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diff --git a/49590-8.txt b/49590-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 7d5a00e..0000000 --- a/49590-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8423 +0,0 @@ - THE MAN IN RATCATCHER AND OTHER STORIES - - - - -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 -http://www.gutenberg.org/license. 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 Man in Ratcatcher and Other Stories -Author: H. C. McNeile -Release Date: August 03, 2015 [EBook #49590] -Language: English -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAN IN RATCATCHER AND -OTHER STORIES *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - - - - *THE MAN IN - RATCATCHER* - - *AND OTHER STORIES* - - - BY - - "SAPPER" - - AUTHOR OF "BULL-DOG DRUMMOND," - "THE BLACK GANG," ETC. - - - - HODDER AND STOUGHTON - LIMITED LONDON - 1921 - - - - - Made and Printed in Great Britain. - - Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury. - - - - - *Contents* - - I. THE MAN IN RATCATCHER - II. "AN ARROW AT A VENTURE" - III. THE HOUSE BY THE HEADLAND - IV. THE MAN WHO WOULD NOT PLAY CARDS - V. A QUESTION OF PERSONALITY - VI. THE UNBROKEN LINE - VII. THE REAL TEST - VIII. "GOOD HUNTING, OLD CHAP" - IX. THE MAN WITH HIS HAND IN HIS POCKET - X. A PAYMENT ON ACCOUNT - XI. THE POSER - - - - - _*I -- The Man in Ratcatcher*_ - - - *I* - - -"'E ain't much ter look at, Major, but 'e's a 'andy little 'orse." - -A groom, chewing the inevitable straw, gave a final polish to the -saddle, and then stood at the animal's head, waiting for the tall, spare -man with the bronzed, weather-beaten face, who was slowly drawing on his -gloves in the yard, to mount. Idly the groom wondered if the would-be -sportsman knew which side of a horse it was customary to get into the -saddle from; in fact one Nimrod recently--a gentleman clothed in -spotless pink--had so far excelled himself as to come to rest facing his -horse's tail. But what could you expect these times, reflected the -groom, when most of the men who could ride in days gone by would ride no -more; and a crowd of galloping tinkers, with rank cigars and ranker -manners, had taken their places? When he thought of the men who came -now--and the women, too--to Boddington's Livery Stable, renowned for -fifty years and with a reputation second to none, and contrasted them -with their predecessors, he was wont to spit, mentally and literally. -And the quods--Strewth! It was a fair disgrace to turn out such 'orses -from Boddington's. Only the crowd wot rode 'em didn't know no better: -the 'orses was quite good enough--aye! too good--for the likes o' them. - -"Let out that throat-lash a couple of holes." - -The groom looked at the speaker dazedly for a moment; a bloke that knew -the name of a single bit of saddlery on a horse's back was a rare -customer these days. - -"And take that ironmonger's shop out of the poor brute's mouth. I'll -ride him on a snaffle." - -"'E pulls a bit when 'e's fresh, Major," said the groom, dubiously. - -The tall, spare man laughed. "I think I'll risk it," he answered. -"Where did you pick him up--at a jumble sale?" - -"'E ain't much ter look at, I knows, Major," said the groom, carrying -out his instructions. "But if yer 'andle 'im easy, and nurse 'im a bit, -e'll give yer some sport." - -"I can quite believe it," remarked the other, swinging into the saddle. -"Ring the bell, will you? That will give him his cue to start." - -With a grin on his face the groom watched the melancholy steed amble -sedately out of the yard and down the road. - -Before he had gone fifty yards the horse's head had come up a little, he -was walking more collectedly--looking as if he had regained some of the -spring of former days. For there was a _man_ on his back--a man born -and bred to horses and their ways--and it would be hard to say which of -the two, the groom or the animal, realized it first. Which was why the -grin so quickly effaced itself. The groom's old pride in Boddington's -felt outraged at having to offer such a mount to such a man. He turned -as a two-seated racing car pulled up in the yard, and a young man -stepped out. He nodded to the groom as he removed his coat, and the -latter touched his cap. - -"Grand day, Mr. Dawson," he remarked. "Scent should be good." - -The newcomer grunted indifferently, and adjusted his already faultless -stock, while another groom led out a magnificent blood chestnut from a -loose-box. - -"Who was the fellah in ratcatcher I yassed, ridin' that awful old quod -of yours?" he asked. - -To such a sartorial exquisite a bowler hat and a short coat was almost a -crime. - -"I dunno, sir," said the groom. "Ain't never seen 'im before to the -best of me knowledge. But you'll see 'im at the finish." - -The other regarded his chestnut complacently. - -"He won't live half a mile if we get goin'," he remarked. "You want a -horse if hounds find in Spinner's Copse; not a prehistoric bone-bag." -He glanced at the old groom's expressionless face, and gave a short -laugh in which there was more than a hint of self-satisfaction. "And -you can't get a horse without money these days, George, and dam' big -money at that." He carefully adjusted his pink coat as he sat in the -saddle. "Have the grey taken to Merton cross-roads: and you can take the -car there, too," he continued, turning to the chauffeur. - -Then with a final hitch at his coat, he too went out of the yard. For a -while the old groom watched him dispassionately, until a bend in the -road hid him from sight. Then he turned to one of his underlings and -delivered himself of one of his usual cryptic utterances. - -"'Ave yer ever seen a monkey, Joe, sittin' on the branch of a tree, -'uggin' a waxwork doll?" - -"Can't say as 'ow I 'ave, Garge," returned the other, after profound -cogitation. - -"Well, yer don't need to. That monkey'd be the same shape 'as 'im on a -'orse." - - - *II* - - -The meet of the South Leicesters at Spinner's Copse generally produced a -field even larger than the normal huge crowd which followed that -well-known pack. It was near the centre of their country, and if Fate -was kind, and the fox took the direction of Hangman's Bottom, the line -was unsurpassed in any country in the