, to realise how completely -unimportant the matter is. Lady Cynthia -Stockdale at Ascot, at Goodwood, in her motor-car, -out of her motor-car, by the fire, by the -gas stove, in her boudoir, out of her boudoir, -in the garden, not in the garden—and always in a -different frock every time. It doesn’t matter to -me, but there are some people who haven’t got -enough money to pay for the doctor’s bill when -their wives are dying. And it’s such a comfort -to them to see you by the fire. To know that -half the money you paid for your frock would -save the life of the woman they love.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re talking like a ranting tub-thumper,” -she cried, furiously. “How dare you say such -things to me? And, anyway, does breeding dogs -in the wilderness help them with their doctors’ -bills?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Touché</span>,” said the man, with a faint smile. -“Perhaps I haven’t expressed myself very -clearly. You can’t pay the bills, Lady Cynthia—I -can’t. There are too many thousands to pay. -But it’s the bitter contrast that hits them, and -it’s all so petty.” For a while he paused, seeming -to seek for his words. “Come with me, Lady -Cynthia, and I’ll show you something.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Almost violently he swung round on his heel -and strode off towards the house. For a moment -she hesitated, then she followed him slowly. -Anger and indignation were seething in her mind; -the monstrous impertinence of this complete -stranger was almost bewildering. She found -him standing in his smoking-room unlocking a -drawer in a big writing-desk.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well,” she said uncompromisingly from the -doorway.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I have something to show you,” he remarked -quietly. “But before I show it to you, I want -to tell you a very short story. Three years ago -I was in the back of beyond in Brazil. I’d got a -bad dose of fever, and the gassing I got in France -wasn’t helping matters. It was touch and go -whether I pulled through or not. And one day -one of the fellows got a two-month-old <span class='it'>Tatler</span>. -In that <span class='it'>Tatler</span> was a picture—a picture of the -loveliest girl I have ever seen. I tore it out, and -I propped it up at the foot of my bed. I think -I worshipped it; I certainly fell in love with it. -There is the picture.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He handed it to her, and she looked at it in -silence. It was of herself, and after a moment or -two she raised her eyes to his.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Go on,” she said gently.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A few months ago I came back to England. -I found a seething cauldron of discontent; men -out of work—strikes—talk of revolution. And -this was the country for which a million of our -best had died. I also found—week after week—my -picture girl displayed in every paper, as if no -such thing as trouble existed. She, in her motor-car, -cared for none of these things.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That is unjust,” said the girl, and her voice -was low.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I knew it was unjust,” answered the man, -“but I couldn’t help it. And if I couldn’t help -it—I who loved her—what of these others? It -seemed symbolical to me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nero fiddling,” said the girl, with a faint -smile. “You’re rather a strange person, Mr. -Brooke. Am I to understand that you’re in love -with me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You are not. I’m in love with the you of -that picture.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I see. You have set up an image. And -supposing that image is a true one.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Need we discuss that?” said the man, with -faint sarcasm.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The girl shrugged her shoulders.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The supposition is at least as possible as that -you are doing any vast amount of good for the -seething cauldron of discontent, I think you called -it, by breeding Aberdeens in the country. I’m -afraid you’re a crank, Mr. Brooke, and not a very -consistent one at that. And a crank is to my -mind synonymous with a bore.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The man replaced the picture in his desk.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then perhaps we had better join Mrs. -Laverton,” he remarked. “I apologise for -having wearied you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In silence they went out into the garden, to -find Ada Laverton wandering aimlessly round -looking for them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Where have you two been?” she demanded, -as she saw them approaching.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mr. Brooke has been showing me a relic -of his past,” said Lady Cynthia. “Most interesting -and touching. Are you ready to go, -Ada?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Laverton gave a quick glance at their -two faces, and wondered what had happened. -Not much, surely, in so short a time—and yet -with Cynthia you never could tell. The Hermit’s -face, usually so inscrutable, showed traces of -suppressed feeling; Cynthia’s was rather too -expressionless.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Are you coming to the ball to-morrow night, -Hermit?” she asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I didn’t know there was one on, Mrs. Laverton,” -he answered.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The cricket ball, my good man,” she -exclaimed. “It’s been advertised for the last -month.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But surely Mr. Brooke doesn’t countenance -anything so frivolous as dancing?” remarked -Lady Cynthia. “After the lecture he has just -given me on my personal deportment the idea -is out of the question.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nevertheless I propose to come, Lady -Cynthia,” said Brooke quietly. “You must -forgive me if I have allowed my feelings to run -away with me to-day. And perhaps to-morrow -you will allow me to find out if the new image is -correct—or a pose also.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What do you mean?” asked the girl, -puzzled.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Lady Cynthia Stockdale—possibly the best -dancer in London,’ ” he quoted mockingly; -“I forget which of the many papers I saw -it in.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you propose to pass judgment on my -dancing?” she asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If you will be good enough to give me a -dance.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For a moment words failed her. The cool, -the sublime impertinence of this man literally -choked her. Then she nodded briefly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ll give you a dance if you’re there in time. -And then you can test for yourself, if you’re -capable of testing.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He bowed without a word, and stood watching -them as they walked down the lane.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I think, Ada, that he’s the most detestable -man I’ve ever met,” remarked Lady Cynthia -furiously, as they turned into the main road.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And Ada Laverton said nothing, but wondered -the more.</p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p class='pindent'>She saw him as soon as she got into the ballroom. -It was the last day but one of the local -cricket week, and the room was crowded. A large -number of the men she knew—men she had -danced with in London who had come down to -play—and within half a minute she was surrounded. -It was a chance of getting a dance -with her which was not to be missed; in London -she generally danced with one or at the most two -men for the whole evening—men who were -absolutely perfect performers. For dancing was -a part of Lady Cynthia’s life—and a big part.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The humour of the situation had struck her -that day. For this dog-breeding crank to -presume to judge her powers of dancing seemed -too sublimely funny for annoyance. But he -deserved to be taught a very considerable lesson. -And she proposed to teach him. After that she -proposed to dismiss him completely from her -mind.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She gave him a cool nod as he came up, and -frowned slightly as she noticed the faint glint of -laughter in his eyes. Really Mr. Desmond -Brooke was a little above himself. So much the -worse for him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t know whether you’ll find one or -not,” she remarked carelessly, handing him her -programme.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He glanced at it without a word, and quietly -erased someone’s name.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ve made special arrangements with the -band for Number 9, Lady Cynthia,” he remarked -coolly. “A lot of people will be in at supper -then, so we ought to have the floor more to -ourselves.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The next instant he had bowed and disappeared, -leaving her staring speechlessly at her -programme.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A breezy customer,” murmured a man beside -her. “Who is he?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A gentleman who is going to have the biggest -lesson of his life,” she answered ominously, and -the man laughed. He knew Lady Cynthia—and -he knew Lady Cynthia’s temper when it was -roused. But for once he was wrong in his -diagnosis; the outward and visible were there all -right—the inward and mental state of affairs in -keeping with them was not. For the first time in -her life Lady Cynthia felt at a loss. Her partners -found her <span class='it'>distraite</span> and silent; as a matter of -fact she was barely conscious of their existence. -And the more she lashed at herself mentally, -the more confused did she get.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was preposterous, impossible. Why should -she cut Tubby Dawlish to dance with a crank who -kept dogs? A crank, moreover, who openly -avowed that his object was to see if she could -dance. Every now and then she saw him lounging -by the door watching her. She knew he was -watching her, though she gave no sign of being -aware of his existence. And all the while -Number 9 grew inexorably nearer.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dance indeed! She would show him how she -could dance. And as a result she fell into the -deadly fault of trying. No perfect dancer ever -<span class='it'>tries</span> to dance; they just dance. And Lady -Cynthia knew that better than most people. -Which made her fury rise still more against the -man standing just outside the door smoking a -cigarette. A thousand times—no; she would -not cut Tubby.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And then she realised that people were moving -in to supper; that the 8 was being taken down -from the band platform—that 9 was being -put up. And she realised that Desmond Brooke -the Hermit was crossing the room towards -her; was standing by her side while Tubby—like -an outraged terrier—was glaring at him -across her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“This is mine, old thing,” spluttered Tubby. -“Number 9.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I think not,” said the Hermit quietly. “I -fixed Number 9 especially with Lady Cynthia -yesterday.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She hesitated—and was lost.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m sorry, Tubby,” she said a little weakly. -“I forgot.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Not a trace of triumph showed on the Hermit’s -face, as he gravely watched the indignant back -of his rival retreating towards the door: not a -trace of expression showed on his face as he turned -to the girl.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’ve been trying to-night, Lady Cynthia,” -he said gravely. “Please don’t—this time. -It’s a wonderful tune this—half waltz, half tango. -It was lucky finding Lopez conducting: he has -played for me before. And I want you just to -forget everything except the smell of the passion -flowers coming in through the open windows, -and the thrumming of the guitars played by the -natives under the palm-trees.” His eyes were -looking into hers, and suddenly she drew a deep -breath. Things had got beyond her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was marked as a fox-trot on the programme, -and several of the more enthusiastic performers -were waiting to get off on the stroke of time. -But as the first haunting notes of the dance -wailed out—they paused and hesitated. This -was no fox-trot; this was—but what matter -what it was? For after the first bar no one -moved in the room: they stood motionless -watching one couple—Lady Cynthia Stockdale -and an unknown man.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, it’s the fellow who breeds dogs,” -muttered someone to his partner, but there was -no reply. She was too engrossed in watching.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And as for Lady Cynthia, from the moment she -felt Desmond Brooke’s arm round her, the world -had become merely movement—such movement -as she had never thought of before. To say that -he was a perfect dancer would be idle: he was -dancing itself. And the band, playing as men -possessed, played for them and them only. -Everything was forgotten: nothing in the world -mattered save that they should go on and on and -on—dancing. She was utterly unconscious of -the crowd of onlookers: she didn’t know that -people had left the supper-room and were -thronging in at the door: she knew nothing save -that she had never danced before. Dimly she -realised at last that the music had stopped: -dimly she heard a great roar of applause—but -only dimly. It seemed to come from far away—the -shouts of “Encore” seemed hazy and dream-like. -They had left the ballroom, though she -was hardly conscious of where he was taking her, -and when he turned to her and said, “Get a wrap -or something: I want to talk to you out in -God’s fresh air,” she obeyed him without a word. -He was waiting for her when she returned, -standing motionless where she had left him. And -still in silence he led the way to his car which had -been left apart from all the others, almost as if -he had expected to want it before the end. For -a moment she hesitated, for Lady Cynthia, -though utterly unconventional, was no fool.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Will you come with me?” he said gravely.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Where to?” she asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Up to the cliffs beyond my house. It will -take ten minutes—and I want to talk to you with -the sound of the sea below us.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You had the car in readiness?” she said -quietly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“For both of us—or for me alone,” he -answered. “If you won’t come, then I go -home. Will you come with me?” he repeated.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes; I will come.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He helped her into the car and wrapped a rug -round her; then he climbed in beside her. And -as they swung out of the little square, the strains -of the next dance followed them from the open -windows of the Town Hall.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He drove as he danced—perfectly; and in the -dim light the girl watched his clear-cut profile -as he stared ahead into the glare of the headlights. -Away to the right his farm flashed by, -the last house before they reached the top of the -cliffs. And gradually, above the thrumming of -the engine, she heard the lazy boom of the big -Atlantic swell on the rocks ahead. At last he -stopped where the road ran parallel to the top of -the cliff, and switched off the lights.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well,” she said, a little mockingly, “is the -new image correct or a pose?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You dance divinely,” he answered gravely. -“More divinely than any woman I have ever -danced with, and I have danced with those who -are reputed to be the show dancers of the world. -But I didn’t ask you to come here to talk about -dancing; I asked you to come here in order that -I might first apologise, and then say Good-bye.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The girl gave a little start, but said nothing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I talked a good deal of rot to you yesterday,” -he went on, after a moment. “You were -justified in calling me a ranting tub-thumper. -But I was angry with myself, and when one is -angry with oneself one does foolish things. I -know as well as you do just how little society -photographs mean: that was only a peg to hang -my inexcusable tirade on. You see, when one -has fallen in love with an ideal—as I fell in love -with that picture of you, all in white in the garden -at your father’s place—and you treasure that -ideal for three years, it jolts one to find that the -ideal is different to what you thought. I fell -in love with a girl in white, and sometimes in the -wilds I’ve seen visions and dreamed dreams. -And then I found her a lovely being in Paquin’s -most expensive frocks; a social celebrity: a -household name. And then I met her, and knew -my girl in white had gone. What matter that -it was the inexorable rule of Nature that she -must go: what matter that she had changed -into an incredibly lovely woman? She had -gone: my dream girl had vanished. In her place -stood Lady Cynthia Stockdale—the well-known -society beauty. Reality had come—and I was -angry with you for having killed my dream—angry -with myself for having to wake up.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Such is my apology,” he continued gravely. -“Perhaps you will understand: I think you -will understand. And just because I was angry -with you, I made you dance with me to-night. I -said to myself: ‘I will show Lady Cynthia -Stockdale that the man who loved the girl in -white can meet her successor on her own ground.’ -That’s the idea I started with, but things went -wrong half-way through the dance. The anger -died; in its place there came something else. -Even my love for the girl in white seemed to -become a bit hazy; I found that the successor -had supplanted her more completely than I -realised. And since the successor has the world -at her feet—why, the breeder of dogs will efface -himself, for his own peace of mind. So, good-bye, -Lady Cynthia—and the very best of luck. If it -won’t bore you I may say that I’m not really a -breeder of dogs by profession. This is just an -interlude; a bit of rest spent with the most -wonderful pals in the world. I’m getting back -to harness soon: voluntary harness, I’m glad to -say, as the shekels don’t matter. But anything -one can do towards greasing the wheels, and -helping those priceless fellows who gave everything -without a murmur during the war, and -who are up against it now—is worth doing.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And still she said nothing, while he backed the -car on to the grass beside the road, and turned -it the way they had come. A jumble of strange -thoughts were in her mind; a jumble out of -which there stuck one dominant thing—the -brown tanned face of the man beside her. And -when he stopped the car by his own farm and -left her without a word of apology, she sat quite -motionless staring at the white streak of road in -front. At last she heard his footsteps coming -back along the drive, and suddenly a warm -wriggling bundle was placed in her lap—a bundle -which slobbered joyfully and then fell on the -floor with an indignant yelp.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The puppy,” he said quietly. “Please take -him.” And very softly under his breath he -added: “The best to the best.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But she heard him, and even as she stooped -to lift the puppy on to her knees, her heart began -to beat madly. She knew: at last, she knew.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ll take you back to the dance,” he was -saying, “and afterwards I’ll deposit that young -rascal at Mrs. Laverton’s house.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And then for the first time she spoke.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Please go to Ada’s house first. Afterwards -we’ll see about the dance.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He bowed and swung the car left-handed -through the lodge gates.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Will you wait for me?” she said, as he -pulled up at the front door.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“As long as you like,” he answered courteously.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Because I may be some time,” she continued -a little unevenly. “And don’t wait for me -here: wait for me where the drive runs through -that little copse, half-way down to the lodge.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The next instant she had disappeared into the -house, with the puppy in her arms. Why by -the little copse? wondered the man as he slowly -drove the car down the drive. The butler had -seen them already, so what did it matter? He -pulled up the car in the shadow of a big oak tree, -and lit a cigarette. Then, with his arms resting -on the steering wheel, he sat staring in front of -him. He had done a mad thing, and she’d taken -it wonderfully well. He always had done mad -things all his life; he was made that way. But -this was the maddest he had ever done. With a -grim smile he pictured her infuriated partners, -waiting in serried rows by the door, cursing him -by all their gods. And then the smile faded, and -he sighed, while his knuckles gleamed white on -the wheel. If only she wasn’t so gloriously -pretty; if only she wasn’t so utterly alive and -wonderful. Well—it was the penalty of playing -with fire; and it had been worth it. Yes; it -had been worth it—even if the wound never -quite healed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>A fool there was, and he made his prayer. . . .</span>”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He pitched his cigarette away, and suddenly -he stiffened and sat motionless, while something -seemed to rise in his throat and choke him, and -the blood hammered hotly at his temples. A -girl in white was standing not five feet from him -on the fringe of the little wood: a girl holding a -puppy in her arms. And then he heard her -speaking.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s not the same frock—but it’s the nearest -I can do.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She came up to the car, and once again over -the head of the puppy their eyes met.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ve been looking,” she said steadily, “for -the real thing. I don’t <span class='it'>think</span> I’ve found it—I -<span class='it'>know</span> I have.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My dear!” he stammered hoarsely. “Oh! -my dear dream girl.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Take me back to the cliff, Desmond,” she -whispered. “Take me back to our cliff.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And an outraged puppy, bouncing off the -running-board on to a stray fir-cone, viewed the -proceedings of the next five minutes with silent -displeasure.</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<hr class='tbk124'/> - -<table id='tab13' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 5em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 31em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab13c1 tdStyle3'><a id='ch11'></a><span class='it'>XI</span></td><td class='tab13c2 tdStyle6'><span class='it'>A Glass of Whisky</span></td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class='tbk125'/> - -<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>“It’s</span> as easy as shelling peas to be a detective -in fiction,” grunted the Barrister. “He’s -merely the author of the yarn disguised as a -character, and he knows the solution before he -starts.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But the reader doesn’t, if the story is told -well,” objected the Doctor. “And that’s all -that matters.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh! I grant you that,” said the Barrister, -lighting a cigar. “I’m not inveighing against -the detective story—I love ’em. All I’m saying -is that in life a detective’s job is a very different -matter to—well, take the illustrious example—to -that of Sherlock Holmes. He’s got to make -the crime fit to the clues, not the clues fit into -the crime. It’s not so terribly difficult to reconstruct -the murder of the Prime Minister from a -piece of charred paper discovered in the railway -refreshment-room at Bath—in fiction; it’s -altogether a different matter in reality.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Soldier thoughtfully filled his pipe.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And yet there have been many cases when -the reconstruction has been made on some clue -almost equally ‘flimsy,’ ” he murmured.