world. - -It was a quarter to eleven when the tall, spare man, having walked the -three-quarters of a mile from Boddington's, dismounted by the side of -the road, and thoughtfully lit a cigarette. His eyes took in every -detail of the old familiar scene; and in spite of himself, his mind went -back to the last time he had been there. He smiled a little bitterly: -he had been a fool to come, and open old wounds. This game wasn't for -him any more: his hunting days were over. If things had been different: -if only---- He drew back as a blood chestnut, fretting and irritable -under a pair of heavy hands, came dancing by, spattering mud in all -directions. If only--well! he might have been riding that chestnut -instead of the heated clothes-peg on his back now. He looked with a -kind of weary cynicism at his own mount, mournfully nibbling grass: then -he laid a kindly hand on the animal's neck. - -"'Tain't your fault, old son, is it?" he muttered. "But to think of -Spinner's Copse--and you. Oh! ye gods!" - -"Hounds, gentlemen, please." The man looked up quickly with a sudden -gleam in his eyes as hounds came slowly past. A new second whip they'd -got; he remembered now, Wilson had been killed at Givenchy. But the -huntsman, Mathers, was the same--a little greyer perhaps--but still the -same shrewd, kindly sportsman. He caught his eye at that moment, and -looked away quickly. He felt certain no one would recognize him, but he -wanted to run no risks. There weren't likely to be many of the old crowd -out to-day, and he'd altered almost beyond recognition--but it was as -well to be on the safe side. And Mathers, he remembered of old, had an -eye like a hawk. - -He pretended to fumble with his girths, turning his back on the -huntsman. It was perhaps as well that he did so for his own peace of -mind; for Joe Mathers, with his jaw slowly opening, was staring -fascinated at the stooping figure. He was dreaming, of course; it -couldn't be him--not possibly. The man whom this stranger was like was -dead--killed on the Somme. Entirely imagination. But still the -huntsman stared, until a sudden raising of hats all round announced the -arrival of the Master. - -It was the moment that the tall, quiet man, standing a little aloof on -the outskirts of the crowd, had been dreading. He had told himself -frequently that he had forgotten the girl who stepped out of the car -with her father; he had told himself even more frequently that she had -long since forgotten him. But, now, as he saw once more the girl's -glowing face and her slender, upright figure, showed off to perfection -by her habit, he stifled a groan, and cursed himself more bitterly than -ever for having been such a fool as to come. If only----once again -those two bitter words mocked him. He had not forgotten; he never would -forget; and it was not the least part of the price he had to pay for the -criminal negligence of his late father. - -He glanced covertly at the girl; she was talking vivaciously to the man -whom he had designated as a heated clothes-peg. He noticed the youth -bending towards her with an air of possession which infuriated him; then -he laughed and swung himself into the saddle. What had it got to do -with him? - -Then on a sudden impulse he turned to a farmer next him. - -"Who is that youngster talking to the Master's daughter?" he asked. - -The farmer looked at him in mild surprise. "You'm a stranger to these -parts, mister, evidently," he said. "That be young Mr. Dawson; and -folks do say he be engaged to Miss Gollanfield." - -Engaged! To that young blighter! With hands like pot-hooks, and a seat -like an elephant! And then, quite suddenly, he produced his -handkerchief, and proceeded most unnecessarily to blow his nose. For -Mathers was talking excitedly to Sir Hubert Gollanfield and Major -Dawlish, the hunt secretary; and the eyes of all three were fixed on -him. - -"I thought it was before, sir, and then I saw him mount, and I know," -said Mathers, positively. - -"It can't be. He was killed in France," answered the Master. "Wasn't -he, David?" - -"I've always heard so," said Dawlish. "I'll go and cap him now and have -a closer look." - -"Anyway, Joe, not a word at present." The Master turned to Mathers. -"We'd better draw the spinney first." - -Through the crowd, as it slowly moved off, the secretary threaded his -way towards the vaguely familiar figure ahead. It couldn't be; it was -out of the question. And yet, as he watched him, more and more did he -begin to believe that the huntsman was right. Little movements; an odd, -indefinable hitch of the shoulders; the set of the stranger's head. And -then, with almost a catch in his breath, he saw that the man he was -following had left the crowd, and was unostentatiously edging for a -certain gap, which to the uninitiated, appeared almost a cul-de-sac. Of -course, it might be just chance; on the other hand, that gap was the -closely guarded preserve--as far as such things may be guarded--of the -chosen few who really rode; the first-nighters--the men who took their -own line, and wanted that invaluable hundred yards' start to get them -clear of the mob. - -Slightly quickening his pace, the secretary followed his quarry. He -overtook him just as he had joined the bare dozen, who, with hats rammed -down, sat waiting for the first whimper. They were regarding the -newcomer with a certain curiosity as the secretary came up; almost with -that faint hostility which is an Englishman's special prerogative on the -entrance of a second person to his otherwise empty railway carriage. Who -was this fellow in ratcatcher mounted on a hopeless screw? And what the -devil was he doing here, anyway? - -"Mornin', David." A chorus of greeting hailed the advent of the popular -secretary, but, save for a brief nod and smile, he took no notice. His -eyes were fixed on the stranger, who was carefully adjusting one of his -leathers. - -"Excuse me, sir." Major Dawlish walked his horse up to him, and then -sat staring and motionless. "My God, it can't be----" He spoke under -his breath, and the stranger apparently failed to hear. - -"What is the cap?" he asked, courteously. "A fiver this season, I -believe." - -"Danny!" The secretary was visibly agitated. "You're Danny