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A few,” conceded the Barrister. “But nine -out of ten are built up with laborious care. The -structure does not rest on any one fact—but on -a whole lot of apparently unimportant and trivial -ones. Of course it’s more spectacular to bring -a man to the gallows because half a brick was -found lying on the front door-step, but in practice -it doesn’t happen.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It does—sometimes,” remarked a quiet, -sandy-haired man who was helping himself to a -whisky-and-soda. “It does sometimes, you -man of law. Your remarks coupled with my -present occupation remind me of just such a -case.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Your present occupation appears to be -drinking whisky,” said the Doctor, curiously.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Precisely,” returned the other. “Almost as -prosaic a thing as our legal luminary’s half-brick.” -He settled himself comfortably in a -chair, and the others leaned forward expectantly. -“And yet on that very ordinary pastime hinged -an extremely interesting case: one in which I -was lucky enough to play a principal part.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The night is yet young, old man,” said the -Barrister. “It’s up to you to prove your words, -and duly confound me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sandy-haired man took a sip of his drink: -then he put the glass on the table beside him and -began.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, if it won’t bore you, I’m agreeable. -I’ll tell you the whole thing exactly as it took -place, only altering the names of the people -involved. It happened before the war—in that -hot summer of 1911, to be exact. I’d been working -pretty hard in London, and about the end of -July I got an invitation to go down and stop with -some people in Devonshire. I will call them the -Marleys, and they lived just outside a small -village on the north coast. The family consisted -of old Marley, who was a man rising sixty, and -his two daughters, Joan and Hilda. There was -also Jack Fairfax, through whom, as a matter of -fact, I had first got to know them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Jack was about my own age—thirty odd, -and we’d been up at Cambridge together. He -was no relation to old Marley, but he was an -orphan, and Marley was his guardian, or had been -when Jack was a youngster. And from the very -first Jack and the old man had not got on.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Marley was not everybody’s meat, by a -long way—rather a queer-tempered, secretive -blighter; and Jack Fairfax had the devil of a -temper at times. When he was a boy he had no -alternative except to do as his guardian told him, -but even in those early days, as I gathered subsequently, -there had been frequent storms. And -when he came down from Cambridge there were -two or three most unholy rows which culminated -in Jack leaving the house for good.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was apparently this severance from the two -girls, whom he had more or less regarded as -sisters, which caused the next bust-up. And -this one, according to Jack, was in the nature of -a volcanic eruption. The two girls had come up -to London to go through the season with some -aunt, and Jack had seen a good deal of them -with the net result that he and Joan had fallen -in love with each other. Then the fat was in -the fire. Jack straightway had gone down to -Devonshire to ask old Marley’s consent: old -Marley had replied in terms which, judging from -Jack’s account of the interview, had contained a -positive profusion of un-Parliamentary epithets. -Jack had lost his temper properly—and, well, -you know, the usual thing. At any rate, the -long and the short of it was that old Marley had -recalled both his daughters from London, and -had sworn that if he ever saw Jack near the -house again he’d pepper him with a shot-gun. -To which Jack had replied that only his grey -hairs and his gout saved Mr. Marley from the -biggest hiding he’d ever had in his life—even if -not the biggest he deserved. With which genial -exchange of playful badinage I gathered the -interview ended. And that was how matters -stood when I went down in July, 1911.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“For some peculiar reason the old man liked -me, even though I was a friend of Jack’s. And in -many ways I quite liked him, though there was -always something about him which defeated me. -Of course, he had a foul temper—but it wasn’t -altogether that. He seemed to me at times to -be in fear of something or somebody; and yet, -though I say that now, I don’t know that I went -as far as thinking so at the time. It was an -almost indefinable impression—vague and yet -very real.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The two girls were perfectly charming, -though they were both a little afraid of their -father. How long it would have taken Joan to -overcome this timidity, and go to Jack without -her father’s consent, I don’t know. And incidentally, -as our legislators say, the question did -not arise. Fate held the ace of trumps, and proceeded -to deal it during my visit.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sandy-haired man leant back in his -chair and crossed his legs deliberately.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I think it was about the fourth day after I -arrived (he went on, after a while) that the -tragedy happened. We were sitting in the -drawing-room after dinner—a couple of men -whose names I forget, and a girl friend of Hilda’s. -Hilda herself was there, and Joan, who seemed -very preoccupied, had come in about a quarter -of an hour previously. I had noticed that Hilda -had looked at her sister inquiringly as she -entered, and that Joan had shrugged her -shoulders. But nothing had been said, and -naturally I asked no questions with the others -there, though from the air of suppressed excitement -on Joan’s face I knew there was something -in the wind.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Old Marley himself was not with us: he was -in his study at the other end of the house. The -fact was not at all unusual: he frequently retired -to his own den after dinner, sometimes joining -the rest of the party for a few minutes before going -to bed, more often not appearing again till the -following morning. And so we all sat there -talking idly, with the windows wide open and the -light shining out on to the lawn. It must have -been somewhere about ten to a quarter past -when suddenly Hilda gave a little scream.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘What do you want?’ she cried. ‘Who -are you?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I swung round in my chair, to find a man -standing on the lawn outside, in the centre of the -light. He was facing us, and as we stared at -him he came nearer till he was almost in the -room. And the first thing that struck me was -that he looked a little agitated.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You will excuse me appearing like this,’ he -said, ‘but——’ He broke off and looked at me. -‘Might I have a word with you alone, sir?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I glanced at the others: obviously he was a -stranger. No trace of recognition appeared on -anyone’s face, and I began to feel a little suspicious.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘What is it?’ I cried. ‘What can you -possibly want to speak to me about that you -can’t say now?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He shrugged his shoulders slightly. ‘As you -will,’ he answered. ‘My idea was to avoid -frightening the ladies. In the room at the other -end of the house a man has been murdered.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“For a moment everyone was too thunderstruck -to reply; then Hilda gave a choking cry.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘What sort of a man?’ she said, breathlessly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘An elderly man of, I should think, about -sixty,’ returned the other, gravely, and Hilda -buried her face in her hands.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I will come with, you at once, sir,’ I said, -hurriedly, and the two other men rose. Instinctively, -I think, we all knew it must be old -Marley: there was no one else it could be. But -the sudden shock of it had dazed us all. I -glanced at Joan. She was staring at the man -like a girl bereft of her senses, and I put my hand -reassuringly on her shoulder. And then she -looked up at me, and the expression in her eyes -pulled me together. It was like a cold douche, -and it acted instantaneously. Because it wasn’t -horror or dazed stupefaction that I read on her -face: it was terror—agonised terror. And -suddenly I remembered her air of suppressed -excitement earlier in the evening.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Once again the sandy-haired man paused -while the others waited in silence for him to -continue.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was old Marley right enough (he went on -quietly). We walked round the front of the -house until we came to the window of his study, -and there instinctively we paused. The window -was open, and he was sitting at his desk quite -motionless. His head had fallen forward, and -on his face was a look of dreadful fear.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“For a while none of us moved. Then, with -an effort, I threw my leg over the window-sill -and entered.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘He’s quite dead,’ I said, and I felt my voice -was shaking. ‘We’d better send for the police.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The others nodded, and in silence I picked -up the telephone.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Mr. Marley’s been killed,’ I heard myself -saying. ‘Will you send someone up at once?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And then for the first time I noticed the -poker lying beside the chair, and saw the back -of the old man’s head. It wasn’t a pretty sight, -and one of the other men staying in the house—a -youngster—turned very white, and went to the -window.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Pretty obvious how it was done,’ said the -stranger, quietly. ‘Well, gentlemen, nothing -ought to be touched in this room until the police -arrive. I suggest that we should draw the -curtains and go somewhere else to wait for -them.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t think any of us were sorry to fall in -with his suggestion. I also don’t think I’ve ever -drunk such a large whisky-and-soda as I did a -few minutes later. Discovering the body had -been bad enough: breaking the news to the two -girls was going to be worse.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was Joan who met me in the hall—and we -stared at one another in silence. Then I nodded -my head stupidly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘It’s father,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, my -God!’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I put out my hand to steady her, and she was -looking at me with a fixed stare.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Don’t you understand?’ she muttered, -hoarsely, and swallowing all the time. ‘Don’t -you understand? Jack has been here to-night.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Jack!’ I looked at her foolishly. ‘Jack!’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And then her full meaning struck me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘How did that man find out?’ she whispered. -‘And who is he?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I don’t know. I’ll go and ask him.’ I was -still trying to adjust this new development—and -her next words seemed to come from a great -distance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Do something. For God’s sake—do something.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then she turned and left me, and I watched -her go up the stairs, walking stiffly and clinging -to the banisters.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So Jack had been there! And old Marley -was dead! Murdered! Hit on the head with -a poker. And Jack had been there. It’s only -in romantic fiction that the reader is expected to -assume the impossibility of the hero committing -a crime, owing to the extreme beauty of his -nature. And this wasn’t romantic fiction. It -was hard, brutal reality. The two facts stood -there, side by side, in all their dazzling simplicity. -Jack’s nature was not supremely beautiful. He -was an ordinary man, with the devil of a temper -when it was roused.