Drayton! -And we thought you were dead!" - -"I fear, sir, that there is some mistake," returned the other. "My name -is John Marston." - -In silence the two men looked at one another and then Major Dawlish -bowed. - -"I beg your pardon, Mr. Marston," he said, gravely. "But you bear a -strange resemblance to a certain very dear friend of mine, whom we all -believed had been killed at Flers in 1916. He combined two outstanding -qualities," continued the secretary, deliberately, "did that friend of -mine: quixotic chivalry to the point of idiocy, and the most wonderful -horsemanship." - -Once more the eyes of the two men met, and then John Marston looked -away, staring over the wonderful bit of country lying below them. - -"I am sorry," he remarked, quietly, "that you should have lost your -friend." - -"Ah, but have I, Mr. Marston; have I?" interrupted David Dawlish, -quickly. - -"You tell me he died at Flers," returned the other. "And very few -mistakes were made in such matters, which have not been rectified -since." - -"He disappeared a year or two before the war," said the secretary, -"suddenly--without leaving a trace. We heard he had gone to New -Zealand; but we could get no confirmation. Do you ever go to the Grand -National, Mr. Marston?" he continued, with apparent irrelevance. - -The stranger stiffened in his saddle. "I have been," he answered, -abruptly. Merciful heavens! wouldn't some hound own to scent soon? - -"Do you remember that year when a certain gentleman rider was booed on -the course?" went on the secretary, reminiscently. "It was the year -John Drayton and Son went smash for half a million: and it was the son -who was booed." - -"I don't wonder," returned the stranger. "He was a fool to ride." - -"Was he, Mr. Marston? Was he? Or was it just part of that quixotic -chivalry of which I have spoken? The horse was a rogue: there was no -one else who could do him justice: so, rather than disappoint his -friend, the owner, the son turned out." - -"And very rightly got hissed for his pains," said John Marston, grimly. -"I remember the smash well--Drayton's smash. It ruined thousands of -poor people: and only a legal quibble saved a criminal prosecution." - -"True," assented the secretary. "But it was old Drayton's fault. We -all knew it at the time. Danny Drayton--the son----" - -"The man who died at Flers," interrupted John Marston, and the secretary -looked at him quietly. - -"Perhaps: perhaps not. Mistakes _have_ occurred, But whether he died or -whether he didn't--the son was incapable of even a mean thought. He was -not to blame." - -"I must beg to differ, sir," returned John Marston. "The firm was -Drayton _and Son_: the Son was responsible as much as the father. If -one member of a firm goes wrong, the other members must make good. It -is only fair to the public." - -"I see," answered the secretary. "Then I wonder who the other member of -the firm can have been? The father died soon after the exposure: the -son died at Flers." He looked John Marston straight in the face. - -"That would seem to account for the firm, returned the other, -indifferently. - -"Except for one thing," said the secretary, "the significance of -which--strangely enough--has only just struck me. There's a certain old -farmer in this district, who invested one hundred pounds with -Drayton--all his savings. Along with the rest, it went smash. A month -or two ago he received one hundred and thirty-five pounds in notes, from -an unknown source. Seven years' interest at five per cent. is -thirty-five pounds." And suddenly the secretary, usually one of the -most unemotional of men, leaned forward in his saddle, and his voice was -a little husky. "Danny! You damned quixotic fool! Come back to us: we -can't afford to lose a man who can go like you." - -The man in ratcatcher stared fixedly in front of him--his profile set -and rigid. For a moment the temptation was well-nigh overwhelming: -every account squared up--every loss made good. Then, ringing in his -ears, he heard once more the yells and cat-calls as he had cantered past -the stand at Aintree. - -"As I said to you before, sir," he said, facing the secretary steadily: -"my name is John Marston. You are making a mistake." - -What Major Dawlish's reply would have been will never be known. He -seemed on the point of an explosion of wrath, when clear and shrill -through the morning air came Joe Mathers' "Gone away." The pack came -tumbling out of covert, and everything else was forgotten. - -"It's the right line," cried John Marston, excitedly. "Hangman's -Bottom, for a quid." - -The field streamed off, everyone according to their own peculiar methods -bent on getting the best they could out of a breast-high scent. The -macadam brigade left early, and set grimly about their dangerous task. -The man whose horse always picked up a stone early if the run was likely -to be a hot one, and arrived cursing his luck, late but quite safe, duly -dismounted and fumbled with his outraged steed's perfectly sound hoof. -The main body of the field streamed along in a crowd--that big section -which is the backbone of every hunt, which contains every variety of -individual, and in which every idiosyncrasy of character may be observed -by the man who has eyes to see. And then in front of all, riding their -own line--but not, as the uninitiated might imagine, deliberately -selecting the most impossible parts of every jump, merely for the sport -of the thing--the select few. - -They had gone two miles without the suspicion of a check, before the -secretary found himself near Sir Hubert. Both in their day had belonged -to that select few, but now they were content to take things a little -easier. - -"It's Danny, Hubert," said the secretary, as they galloped side by side -over a pasture field towards a stiff-looking post and rails. "Calling -himself John Marston." - -The Master grunted--glancing for a moment under his bushy eyebrows at -the man, two or three hundred yards in front, who, despite his mount, -still lived with the vanguard. - -"Of course it is," he snorted. "There's no one else would be where he -is, on a horse like that, with hounds running at this rate." - -They steadied their pace as they came to the timber, and neither spoke -again