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mechanically I started to walk back to the -room where I had left the other three men. -They were sitting in silence when I entered, and -after a while the stranger got up.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘A dreadful thing to happen,’ he said, -gravely.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘May I ask, sir,’ I began, ‘how you came to -discover it?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Very simply,’ he answered. ‘I was strolling -along the road, going back to the village inn -where I have been stopping for two or three -nights, when I saw the window of the room -through the trees. The light was shining out, -and I could see someone sitting at the desk. -More out of idle curiosity than anything else, I -paused for a moment or two, and then something -began to arouse my suspicions. The man at the -desk seemed so motionless. I thought perhaps -he had fainted, or was ill, and after a little hesitation -I went in at the gate and looked through -the window. To my horror I saw he was dead—and -I at once came round to the other room -from which the light was shining, and where I -found you.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘There is a point which may have some -bearing on the crime,’ he continued, after a pause. -‘On my way up from the inn a man passed me. -He was coming from this direction, and seemed to -me to be in a very excited condition. It was his -obvious agitation that made me notice him at the -time, though in the dim light I couldn’t see his -face very clearly. But he was swinging his stick -in the air, and muttering to himself. At the -moment I didn’t think much about it. But -now——’ He shrugged his shoulders slightly. -‘Of course, I may be completely wrong, but I -think it is a thing worth mentioning to the police.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Would you know the man again?’ I asked, -trying to speak quite normally.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Well, he was tall—six feet at least—and -broad. And he was clean-shaven.’ He spoke -thoughtfully, weighing his words. ‘I might -know him again—but I wouldn’t swear to it. -One has to be doubly careful if a man’s life is at -stake.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I turned away abruptly. Jack was tall and -broad and clean-shaven. Strive as I would, the -deadly suspicion was beginning to grip me that -Jack, in a fit of ungovernable passion, had killed -the old man. And at such moments, whatever -may be the legal aspect of the matter, one’s main -idea is how best to help a pal. If Jack had indeed -done it, what was the best thing to do?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I rang the bell, and told the scared-looking -maid to bring the whisky and some glasses. Then, -with a muttered apology, I left the room. I felt -I wanted to talk to Joan about it. I found her -dry-eyed and quite composed, though she was -evidently holding herself under control with a -great effort. And briefly I told her what the -stranger had said.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She heard me out in silence: then she spoke -with a quiet assurance that surprised me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘If Jack did it,’ she said, ‘he doesn’t know -he’s done it. He doesn’t know he’s killed—father.’ -She faltered a bit over the last word, -and I didn’t interrupt. ‘What I mean is this,’ -she went on after a moment. ‘I know Jack—better -than anyone else. I know those rages of -his—when he sees red. But they’re over in a -minute. He’s capable of anything for a second -or two, but if he’d done it, Hugh, if he’d hit -father—and killed him—his remorse would have -been dreadful. He wouldn’t have run away: -I’m certain of that. That’s why I say that if -Jack did it he doesn’t know—he killed him.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I said nothing: there was no good telling -her that it wasn’t one blow, nor yet two or three, -that had been used. There was no good telling -her that it was no accidental thing done unwittingly -in the heat of the moment—that it was -an absolute impossibility for the man who had -done it to be in ignorance of the fact. And yet, -though I realised all that, her simple conviction -put new hope into me. Illogical, I admit, but I -went downstairs feeling more confident.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I found that the local police had arrived—a -sergeant and an ordinary constable—and had -already begun their investigations. The principal -evidence, of course, came from the stranger, -and he repeated to them what he had already -told me. His name apparently was Lenham—Victor -Lenham—and the police knew he had -been stopping at the local inn.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You saw the body through the window, -sir,’ said the sergeant, ‘and then went round to -the drawing-room?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘That is so, sergeant.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You didn’t go into the room?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Not until later—with these gentlemen. -You see,’ he added, ‘I’ve seen death too often -not to recognise it. And as, in a way, you will -understand, it was no concern of mine, I thought -it advisable to have some member of the house -itself with me before entering the room.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Quite, sir, quite.’ The sergeant nodded -portentously. ‘Is there anything else you can -tell us?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Well,’ said Lenham, ‘there is a point, which -I have already mentioned to this gentleman.’ -He glanced at me, and then, turning back to the -sergeant, he told him about the man he had -passed on the road. And it was when he came -to the description that suddenly the constable -gave a whistle of excitement. The sergeant -frowned on him angrily, but the worthy P.C., -whose only experience of crime up-to-date had -been assisting inebriated villagers home, had -quite lost his head.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Mr. Fairfax, sergeant,’ he exploded. ‘ ’E -was down here to-night. Caught the last train, -’e did. Jenkins at the station told me—sure -thing.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Good heavens, sergeant!’ I said angrily, -‘what the devil is the man talking about? He -surely doesn’t suppose that Mr. Fairfax had -anything to do with it?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But the mischief was done. The sergeant -formally told off his indiscreet subordinate, but -it was obvious that it was merely an official -rebuke. In a village like that everybody knows -everybody else’s private affairs, and the -strained relations between the dead man and -Jack Fairfax were common property. I could -see at a glance that the sergeant regarded the -matter as solved already.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Would you recognise this man again, sir?’ -he demanded, and Lenham gave him the same -guarded reply as he had already given to me. -He might—but he wouldn’t swear to it. It was -impossible to be too careful in such a case, he -repeated, and it was practically dark when he -had passed the man.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was all duly noted down, and then we -adjourned to the room of the tragedy. The constable—a -ruddy-faced young man—turned pale -when he saw the body; then he pulled himself -together and assisted the sergeant in his formal -examination. I didn’t blame him—we were all -feeling the strain, somewhat naturally. Lenham -seemed the least concerned, but it wasn’t a -personal matter with him as it was with us, -especially with me. All the time I was fidgeting -round the room, subconsciously watching the -stolid sergeant making notes, but with only one -thought dominating my brain—how best to help -Jack. Not that I had definitely made up my -mind that he’d done it, but even at that stage of -the proceedings I realised that appearances were -against him. And Joan’s words were ringing in -my head—‘For God’s sake—do something.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“After a while I crossed the room to a small -table on which a tantalus of whisky and two -glasses were standing. I looked at the tray with -unseeing eyes—an Indian silver one, which old -Marley had been very proud of. And then -mechanically I picked up the glasses. I don’t -know why I did so; the action was, as I say, -mechanical. They had been used—both of -them: they had been used for whisky—one -could tell that by the smell. And when I put -the glasses down again on the tray, the sergeant -was approaching with his note-book.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sandy-haired man paused, with a reminiscent -smile.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ever noticed how extraordinarily dense you -can be at times, even with a plain fact staring -you straight in the face? There was one staring -at me for ten minutes that night before my grey -matter began to stir.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Just hold on a minute,” interrupted the -Barrister. “Is this plain fact staring us in the -face now?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, it isn’t,” conceded the narrator. “At -the moment you are in the position of the other -people in that room. Mind you, I’ve left out -nothing in order to mystify you; the story, as I -have given it to you, is a plain unvarnished -account of what took place. But I’m out to -disprove your half-brick theory, lawyer-man, and -to do so with such little story-telling ability as I -happen to possess.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now, I won’t weary you with what happened -during the next week, beyond saying that an -inquest and a burglary took place. And the -latter, at any rate, was very successful. The -former moved along obvious lines, and resulted -in Jack Fairfax being arrested for the wilful -murder of his guardian, Roger Marley. The -evidence was purely circumstantial, but it was -about as damning as it could be. Jack admitted -to having had an interview with Marley that -night; he admitted that they had had an appalling -quarrel. What was even worse was that he -admitted to having struck the old man in a -furious fit of rage, but beyond that he denied -everything. He absolutely swore that the blow -he struck Marley could not have killed him; -further, that he had never handled the poker. -And then, a finger-print expert proved that he -had. That was the worst shock of the lot, and -his explanation given afterwards that, now he -came to think of it, he had picked up the poker -to ram the tobacco down in his pipe convinced no -one. He indignantly denied that his action in -going up to London by the last train was in any -sense running away; he had intended all along -to go up by that train. And his reason for -leaving the house after the interview without -attempting to see his <span class='it'>fiancée</span> was that he was in -such a rage with her father that he couldn’t -trust himself to speak to her for fear of what he -might say.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So much for Jack Fairfax’s case—pretty -black, as you will agree. In fact, I don’t -think I should be exaggerating if I said -that there were only two people in England -convinced of his innocence. And he was one -of them. Even Joan’s faith was shaken, a -little.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was on the tenth day after the inquest -that I rang up the inspector who had come over -from Exeter to look into the case, with a request -that he would come up to the house. I told him -that I had certain information which might -interest him and suggested that he might care to -hear it. I also rang up Lenham at the inn, and -asked him if he would mind coming along at the -same time. I told him I’d discovered the burglar. -By the way, I didn’t tell you that it was his room -that had been burgled.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“In about half an hour they arrived, and the -local sergeant as well.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘What’s this about my burglar?’ laughed -Lenham. ‘A funny fellow—because as far as I -can see he didn’t take anything.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘All in good time,’ I answered, smiling. -‘I’ve found out a lot of strange things in -town.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Lenham looked at me quickly. ‘Oh! have -you been to London?’ he inquired.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Yes,’ I answered, ‘for two days. Most -entertaining.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And then the inspector chipped in, impatiently:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Well, sir, what is it you want to say to me?’ -He looked at his watch suggestively.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘First of all, inspector,’ I said, quietly, -‘I want to ask you a question. Have you ever -heard the legal maxim, <span class='it'>Falsus in uno, falsus -in omne</span>?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I could see that he hadn’t the faintest idea -what I was driving at. I could also see that -Lenham’s eyes had suddenly become strained.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘It means,’ I went on, ‘that if a witness—let -us say—is proved to have told one lie, there is -strong presumptive evidence that he has told -several. At any rate, the value of his statement -is greatly diminished. Do you agree?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Certainly,’ he answered. ‘But I don’t -see——’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You will shortly, inspector,’ I remarked. -‘Now who would you consider the principal -witness against Mr. Fairfax?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Mr. Fairfax himself,’ said the inspector, -promptly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘And leaving him out?’ I asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Well—I suppose—this gentleman here.’ -He nodded towards Lenham, who was sitting -quite motionless, watching me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Precisely,’ I murmured. ‘Then why was -it necessary for Mr. Lenham to state that his name -was Lenham, and further to swear that he had -never seen Mr. Marley before—when both those -statements were lies?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘What the devil do you mean?’ snarled -Lenham, rising from his chair. ‘What do you -mean by saying my name is not Lenham?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You wanted to know about the burglar -who took nothing, didn’t you?’ I said, grimly. -‘Well—I was the burglar, and I took something -very valuable—an address.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘What on earth——’ began the inspector, -and then he glanced at Lenham. ‘I think you’d -better sit still, Mr. Lenham,’ he said, quietly, -‘until we have heard what this gentleman has to -say.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Lenham sat back in his chair with a venomous -look at me. Then he laughed harshly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘By all means, inspector,’ he remarked. -‘Only it is a little disconcerting to be cross-examined -suddenly by a man who admits he is a -thief.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“As a matter of fact the man didn’t know how -much I knew—or how little; and between ourselves -it was deuced little. But, watching him -closely, I knew I was right, and my only hope was -to bluff him into some admission.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Shall we endeavour to reconstruct the events -of the night when Mr. Marley was murdered, Mr. -Lenardi?’ I began, quietly. ‘That is your -name, is it not?—and you are a Corsican.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Well,’ he said, ‘what if I am? I had a -very good reason for changing my name.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Doubtless,’ I agreed. ‘Let us hope your -reason will prove satisfactory to the inspector. -May I suggest, however, unless you can supply a -better one, that your reason was to avoid the -notoriety which would inevitably arise if a -foreigner came to stay in a small village like -this? And you were particularly anxious to -avoid any possibility of Mr. Marley knowing that -a Corsican was in the neighbourhood.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He laughed sarcastically. ‘I think that -I have already stated that I have never even seen -Mr. Marley,’ he sneered.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Oh!’ I remarked. ‘Then might I ask you, -inspector, to have a look at this photograph? -It is old and faded, but the faces are still clear.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I handed the photograph to the inspector, -and with a sudden curse the Corsican whipped -out a knife and sprang at me. He realised even -then that the game was up, and his one thought -was to revenge himself on me. But I’d been -expecting some such move, and I’d got a revolver -handy. Incidentally, revolver shooting is one -of the few things I can do, and I plugged him -through the forearm before he could do any -damage.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He stood there glaring at me sullenly, and -then the inspector took a hand.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Stand by that window, sergeant. Now, -Mr. whatever-your-name-is, no monkey tricks. -Do you still deny that you knew Mr. Marley?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I refuse to answer,’ snarled the man.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Because this photograph is of you and -Marley and a woman. Taken abroad somewhere.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Naples, to be exact, inspector,’ I said. -‘I found it in his rooms in Berners Street, the -address of which I got as the result of my -burglary here.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The Corsican stood there like a beast at -bay, and the inspector’s face was stern.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘What explanation have you got to give?’ -he rapped out. ‘Why did you lie in evidence?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I refuse to answer,’ repeated the man.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Since he is so uncommunicative,’ I remarked, -‘perhaps you will allow me to reconstruct -the crime. Much of it, of necessity, is -guess-work. For instance, Lenardi, what was -your motive in murdering Mr. Marley?’ I -rapped the question out at him, and though he’d -have killed me willingly if he could have got at -me he didn’t deny it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Well,’ I continued, ‘it doesn’t matter. -Let us assume it was the girl in that photograph. -You tracked Marley to earth here—in this -village—that is all that concerns us. And having -tracked him, you bided your time. Vengeance -is the sweeter for delay. Each evening you -walked up here, watching him through the -window—gloating over what was to come. And -then one night you found another man with him—Jack -Fairfax—and they were quarrelling. At -once you saw that this was your opportunity. -However skilfully you hid your traces under -ordinary circumstances, there was always a grave -risk; but here, ready to hand, was a marvellous -stroke of luck. Perhaps you crept nearer the -window in the darkness, secure in the fact that -the room was in a remote part of the house. -You saw Jack Fairfax leave, blind with rage, and -then, skulking out of the night, you entered the -room yourself.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘It’s a lie!’ shouted the Corsican, but his -lips were white.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘And then old Marley saw you, and the rage -on his face was replaced by a dreadful terror. -He knew what you had come for. I don’t think -you wasted much time, Lenardi. You picked up -the poker with a gloved hand—oh! you were -taking no chances—and you battered his head in. -And then, Lenardi—and then you drank a -whisky-and-soda. You drank a whisky-and-soda, -and then you decided on a very bold move: -you came and alarmed the rest of the house. It -was clever of you, but——’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sandy-haired man smiled thoughtfully.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We sprang forward together—the inspector -and I; but we were too late. The Corsican had -swallowed poison before we could stop him. He -was dead in half a minute and he never spoke -again. So I can only assume that my imagination -was not far off the rails.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, but hang it, man,” said the Barrister, -peevishly, “the whole thing was a pure fluke on -your part.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ve never laid any claim to being a -detective,” murmured the sandy-haired man, -mildly, rising and helping himself to some more -whisky. “All that I said was that there are times -when you can build an entire case from your half-brick -or its equivalent. And when you find -two glasses both smelling strongly of whisky -in a room, you assume that two people have -drunk whisky. Which was where the Corsican -tripped up. You see, he distinctly swore he -hadn’t entered the room till he came in with -us.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Barrister raised protesting hands to the -ceiling.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The man is indubitably mad,” he remarked -to no one in particular. “Was not Fairfax in the -room most of the evening?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sandy-haired man looked even more -mild.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I think that perhaps I ought to have mentioned -one fact sooner, but I was afraid it would -spoil the story. The cat has an aversion to -water; the fish have an aversion to dry land. -But both these aversions pale into total -insignificance when compared to Jack Fairfax’s -aversion to whisky.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He gazed thoughtfully at his glass.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A strange flaw in an otherwise fine character. -Thank heavens the symptom is not common!”</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<hr class='tbk126'/> - -<table id='tab14' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 5em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 31em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab14c1 tdStyle3'><a id='ch12'></a><span class='it'>XII</span></td><td class='tab14c2 tdStyle6'><span class='it'>The Man Who Could Not Get Drunk</span></td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class='tbk127'/> - -<p class='noindent'><span class='sc'>“Yes</span>; she’s a beautiful woman. There’s no -doubt about that. What did you say her name -was?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I haven’t mentioned her name,” I returned. -“But there’s no secret about it. She is Lady -Sylvia Clavering.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah! Sylvia. Of course, I remember now.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He drained his glass of brandy and sat back in -his chair, while his eyes followed one of the most -beautiful women in London as she threaded her -way through the tables towards the entrance of -the restaurant. An obsequious head-waiter bent -almost double as she passed; her exit, as usual, -befitted one of the most be-photographed women -of Society. And it was not until the doors had -swung to behind her and her escort that the man -I had been dining with spoke again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I guess that little bow she gave as she passed -here was yours, not mine,” he said, with the -suspicion of a smile.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Presumably,” I answered a little curtly. -“Unless you happen to know her. I have that -privilege.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His smile grew a trifle more pronounced though -his eyes were set and steady. “Know her?” -He beckoned to the waiter for more brandy. -“No, I can’t say I know her. In fact, my sole -claim to acquaintanceship is that I carried her for -three miles in the dark one night, slung over my -shoulder like a sack of potatoes. But I don’t -know her.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You did what?” I cried, staring at him in -amazement.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sounds a bit over the odds, I admit.” He -was carefully cutting the end off his cigar. -“Nevertheless it stands.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Now when any man states that he has carried -a woman for three miles, whether it be in the dark -or not, and has followed up such an introduction -so indifferently that the woman fails even to -recognise him afterwards, there would seem to be -the promise of a story. But when the woman is -one of the Lady Sylvia Claverings of this world, -and the man is of the type of my dinner companion, -the promise resolves itself into a -certainty.