till they were halfway across the next field. - -"What's his game, David? Confound you, sir," his voice rose to a -bellow, as he turned in his saddle and glared at an impetuous youth -behind, "will you kindly not ride in my pocket? Infernal young puppy! -What's his game, David?" - -"Quixotic tommy-rot," snorted the other. "He knows I know he's Danny: -but he won't admit it." - -"Has Molly seen him yet?" Sir Hubert glanced away to the left, where -his daughter, on a raking black, had apparently got her hands full. - -"I don't know." - -The secretary, frowning slightly, followed the direction of the other's -gaze. David Dawlish was no lover of young Dawson. He watched the girl, -for a moment, noting the proximity of the blood chestnut close to her: -then he turned back to his old friend. "That black is too much for -Molly, Hubert," he said, a trifle uneasily. "He'll get away with her -some day." - -"You tell her so, and see what happens, old man," chuckled Sir Hubert. -"I tried once." Then he reverted to the old subject. "What are we -going to do about it, David, if it is Danny?" - -"There's nothing we can do," answered the other. "Officially, he's -dead; the War Office have said so. If he chooses to remain John Marston -we can't stop him." - -And so for the time the matter was left; the hunting-field, when the -going is hot enough for the veriest glutton, is no place for idle -speculation and talk. There is time enough for that afterwards; while -hounds are running it behoves a man to attend to the business in hand. - -The pace by this time was beginning to tell. The main body of the hunt -now stretched over half a dozen fields; even the first-flight section -was getting thinned out. And it was as David Dawlish topped the slight -rise which hid the brook at the bottom of the valley beyond--the -notorious Cedar Brook--that he found himself next to Molly Gollanfield. - -Streaming up the other side were hounds, with Joe Mathers safely over -the water and fifty yards behind them. Two or three others were level -with him, riding wide to his flank, but the secretary's eyes were fixed -on a man in ratcatcher who was just ramming an obviously tiring horse at -the brook. With a faint grin, he noted the place he had selected to -jump; the spot well known to everyone familiar with the country as being -the best and firmest take-off. He watched the horse rise--just fail to -clear--stumble and peck badly; he saw the rider literally lift it on to -its legs again, and sail on with barely a perceptible pause. And then -he glanced at Molly Gollanfield. - -"Well ridden; well ridden!" The girl's impulsive praise at a consummate -piece of horsemanship made him smile a little grimly. What would she -say when she knew the identity of the horseman? And what would he say? - -They flew the brook simultaneously, young Dawson a few yards behind, and -swept on up the other side of the valley. - -"Who is that man in front, Uncle David?" called out the girl. "It's a -treat to watch him ride." - -"His name, so he tells me, is John Marston," said the secretary, -quietly. - -"Has he ever been out with us before?" - -They breasted the hill as she spoke, to find that the point had ended, -as such a run should end--but rarely does--with a kill in the open. The -survivors of the front brigade had already dismounted as they came up, -and for a few moments no one could think or speak of anything but the -run. And it was a Captain Malvin, in one of the Lancer regiments, who -recalled the mysterious stranger to the girl's mind. - -"Who is that fellow in ratcatcher, Major?" Malvin was standing by her -as he spoke, and the girl glanced round to find the subject of his -interest. - -He had dismounted twenty or thirty yards away, and was making much of -his horse, which was completely cooked. - -"Saw him in Boddington's," remarked young Dawson. "How the devil did he -manage to get here on that?" - -"By a process known as riding," said Malvin, briefly. "If you mounted -that man on a mule, he'd still be at the top of a hunt--eh, Miss -Gollanfield?" - -But Molly Gollanfield was staring fascinated at the stranger. "Who did -you say it was, Uncle David?" Her voice was low and tense, and Malvin -glanced at her in surprise. - -"John Marston," returned the secretary, slowly, "is the name he gave -me." - -And at that moment the man in ratcatcher looked at the girl. - -"John Marston," she faltered. "Why--why--it's Danny! Danny, I thought -you were dead!" - -She walked her horse towards him and held out her hand, while a -wonderful light dawned in her eyes. - -"Danny!" she cried, "don't you remember me?" - -And gradually the look of joy faded from her face, to be replaced by one -of blank amazement. For the man was looking at her as if she had been a -stranger. - -Then, with a courteous bow, he removed his hat. "You are the second -person, madam, who has made the same mistake this morning. My name is -John Marston." - -But the girl only stared at him in silence, and shook her head. - -"I've been watching you ride, Danny," she said, at length, "and just -think of it--I didn't know you. What a blind little fool I was, wasn't -I?" - -"I don't see how you could be expected to recognize me, madam," answered -the man. "I hope you'll have as good a second run as the one we've just -had. I'm afraid this poor old nag must go stablewards." - -He looped the reins over his arm, and once more raised his hat as he -turned away. - -"But, Danny," cried the girl, a little wildly, "you can't go like this." - -"Steady, Molly." Young Dawson was standing beside her, looking a little -ruffled. "I don't know who the devil Danny is or was; but this fellow -says he's John Marston. You can't go throwin' your arms round a -stranger's neck in the huntin'-field. It's simply not done." - -"When I require your assistance on what is or is not done, Mr. Dawson, I -will let you know," returned the girl, coldly. "Until then kindly keep -such information to yourself." - -"Mr. Dawson!" The youth recoiled a pace. "Molly! what do you mean?" - -But the girl was taking not the slightest notice of him; her eyes were -fixed on the stranger, who was talking for a moment to David Dawlish. - -"You forgot to take my cap," he said to the secretary, with a smile. -"If you like I will send it along by post; or, if you prefer it, I have -it on me now." - -And at that moment it occurred. It was all so quick that no one could -be quite sure what happened. Perhaps it was a horse barging into the -black's quarters; perhaps it was the sudden flash of young Dawson's -cigarette-case in the sun. Perhaps only Uncle David saw what really -caused the black suddenly to give one wild convulsive buck and bolt like -the wind with the girl sawing vainly at its mouth. - -For a moment there was a stunned silence; then, with an agonized cry, -Sir Hubert started to clamber into his saddle. - -"The quarry!" His frenzied shout sent a chill into the hearts of -everyone who heard, and half the hunt started to mount. Only too well -did they know the danger; the black was heading straight for the old -disused slate-pit. - -But it was the immaculate Dawson who suffered the greatest shock. He -had just got his loot into the stirrup when he felt himself picked up -like a child and deposited in the mud. And mounted on _his_ chestnut -was the man in ratcatcher. - -"Keep back--all of you." The tall, spare figure rose in the saddle and -dominated the scene. "It's a one-man job." Then he swung the chestnut -round, gave him one rib-binder, and followed the bolting black. - -"Hi! you, sir!" spluttered Dawson, shaking a fist at the retreating -figure. "That's my horse." - -But no one paid the smallest attention to the aggrieved youth; -motionless and intent, they were staring at the two galloping horses. -They saw the man swinging left-handed, and for a moment they failed to -realize his object. - -"What's he doing? What's he doing?" David Dawlish was jumping up and -down in his excitement. "He'll never catch her like that." - -"He will," roared the cavalryman. "Oh, lovely, lovely--look at that -recovery, sir--I ask you, look at it! Don't you see his game, man?" He -turned to the secretary. "He's coming up between her and the quarry, -and he'll ride her off. If he came up straight behind, nothing could -save 'em. It's too close." - -Fascinated, the field watched the grim race--helpless, unable to do -anything but sit and look on. The man in ratcatcher had been right, and -they knew it, when he had called it a one-man job. A crowd of galloping -horses would have maddened the black to frenzy. - -And as for the two principal performers, they were perhaps the coolest -of all. For a few agonizing seconds, when the girl first realized that -Nigger was bolting, she panicked; then, being a thoroughbred herself, -she pulled herself together and tried to stop him. But he was away with -her--away with her properly; and it was just as she realized it, with a -sickening feeling of helplessness, that a strong, ringing voice came -clearly from behind her left shoulder. - -"Drop your near rein, Molly; put both hands on your off, and -pull--girl--pull! I'm coming." - -She heard the thud of his horse behind her, and the black spurted again. -But the chestnut crept up till it was level with her girths--till the -two horses were neck and neck. - -"Pull, darling, pull!" With a wild thrill she heard his voice low and -tense beside her; regardless of everything, she stole one look at his -steady eyes, which flashed a message of confidence back. - -"Pull--pull, on that off rein." - -She felt the chestnut hard against her legs, boring into her as the man, -exerting every ounce of his strength, started to ride her off. - -The black was coming round little by little; no horse living could have -resisted the combined pull of the one rein and the pressure of the -consummate rider on the other side. More and more the man swung her -right-handed, never relaxing his steady pressure for an instant, and, at -last, with unspeakable relief, she realized that they were galloping -parallel with the edge of the quarry and not towards it. It had been -touch and go--another twenty yards; and then, at the same moment, they -both saw it. Straight in front of them, stretching back from the top of -the pit, there yawned a great gap. She had forgotten the landslip -during the last summer. - -She saw the man lift his crop, and give the black a heavy blow on the -near side of his head; she heard his frenzied shout of "Pull--for God's -sake--pull!" and then she was galloping alone. Dimly she heard a -dreadful crash and clatter behind her; she had one fleeting glimpse of a -chestnut horse rolling over and over, and bumping sickeningly downwards, -while something else bumped downwards too; then she was past the gap -with a foot to spare. That one stunning blow with the crop had swung -the amazed black through half a right-angle to safety; it had made the -chestnut swerve through half a right-angle the other way to---- - -Ah, no! not that. Not dead--not dead. He couldn't be that--not Danny. -And she knew it was Danny; had known it all along. Blowing like a -steam-engine, the black had stopped exhausted, and she left him standing -where he was, as she ran back to the edge of the gap. - -"Danny! Danny--my man!" she called in an agony. "Speak--just a word, -Danny. My God! it was all my fault!" - -Feverishly she started to clamber down towards the still figure -sprawling motionless below. But no answer came to her; only the thud of -countless other horses, as the field came up to the scene of the -disaster. - -Sir Hubert, almost beside himself with emotion, was babbling -incoherently; the secretary and Joe Mathers were little better. - -"Only Danny could have done it," he cried over and over again. "Only -Danny could have saved her. And, by Gad! sir, he has--and given his -life to do it." He peered over the top, and called out anxiously to the -girl below: "Careful, my darling, careful; we can get to him round by -the road." - -But the girl paid no heed to her father's cry: and when half a dozen -men, headed by David Dawlish, rode furiously in by the old entrance to -the quarry, they found her sitting on the ground with the unconscious -man's head pillowed on her lap. - -She lifted her face, streaming with tears, and looked at the secretary. - -"He's dead, Uncle David. Danny! my Danny! And it was all my fault." - -For a few moments no one spoke; then one of the men stepped forward. - -"May I examine him, Miss Gollanfield?" He