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Merton was one of those indefinable characters -who defy placing. You felt that if you landed in -Yokohama, and he was with you, you would -instinctively rely on him for information as to the -best thing to do and the best way to do it. There -seemed to be no part of the globe, from the -South Sea Islands going westward to Alaska, -with which he was not as well acquainted as the -ordinary man is with his native village. At the -time I did not know him well. The dinner -was only our third meeting, and during the meal -we confined ourselves to the business which had -been the original cause of our running across one -another at all. But even in that short time I had -realised that Billy Merton was a white man. -And not only was he straight, but he was essentially -a useful person to have at one’s side in a -tight corner.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Are you disposed to elaborate your somewhat -amazing statement?” I asked, after a pause.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For a moment or two he hesitated, and his eyes -became thoughtful.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t suppose there’s any reason why I -shouldn’t,” he answered slowly. “It’s ancient -history now—ten years or so.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That was just about the time she was -married,” I remarked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He nodded. “She was on her honeymoon -when it happened. Well, if you want to hear the -yarn, come round to my club.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, certainly,” I said, beckoning for the -bill. “Let’s get on at once; I’m curious.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you know Africa at all?” he asked me, -as we pulled our chairs up to the fire. We had -the room almost to ourselves; a gentle snoring -from the other fireplace betokened the only other -occupant.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Egypt,” I answered. “Parts of South Africa. -The usual thing: nothing out of the ordinary.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He nodded. “It was up the West Coast that -it happened,” he began, after his pipe was going -to his satisfaction. “And though I’ve been in -many God-forsaken spots in my life, I’ve never -yet struck anything to compare with that place. -Nwambi it was called—just a few shacks stretching -in from the sea along a straggling, dusty -street—one so-called shop and a bar. It called -itself an hotel, but Lord help the person who tried -to put up there. It was a bar pure and simple, -though no one could call the liquor that. Lukewarm -gin, some vile substitute for whisky, the -usual short drinks, and some local poisons formed -the stock; I ought to know—I was the bartender.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“For about three miles inland there stretched -a belt of stinking swamp—one vast malaria -hot-bed—and over this belt the straggling street -meandered towards the low foot-hills beyond. -At times it almost lost itself: but if you didn’t -give up hope, or expire from the stench, and cast -about you’d generally find it again leading you -on to where you felt you might get a breath of -God’s fresh air in the hills. As a matter of fact -you didn’t; the utmost one can say is that it -wasn’t quite so appalling as in the swamp itself. -Mosquitoes! Heavens! they had to be seen -to be believed. I’ve watched ’em there literally -like a grey cloud.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Merton smiled reminiscently.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That—and the eternal boom of the sea on the -bar half a mile out, made up Nwambi. How any -white man ever got through alive if he had to stop -there any length of time is beyond me; to be -accurate, very few did. It was a grave, that -place, and only the down-and-outers went there. -At the time I was one myself.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The sole reason for its existence at all was -that the water alongside the quay was deep -enough for good-sized boats to come in, and most -of the native produce from the district inland -found its way down to Nwambi for shipment. -Once over the belt of swamp and a few miles into -the hills the climate was much better, and half a -dozen traders in a biggish way had bungalows -there. They were Dagos most of them—it -wasn’t a British part of the West Coast—and I -frankly admit that my love for the Dago has -never been very great. But there was one -Scotchman, McAndrew, amongst them—and he -was the first fellow who came into the bar after -I’d taken over the job. He was down for the -night about some question of freight.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You’re new,’ he remarked, leaning against -the counter. ‘What’s happened to the other -fellow? Is he dead?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Probably,’ I returned. ‘What do you -want?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Gin—double tot. What’s your name?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I told him, and he pondered the matter while -he finished his drink.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Well,’ he said at length, ‘I warned your -predecessor, and I’ll warn you. Don’t fall foul -of my manager down here. Name of Mainwaring—I -do <span class='it'>not</span> think. Don’t give him advice about -keeping off the drink, or he’ll kill you. He’s -killing himself, but that’s his business. I’m -tough—you look tough, but he’s got us beat to a -frazzle. And take cover if he ever gets mixed -up with any of the Dagos—the place isn’t -healthy.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was just at that moment that the door -swung open and a tall, lean fellow lounged in. -He’d got an eyeglass screwed into one eye, and a -pair of perfectly-fitting polo boots with some -immaculate white breeches encased his legs. His -shirt was silk, his sun-helmet spotless; in fact, -he looked like the typical English dude of fiction.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘My manager, Mainwaring,’ said McAndrew, -by way of introduction.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mainwaring stared at me for a moment or -two—then he shrugged his shoulders.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You look sane; however, if you come here -you can’t be. Double gin—and one for yourself.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He spoke with a faint, almost affected drawl, -and as I poured out the drinks I watched him -covertly. When he first came in I had thought -him a young man; now I wasn’t so sure. It was -his eyes that made one wonder as to his age—they -were so utterly tired. If he was indeed drinking -himself to death, there were no traces of it as -yet on his face, and his hand as he lifted his -glass was perfectly steady. But those eyes of -his—I can see them now. The cynical bitterness, -the concentrated weariness of all Hell was -in them. And it’s not good for any man to look -like that; certainly not a man of thirty-five, as -I afterwards discovered his age to be.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Merton paused and sipped his whisky-and-soda, -while from the other side of the room came -indications that the sleeper still slept.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I never found out what his real name was,” -he continued, thoughtfully. “Incidentally, it -doesn’t much matter. We knew him as Mainwaring, -and the J. which preceded it in his signature -was assumed to stand for James or Jimmy. -Anyway, he answered to it, which was the main -point. As far as I know, he never received a -letter and he never read a paper, and I guess I -got to know him better than anyone else in that -hole. Every morning, punctual to the second at -eleven o’clock, he’d stroll into the bar and have -three double-gins. Sometimes he’d talk in his -faint, rather pleasant drawl; more often he’d sit -silently at one of the rickety tables, staring out to -sea, with his long legs stretched out in front of -him. But whichever he did—whatever morning -it was—you could always see your face in his -boots.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I remember once, after I’d been there about a -month, I started to pull his leg about those boots -of his.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Take the devil of a long time cleaning -them in the morning, don’t you, Jimmy?’ I -said, as he lounged up to the bar for his third -gin.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Yes,’ he answered, leaning over the counter -so that his face was close to mine. ‘Got anything -further to say about my appearance?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Jimmy,’ I replied, ‘your appearance doesn’t -signify one continental damn to me. But as the -only two regular British <span class='it'>habitués</span> of this first-class -American bar, don’t let’s quarrel.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He grinned—a sort of slow, lazy grin.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Think not?’ he said. ‘Might amuse one. -However, perhaps you’re right.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And so it went on—one sweltering day after -another, until one could have gone mad with the -hideous boredom of it. I used to stand behind -the bar there sometimes and curse weakly and -foolishly like a child, but I never heard Mainwaring -do it. What happened during those -steamy nights in the privacy of his own room, -when he—like the rest of us—was fighting for -sleep, is another matter. During the day he -never varied. Cold, cynical, immaculate, he -seemed a being apart—above our little worries -and utterly contemptuous of them. Maybe he -was right—maybe the thing that had downed him -was too big for foolish cursing. Knowing what -I do now, a good many things are clear which one -didn’t realise at the time.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Only once, I think, did I ever get in the -slightest degree intimate with him. It was latish -one evening, and the bar was empty save for us -two. I’d been railing against the fate that had -landed me penniless in such an accursed spot, -and after a while he chipped in, in his lazy -drawl:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Would a thousand be any good to you?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I looked at him speechless. ‘A thousand -pounds?’ I stammered.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Yes; I think I can raise that for you.’ -He was staring in front of him as he spoke. -‘And yet I don’t know. I’ve got more or less -used to you and you’ll have to stop a bit longer. -Then we’ll see about it.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘But, good heavens! man,’ I almost shouted, -‘do you mean to say that you stop here when you -can lay your hand on a thousand pounds?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘It appears so, doesn’t it?’ He rose and -stalked over to the bar. ‘It doesn’t much matter -where you stop, Merton, when you can’t be in the -one place where you’d sell your hopes of Heaven -to be. And it’s best, perhaps, to choose a place -where the end will come quickly.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“With that he turned on his heel, and I -watched him with a sort of dazed amazement as -he sauntered down the dusty road, white in the -tropical moon, towards his own shack. A -thousand pounds! The thought of it rang in -my head all through the night. A thousand -pounds! A fortune! And because, out in -death-spots like that, men are apt to think -strange thoughts—thoughts that look ugly by the -light of day—I found myself wondering how long -he could last at the rate he was going. Two—sometimes -three—bottles of gin a day: it -couldn’t be long. And then—who knew? It -would be quick, the break-up; all the quicker -because there was not a trace of it now. And -perhaps when it came he’d remember about that -thousand. Or I could remind him.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Merton laughed grimly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, we’re pretty average swine, even the -best of us, when we’re up against it, and I lay no -claims to be a plaster saint. But Fate had -decreed that Jimmy Mainwaring was to find the -end which he craved for quicker than he had -anticipated. Moreover—and that’s what I’ve -always been glad about—it had decreed that he -was to find it before drink had rotted that iron -constitution of his; while his boots still shone -and his silk shirts remained spotless. It had -decreed that he was to find it in the way of all -others that he would have chosen, had such a wild -improbability ever suggested itself. Which is -going ahead a bit fast with the yarn—but no -matter.