knelt down beside the -motionless figure. "I'm not a doctor, but----" For what seemed an -eternity he bent over him; then he rose quickly. "A flask at once. -There is still life." - -It was not until the limp body had been gently placed on an extemporized -stretcher, to wait for the ambulance, that the cavalryman turned to -David Dawlish. - -"Danny!" he said, thoughtfully. "Not Danny Drayton?" - -"Himself and no other," replied the secretary. "Masquerading as John -Marston." - -The cavalryman whistled softly. "The last time I saw him was at -Aintree, before the war. I never could get to the bottom of that -matter." - -"Couldn't you?" said David Dawlish. "And yet it's not very difficult. -'The sins of the fathers are visited'--you know the rest. He -disappeared; and every single sufferer in that crash is being paid -back." - -"But why that dreadful quod to-day?" pursued the soldier. - -"All he could get, most likely. Boddington's cattle are pretty -indifferent these days." Dawlish glanced at the stretcher, and the -corners of his mouth twitched. "The damned young fool could have had -the pick of my stable if he'd asked for it," he said, gruffly. -"Danny--on that herring-gutted brute--at Spinner's Copse! But he was -always as proud as Lucifer, was Danny: and I'm thinking no one will ever -know what he's suffered since the crash." And then, with apparently -unnecessary violence, the worthy secretary blew his nose. "This cursed -glare makes my eyes water," he announced, when the noise had subsided. - -The cavalryman regarded the dull gloom of the old pit dispassionately. - -"Quite so, Major," he murmured at length. "Er--quite so." - - - *III* - - -"Well, Sir Philip!" With her father and David Dawlish, Molly was -waiting in the hall to hear the verdict. The ambulance had brought the -unconscious man straight to the Master's house: and for the last quarter -of an hour Sir Philip Westwood, the great surgeon, who by a fortunate -turn of Fate was staying at an adjoining place, had been carrying out -his examination. Now he glanced at the girl, and smiled gravely. - -"There is every hope, Miss Gollanfield," he said, cheerfully. - -With a little sob the girl buried her face against Sir Hubert's -shoulder. - -"As far as I can see," continued the doctor, "there is nothing broken: -only very severe bruises and a bad concussion. In a week he should be -walking again." - -"Thank God!" whispered the girl, and Sir Philip patted her shoulder. - -"A great man," he said, "and a great deed. I'll come over to-morrow and -see him again." - -He walked towards the front door, followed by Sir Hubert, and the girl -turned her swimming eyes on David Dawlish. - -"If he'd died, Uncle David," she said, brokenly, "I--I----" - -"He's not going to, Molly," interrupted the secretary. Then, after a -pause, "Why did you put the spur into Nigger?" he asked, curiously. - -"You saw, did you?" The girl stared at him miserably. "Because I was a -little fool: because I was mad with him--because I loved him, and he -called himself John Marston." She rose, and laughed a little wildly. -"And then when Nigger really did bolt I was glad--glad: and when I saw -him beside me, I could have sung for joy. I knew he'd come--and he did. -And now I could kill myself." - -And staunch old David Dawlish--uncle by right of purchase with many -sweets in years gone by, if not by blood--was still thinking it over -when the door of her room banged upstairs. - -"A whisky and soda, Hubert," he remarked, as the latter joined him, "is -clearly indicated." - -"We'll have trouble with him, David," grunted the Master. "Damned -quixotic young fool. He's got no right to get killed officially: it -upsets all one's plans. Probably have to pass an Act of Parliament to -bring him to life again." - -"Leave it to Molly, old man." The secretary measured out his tot. -"Leave it all to her." - -"I never do anything else," sighed Sir Hubert. "What is worrying me is -young Dawson." - -"There's nothing really in that, is there?" David Dawlish looked a -little anxiously at his old friend: as has been said before, he was no -lover of young Dawson. - -"There's a blood chestnut stone-dead at the bottom of a pit," returned -the other. "However----" - -"Quite," assented Dawlish. "Leave it to Molly: leave it all to her." - -Which, taking everything into consideration, was quite the wisest -decision they could have come to; it saved such a lot of breath. - -They both glanced up as a hospital nurse came down the stairs. "Miss -Gollanfield asked me to tell you, Sir Hubert," she remarked, "that the -patient is conscious. She is sitting with him for a few minutes." - -"Oh, she is, is she?" Sir Hubert rose from his chair a little -doubtfully. - -"Sit down, Hubert; sit down," grinned Dawlish. "Haven't we just decided -to leave it all to her?" - - -"Well, John Marston! Feeling better?" - -The man turned his head slowly on the pillow, and stared at the girl. - -"What an unholy----" he muttered. "How's the horse?" - -The girl looked at him steadily. "Dead--back broken. We thought you'd -done the same." - -"Poor brute! A grand horse." He passed one of his hands dazedly across -his forehead. "I had to take him--I couldn't have caught you on mine. I -must explain things to your fiancé." - -"My what?" asked the girl. - -"Aren't you engaged to him?" said the man. "They told me----" The words -tailed off, and he closed his eyes. - -For a moment the girl looked at him with a great yearning tenderness on -her face; then she bent over and laid a cool hand on his forehead. - -"Go to sleep, Danny Drayton," she whispered. "Go to sleep." - -But the name made him open his eyes again. - -"I told you my name was John Marston," he insisted. - -"Then I require an immediate explanation of why you called me darling," -she answered. - -He looked at her weakly; then with a little tired smile he gave in. - -"Molly," he said, very low, "my little Molly. I've dreamed of you, dear; -I don't think you've ever been out of my thoughts all these long years. -Just for the moment--I am Danny; to-morrow I'll be John Marston again." - -"Will you?" she whispered, and her face was very close to his. "Then -there will be a scandal. For I don't see how John Marston and Mrs. Danny -Drayton can