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was after I’d been there about three -months that the incident happened which was -destined to be the indirect cause of his death. I -told you, didn’t I, that there were several Dago -traders who lived up in the foot-hills, and on the -night in question three of them had come down -to Nwambi on business of some sort—amongst -them one Pedro Salvas, who was as unpleasant -a specimen of humanity as I have ever met. -A crafty, orange-skinned brute, who indulged, -according to common knowledge, in every known -form of vice, and a good many unknown ones too. -The three of them were sitting at a table near the -door when Mainwaring lounged in—and McAndrew’s -words came back to me. The Dagos -had been drinking; Jimmy looked in his most -uncompromising mood. He paused at the door, -and stared at each of them in turn through his -eyeglass; then he turned his back on them and -came over to me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I glanced over his shoulder at the three men, -and realised there was trouble coming. They’d -been whispering and muttering together the whole -evening, though at the time I had paid no -attention. But now Pedro Salvas, with an ugly -flush on his ugly face, had risen and was coming -towards the bar.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘If one so utterly unworthy as I,’ he -snarled, ‘may venture to speak to the so very -exclusive Englishman, I would suggest that he -does not throw pictures of his lady-loves about -the streets.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He was holding something in his hand, and -Jimmy swung round like a panther. His hand -went to his breast pocket; then I saw what the -Dago was holding out. It was the miniature of a -girl. And after that I didn’t see much more; -I didn’t even have time to take cover. It -seemed to me that the lightning movement of -Jimmy’s left hand as he grabbed the miniature, -and the terrific upper-cut with his right, were -simultaneous. Anyway, the next second he was -putting the picture back in his breast pocket, -and the Dago, snarling like a mad dog, was -picking himself out of a medley of broken bottles. -That was phase one. Phase two was equally -rapid, and left me blinking. There was the crack -of a revolver, and at the same moment a knife -stuck out quivering in the wall behind my head. -Then there was a silence, and I collected my -scattered wits.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The revolver, still smoking, was in Jimmy’s -hand: Salvas, his right arm dripping with -blood, was standing by the door, while his two -pals were crouching behind the table, looking -for all the world like wild beasts waiting to -spring.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Next time,’ said Jimmy, ‘I shoot to kill.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And he meant it. He was a bit white round -the nostrils, which is a darned dangerous sign -in a man, especially if he’s got a gun and you’re -looking down the business end of it. And no one -knew it better than those three Dagos. They -went on snarling, but not one of them moved an -eyelid.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Put your knives on that table, you scum,’ -ordered Jimmy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The other two obeyed, and he laughed -contemptuously.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Now clear out. You pollute the air.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“For a moment or two they hesitated: then -Salvas, with a prodigious effort, regained his -self-control.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You are brave, Señor Mainwaring, when you -have a revolver and we are unarmed,’ he said, -with a sneer.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“In two strides Jimmy was at the table where -the knives were lying. He picked one up, threw -me his gun, and pointed to the other knife.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I’ll fight you now, Salvas,’ he answered, -quietly. ‘Knife to knife, and to a finish.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But the Dago wasn’t taking any, and ’pon -my soul I hardly blamed him. For if ever a man -was mad, Jimmy Mainwaring was mad that -night: mad with the madness that knows no -fear and is absolutely blind to consequences.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I do not brawl in bars with drunken Englishmen,’ -remarked Salvas, turning on his heel.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A magnificent utterance, but ill-advised with -Jimmy as he was. He gave a short laugh and -took a running kick, and Don Pedro Salvas -disappeared abruptly into the night. And the -other two followed with celerity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You’ll be getting into trouble, old man,’ -I said, as he came back to the bar, ‘if you start -that sort of game with the Dagos.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘The bigger the trouble the more I’ll like it,’ -he answered, shortly. ‘Give me another drink. -Don’t you understand yet, Merton, that I’m -beyond caring?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And thinking it over since, I’ve come to the -conclusion that he spoke the literal truth. It’s -a phrase often used, and very rarely meant; -in his case it was the plain, unvarnished truth. -Rightly or wrongly he had got into such a condition -that he cared not one fig whether he lived -or died; if anything he preferred the latter. -And falling foul of the Dago colony was a better -way than most of obtaining his preference.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Of course, the episode that night had shown -me one thing: it was a woman who was at the -bottom of it all. I didn’t ask any questions; -he wasn’t a man who took kindly to cross-examination. -But I realised pretty forcibly that -if the mere handling of her picture by a Dago -had produced such a result, the matter must be -serious. Who she was I hadn’t any idea, or what -was the trouble between them—and, as I say, -I didn’t ask.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And then one day a few weeks later I got -the answer to the first question. Someone left -a month-old <span class='it'>Tatler</span> in the bar, and I was glancing -through it when Mainwaring came in. I -reached up for the gin bottle to give him his usual -drink, and when I turned round to hand it to him -he was staring at one of the pictures with the -look of a dead man on his face. I can see him -now with his knuckles gleaming white through the -sunburn of his hands, and his great powerful -chest showing under his shirt. He stood like -that maybe for five minutes—motionless; then, -without a word, he swung round and left the bar. -And I picked up the paper.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Merton paused and drained his glass.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Lady Sylvia’s wedding?” I asked, unnecessarily, -and he nodded.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So the first part of the riddle was solved,” -he continued, quietly. “And when two days -passed by without a sign of Mainwaring, I began -to be afraid that he had solved his own riddle in -his own way. But he hadn’t; he came into the -bar at ten o’clock at night, and leaned up against -the counter in his usual way.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘What have you been doing with yourself?’ -I said, lightly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I’ve been trying to get drunk,’ he answered -slowly, letting one of his hands fall on my arm -with a grip like steel. ‘And, dear God! I can’t.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It doesn’t sound much—told like this in the -smoking-room of a London club. But though -I’ve seen and heard many things in my life that -have impressed me—horrible, dreadful things -that I shall never forget—the moment of all -others that is most indelibly stamped on my -brain is that moment when, leaning across the -bar, I looked into the depths of the soul of the -man who called himself Jimmy Mainwaring—the -man who could not get drunk.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Once again he paused, and this time I did not -interrupt him. He was back in that steaming -night, with the smell of stale spirits in his nostrils -and the sight of strange things in his eyes. And -I felt that I, too, could visualise that tall, -immaculate Englishman leaning against the -counter—the man who was beyond caring.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But I must get on with it,” continued Merton, -after a while. “The club will be filling up soon -and I’ve only got the finish to tell you now. -And by one of those extraordinary coincidences -which happen far more frequently in life than -people will allow, the finish proved a worthy -one.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was about two days later. I was in the -bar polishing the glasses when the door swung -open and two men came in. They were obviously -English, and both of them were dressed as if they -were going to a garden-party.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Thank heavens! Tommy, here’s a bar, at -any rate,’ said one of them. ‘I say, barman, -what have you got?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, I had a bit of a liver, and I disliked -being called barman.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Several bottles of poison,’ I answered, ‘and -the hell of a temper.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The second one laughed, and after a moment -or two the other joined in.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I don’t wonder at the latter commodity,’ -he said. ‘This is a ghastly hole.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I wouldn’t deny it,’ I answered. ‘What, -if I may ask, has brought you here?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Oh, we’ve had a small breakdown, and the -skipper came in here to repair it. We’ve just -come ashore to have a look round.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I glanced through the window, and noticed -for the first time that a steam yacht was lying -off the shore. She was a real beauty—looked -about a thousand tons—and I gave a sigh of -envy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You’re not in want of a barman, by any -chance, are you?’ I said. ‘If so, I’ll swim out -and chance the sharks.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘ ’Fraid we’ve got everything in that line,’ -he answered. ‘But select the least deadly of -your poisons, and join us.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And it was as I was pulling down the gin and -vermouth that Jimmy Mainwaring came into the -bar. He got about half-way across the floor, -and then he stopped dead in his tracks. And I -guess during the next two seconds you could have -heard a pin drop.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘So this is where you’ve hidden yourself,’ -said the smaller of the two men—the one who had -done most of the talking. ‘I don’t think we’ll -trouble you for those drinks, barman.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Without another word he walked out of the -place—and after a moment or two the other man -started to follow him. He hesitated as he got -abreast of Jimmy, and then for the first time -Mainwaring spoke:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Is she here?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Yes,’ answered the other. ‘On board the -yacht. There’s a whole party of us.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And with that he stepped into the street and -joined his pal. With a perfectly inscrutable -look on his face Jimmy watched them as they -walked through the glaring sun and got into the -small motor-boat that was waiting alongside the -quay. Then he came up to the bar.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘An artistic touch, doubtless, on the part -of Fate,’ he remarked, quietly. ‘But a little -unnecessary.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And I guess I metaphorically took off my hat -to him at that moment. What he’d done, why -he was there, I neither knew nor cared; all that -mattered to me was the way he took that last -rotten twist of the surgeon’s knife. Not by the -quiver of an eyelid would you have known that -anything unusual had happened: he drank his -three double-gins at exactly the same rate as -every other morning. And then he too swung out -of the bar, and went back to his office in McAndrew’s -warehouse, leaving me to lie down on -my bed and sweat under the mosquito curtains, -while I wondered at the inscrutable working out -of things. Was it blind, the Fate that moved -the pieces; or was there some definite pattern -beyond our ken? At the moment it seemed -pretty blind and senseless; later on—well, -you’ll be able to form your own opinion.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You know how quickly darkness falls in -those latitudes. And it was just before sunset -that I saw a boat shoot away from the side of the -yacht and come full speed for the shore. I -remember I wondered casually who was the mug -who would leave a comfortable yacht for Nwambi, -especially after the report of it that must have -been given by our two morning visitors. And -then it struck me that, whoever it might be, he -was evidently in the deuce of a hurry. Almost -before the boat came alongside a man sprang out -and scrambled up the steps. Then at a rapid -double he came sprinting towards me as I stood -at the door of the bar. It was the smaller of the -two men who had been ashore that morning, and -something was evidently very much amiss.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Where is she?’ he shouted, as soon as he -came within earshot. ‘Where’s my wife, you -damned scoundrel?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Seeing that he was quite beside himself with -worry and alarm, I let the remark go by.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Steady!’ I said, as he came gasping up to -me. ‘I haven’t got your wife; I haven’t even -seen her.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘It’s that card-sharper!’ he cried. ‘By -God! I’ll shoot him like a dog, if he’s tried any -monkey-tricks!’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Dry up, and pull yourself together,’ I said -angrily. ‘If you’re alluding to Jimmy Mainwaring——’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And at that moment Jimmy himself stepped -out of his office and strolled across the road.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You swine, you cursed card-cheat—where’s -Sylvia?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘What the devil are you talking about?’ -said Jimmy, and his voice was tense.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘She came ashore this afternoon, saying she -would return in an hour,’ said the other man. ‘I -didn’t know it at the time, Mr.—er—Mainwaring, -I believe you call yourself. The boat came back -for her, and she was not there. That was four -hours ago. Where is she?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He was covering Jimmy with his revolver -as he spoke.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Four hours ago, Clavering! Good heavens! -man—put down your gun. This isn’t a time for -amateur theatricals.’ He brushed past him as -if he was non-existent and came up to me. ‘Did -you see Lady Clavering?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Not a trace,’ I answered, and the same fear -was in both of us.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Did she say what she was coming on shore -for?’ He swung round on the husband.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘To have a look round,’ answered Clavering, -and his voice had altered. No longer was he the -outraged husband; he was a frightened man -relying instinctively on a bigger personality than -himself.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘If she’s not about here, she must have gone -inland,’ said Jimmy, staring at me. ‘And it’ll -be dark in five minutes.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘My God!’ cried Clavering, ‘what are we -to do? She can’t be left alone for the night. -Lost—in this cursed country! She may have -hurt herself—sprained her ankle.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“For a moment neither of us answered him. -Even more than he did we realise the hideous -danger of a white woman alone in the bush inland. -There were worse dangers than snakes and wild -animals to be feared. And it was as we were -standing there staring at one another, and afraid -to voice our thoughts, that one of McAndrew’s -native boys came down the street. He was -running and out of breath; and the instant he -saw Jimmy he rushed up to him and started -gabbling in the local patois. He spoke too fast -for me to follow him, and Clavering, of course, -couldn’t understand a word. But we both -guessed instinctively what he was talking about -and we both watched Jimmy’s face. And as we -watched it I heard Clavering catch his breath -sharply.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“At last the boy finished, and Jimmy turned -and looked at me. On his face was a look of such -cold malignant fury that the question which was -trembling on my lips died away, and I stared at -him speechlessly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘The Dagos have got her,’ he said, very softly. -‘Don Pedro Salvas is, I fear, a foolish man.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Clavering gave a sort of hoarse cry, and -Jimmy’s face softened.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Poor devil,’ he said. ‘Your job is going to -be harder than mine. Go back to your yacht—get -all your men on shore that you can spare—and -if I’m not back in four hours, wait for dawn -and then strike inland over the swamp. Find -Pedro Salvas’s house—and hang him on the -highest tree you can find.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Without another word he swung on his heel -and went up the street at a long, steady lope. -Twice Clavering called after him, but he never -turned his head or altered his stride—and then -he started to follow himself. It was I who -stopped him, and he cursed me like a child—almost -weeping.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Do what he told you,’ I said. ‘You’d never -find your way; you’d be worse than useless. -I’ll go with him: you get back and bring your -men ashore.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And with that I followed Jimmy. At times -I could see him, a faint white figure in the darkness, -as he dodged through that fever-laden -swamp; at times I found myself marvelling at -the condition of the man, bearing in mind his -method of living. Steadily, tirelessly, he forged -ahead, and when he came to the foot-hills I -hadn’t gained a yard on him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And then I began wondering what was going -to happen when he reached Salvas’s bungalow, -and by what strange mischance the girl had met -the owner. That it was revenge I was certain; -he had recognised her from the picture, and I -remember thinking how bitter must have been his -hatred of Mainwaring to have induced him to run -such an appalling risk. For the risk was appalling, -even in that country of strange happenings.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t think that Jimmy troubled his head -over any such speculations. In his mind there -was room for only one thought—an all-sufficient -thought—to get his hands on Pedro Salvas. I -don’t think he even knew that I was behind him, -until after it was over and the curtain was falling -on the play. And then he had no time for me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Merton gave a short laugh that had in it a -touch of sadness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A good curtain it was, too,” he continued, -quietly. “I remember I made a frantic endeavour -to overtake him as he raced up to the -house, and then, because I just couldn’t help -myself, I stopped and watched—fascinated. -The window of the big living-room was open, and -the light blazed out. I suppose they had never -anticipated pursuit that night. Leaning up -against the wall was the girl, with a look of frozen -horror on her face, while seated at the table -were Pedro Salvas and three of his pals. And -they were drinking.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It all happened very quickly. For one -second I saw Jimmy Mainwaring framed in the -window—then he began shooting. I don’t think -I’ve mentioned that he could shoot the pip out -of the ace of diamonds nine times out of ten at -twenty yards, and his madness did not interfere -with his aim. And that night he was stark, -staring mad. I heard three shots—so close -together that only an artist could have fired -them out of the same revolver and taken aim; -I saw the three friends of Pedro Salvas collapse -limply in their chairs. And then there was a -pause; I think Jimmy wanted to get at <span class='it'>him</span> -with his hands.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But it was not to be. Just for a moment the -owner of the bungalow had been so stupefied at -the sudden appearance of the man he hated that -he had simply sat still, staring; but only for a -moment. The movement of his arm was so quick -that I hardly saw it; I only noticed what seemed -to be a streak of light which shot across the room. -And then I heard Jimmy’s revolver again—the -tenth, the hundredth of a second too late. He’d -drilled Pedro Salvas through the heart all right—I -watched the swine crumple and fall with the -snarl still on his face—but this time the knife -wasn’t sticking in the wall.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She got to him first,” went on Merton, -thoughtfully. “His knees were sagging just -as I got to the window, and she was trying to hold -him up in her arms. And then between us we -laid him down, and I saw that the end was very -near. There was nothing I could do; the knife -was clean into his chest. The finish of the -journey had come to the man who could not get -drunk. And so I left them together, while I -mounted guard by the window with a gun in each -hand. It wasn’t a house to take risks in.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He lived, I think, for five minutes, and of -those five minutes I would rather not speak. -There are things which a man may tell, and things -which he may not. Sufficient be it to say that -he may have cheated at cards or he may not—she -loved him. If, indeed, he had committed the -unforgivable sin amongst gentlemen all the world -over, he atoned for it. And she loved him. Let -us leave it at that.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And when it was over, and the strange, bitter -spirit of the man who called himself Jimmy Mainwaring -had gone out on the unknown road, I -touched her on the shoulder. She rose blindly -and stumbled out into the darkness at my side. -I don’t think I spoke a word to her, beyond telling -her to take my arm. And after a while she grew -heavier and heavier on it, until at last she slipped -down—a little unconscious heap of sobbing -girlhood.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Merton paused and lit a cigarette with a smile.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So that is how it was ordained that I should -carry the Lady Sylvia Clavering, slung over my -shoulder like a sack of potatoes, for three miles. -I remember staggering into the village to find -myself surrounded by men from the yacht. I -handed her over to her distracted husband, and -then I rather think I fainted myself. I know I -found myself in my own bar, with people pouring -whisky down my throat. And after a while they -cleared off, leaving Clavering alone with me. He -began to stammer out his thanks, and I cut him -short.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘No thanks are due to me,’ I said. ‘They’re -due to another man whom you called a card-cheat—but -who was a bigger man than either -you or I are ever likely to be.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Was?’ he said, staring at me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘He’s dead.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He stood there silently for a moment or two; -then with a queer look on his face he took off his -hat.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘He was a bigger -man than me.’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Merton got up and pressed the bell.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ve never seen him from that day to this,” -he said, thoughtfully. “I never saw his wife -again until to-night. And I’ve never filled in the -gaps in the story. Moreover, I don’t know that -I want to.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A waiter came over to his chair.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’ll join me? Two whiskies-and-sodas, -please, waiter—large ones.”</p> - -<div class='lgc' style='margin-top:6em;'> <!-- rend=';italic;fs:.7em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:.7em;font-style:italic;'>Made and Printed in Great Britain.</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:.7em;font-style:italic;'>Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury.</p> -</div> <!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:4em;margin-bottom:2em;font-size:1.2em;'>TRANSCRIBER NOTES</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. -Where multiple spellings occur, majority use has been -employed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious -printer errors occur.</p> - -<p class='line'> </p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Dinner Club, by H. C. 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