possibly live together. My dear, dear man!" - -Thus did the man in ratcatcher fall asleep, with the feel of her lips on -his, and the touch of her hand on his forehead. And thus did two men -find them a few moments later, only to tiptoe silently downstairs again, -after one glance from the door. - -"Damn this smoke," said David Dawlish, gruffly. "It's got in my eyes -again." - -"You're a liar, David," grunted Sir Hubert. "And a sentimental old fool -besides. So am I." - - - - - _*II -- "An Arrow at a Venture"*_ - - - *I* - - -For the twentieth time the Man went through the whole wretched business -again, in his mind. To the casual diner at the Milan, he was just an -ordinary well-groomed Englishman, feeding by himself, and if he ate a -little wearily, and there was a gleam of something more than sadness in -the deep-set eyes, it was not sufficiently noticeable to attract -attention. - -"Monsieur finds everything to his satisfaction?" The head-waiter paused -by the table, and the Man glanced up at him. A smile flickered round -his mouth as the irony of the question struck home, and, almost -unconsciously, his hand touched the letter in his coat pocket. - -"Everything, thank you," he answered, gravely. "Everything, François, -except the whole infernal universe." - -The head-waiter shook his head sympathetically. - -"I regret, Monsieur Lethbridge, that our kitchen is not large enough to -keep that on the bill of fare." - -"Otherwise you'd cook it to a turn and make even it palatable," said -Lethbridge, bitterly. "No, it's beyond you, François; and, at the -moment, it looks as if it was beyond me. Tell 'em to bring me a half -bottle of the same, will you?" - -The head-waiter picked up the empty champagne bottle, and then paused -for a moment. Lethbridge was an old customer, and with François that was -the same as being an old friend. For years he had come to the Milan, -and, latterly, he had always brought the Girl with him, a wonderful, -clear-eyed, upstanding youngster, who seemed almost too young for the -narrow gold ring on her left hand. And François, who had once heard him -call her his Colt, had nodded his approval and been glad. It seemed an -ideal marriage, and he was nothing if not sentimental. But to-night all -was not well; the Colt had been a bit tricky perhaps; the snaffle had -not been quite light enough in the tender mouth. And so François -paused, and the eye of the two men met. - -"The younger they are, M'sieur--the more thoroughbred--the gentler must -be the touch. Otherwise----" He shrugged his shoulders, and brushed an -imaginary crumb from the table. - -"Yes, François," said Lethbridge, slowly, "otherwise----" - -"They hurt their mouths, M'sieur; and that hurts those who love them. -And sometimes it's not the youngster's fault." - -The next moment he was bowing some new arrivals to a table, while Hugh -Lethbridge stared thoughtfully across the crowded room to where the -orchestra was preparing to give their next selection. - -"Sometimes it's not the youngster's fault." He took the letter out of -his pocket and read it through again, though every word of it was -branded in letters of fire on his brain. - -"I hope this won't give you too much of a shock," it began, "but I can't -live with you any more." - -"Too much of a shock!" Dear Heavens! It had been like a great, stunning -blow from which he was still dazedly trying to recover. - -"Nothing seems to count with you except your business and making money." -Hugh's lips twisted into a bitter smile. "You grudge me every penny I -spend; and then refuse to let me have my own friends." - -Oh, Colt, Colt, how brutally untrue a half truth can be! - -"Everything has been going wrong lately, and so I think it's better to -have a clean cut. There's no good you asking me to come back.--DORIS." - -Once more Hugh Lethbridge stared across the room. A waiter placed the -new bottle on the table, but he took no notice. His mind was busy with -the past, and his untasted food grew cold on the plate in front of him. - -It was in the summer of 1917 that Hugh Lethbridge, being on sick leave -from France, met Doris Lashley for the first time. She was helping at -the hospital where Hugh came to rest finally; and having once set eyes -on her, he made no effort to hurry his departure unduly. The contrast -between talking to Doris and wallowing in the mud-holes of Passchendaele -was very pleasant; and in due course, assisted by one or two taxi-rides -and some quiet dinners _à deux_, he proposed and was accepted. In -October he married her; in November he returned to France, after a -fortnight's honeymoon spent in Devonshire. - -He went back to his old battalion, and stagnated with them through the -winter. But the stagnation was made endurable by the wonder of the girl -who was his: by the remembrance of those unforgettable days and nights -when he had been alone with her in the little hotel down Dawlish way; by -the glory of her letters. For she was a very human girl, even though -she was just a Colt. Nineteen and a half is not a very great age, and -sometimes of a night Hugh would lie awake listening to the rattle of a -machine-gun down the line, and the half-forgotten religion of childhood -would surge through his mind. Thirty seems old to nineteen, and dim, -inarticulate prayers would rise to the great brooding Spirit above that -He would never let this slip of a girl down. Then sleep would -come--sleep, when a kindly Fate would sometimes let him dream of her; -dreams when she would come to him out of the mists, and they would stand -together again in the little sandy cove with the red cliffs towering -above them. She would put her hands on his shoulders, and shake him -gently to and fro until, just as he was going to kiss her, a raucous -voice would bellow in his ear, "Stand to." And the Heaven of -imagination would change to the Hell of grey trenches just before the -dawn. - -In March, 1918, Hugh wangled a fortnight's leave. And at this point it -is necessary to touch for a moment on that unpleasant essential to -modern life--money. The girl had brought in as her contribution to the -establishment the sum of one hundred pounds a year left her by her -grandmother; Hugh had about three hundred a year private means in -addition to his Army pay. Before the war it had been in addition to what -he was making in the City; after the war it would be the same again. -And, as everyone knows, what a man may make in the City depends on a -variety of circumstances, many of which are quite outside his own -control. That point, however, concerns the future; and for the moment -it is March, 1918--leave. Moreover, as has been said, the girl was just -a Colt. - -For a fortnight they lived--the Man with his eyes wide open, but not -caring--at the rate of five thousand a year. They blew two hundred of -the best, and loved every minute of it. Then came the German offensive, -and we are not concerned with the remainder of 1918. Sufficient to say -that in his wisdom--or was it his folly?--there was no addition to the -family when, in February, 1919, he was demobilized, and the story proper -begins. - -Hugh's gratuity was just sufficient to supply the furniture for one room -in the house they took near Esher. If it had been expended on lines of -utility rather than those of show it would have gone farther; but the -stuff was chosen by Doris one afternoon while he was at the office, and -when she pointed it out to him with ill-concealed pride at the shop, he -stifled his misgivings and agreed that it was charming. It was; so was -the price. For the remainder of the furniture he dipped into his -capital, at a time when he wanted every available penny he could lay his -hands on for his business. He never spoke to Doris about money; there -were so many other things to discuss as the evenings lengthened and -spring changed to early summer. They were intensely personal things, -monotonous to a degree to any Philistine outsider who might have been -privileged to hear them. But since they seemed to afford infinite -satisfaction to the two principal performers, the feelings of a -Philistine need not be considered. - -And then one evening a whole variety of little things happened together. -To start with, Hugh had spent the afternoon going more carefully than -usual into books and ledgers, and when he had finished he lit a -cigarette and stared a trifle blankly at the wall opposite. There was -no doubt about it, business was rotten. Stuff which he had been -promised, and for which heavy deposits had been paid, was not -forthcoming. It was no fault of the firms he was dealing with; he knew -that their letters of regret were real statements of fact. -War-weariness, labour unrest, a hundred other almost indefinable causes -were at work, and the stuff simply wasn't there to deliver. If he -liked, as they had failed in their contract, he could have his deposit -back, etc., etc. So ran half a dozen letters, and Hugh turned them over -on his desk a little bitterly. It was no good to him having his deposit -back; it was no good to him living on his capital. And there was no use -mincing matters: as things stood he was making practically no income out -of his work. It would adjust itself in time--that he knew. The -difficulty was the immediate present and the next few months. What a -pity it was he couldn't do as he would have done in the past--take rooms -and live really quietly till things adjusted themselves. And then, with -a start, he realized why he couldn't, and with a quick tightening of his -jaw lie rose and reached for his hat. She must never know--God bless -her. Hang it, things would come right soon. - -He bought an evening paper on his way down, and glanced over it -mechanically. - -"If," had written some brilliant contributor, "the nation at large, and -individuals in particular, will not realize, and that right soon, that -any business or country whose expenditure exceeds its income must -inevitably be ruined sooner or later----" - -Hugh got no farther. He crushed the paper into a ball and flung it out -of the window, muttering viciously under his breath. - -"Backed a stiff 'un?" said his neighbour, sympathetically. "I've had -five in succession." - -He walked from the station a little quicker than usual. There was -nothing for it but drastic economy; and as for any idea of the little -car Doris was so keen on, it simply couldn't be done. Anyway, as the -agent had told him over the 'phone that morning, there was no chance of -delivery for at least six months. Had advised getting a secondhand one -if urgently needed--except that, of course, at the present moment they -were more expensive than new ones. But still one could get one at -once--in fact, he had one. Only three-fifty. - -Hugh hung up his hat in the hall and stepped into the drawing-room. He -could see Doris outside working in the garden, but for a moment or two -he made no movement to join her. His eyes were fixed on the huge, -luxurious ottoman, covered with wonderful fat cushions. It was -undoubtedly the most comfortable thing he had ever sat on: it was made -to be sat on, and nightly it was sat on--by both of them. It was the -recipient of those intensely personal things so monotonous to the -Philistine; and it had cost, with cushions and trappings complete, one -hundred and twenty Bradburys. - -He was still looking at it thoughtfully when the girl came in through -the open window. - -"I want a great big kiss, ever so quick, please," she announced, going -up to him. "One more. Thank you!" - -With his hands on her shoulders he held her away from him, and she -smiled up into his eyes. - -"I very nearly came and looked you up in your grubby old office to-day," -she said, putting his tie straight. "And then I knew that I'd get on a -bus going the wrong way, and I hadn't enough money for a taxi. I'd -spent it all on a treat for you." - -Almost abruptly his arms dropped to his sides. - -"I didn't know you were coming up, darling," he said, pulling out his -cigarette-case. - -"Nor did I till just before I went," she answered. "Don't you want to -know what the treat is?" - -Without waiting for him to speak, she went on, prodding one of his -waistcoat buttons gently with a little pink finger at each word. - -"I bought two whopping fat peaches--one for you and one for me. They -were awful expensive--seven shillings and sixpence each. And after -dinner we'll eat them and make a drefful mess." - -Now, I am fully aware that any and every male reader who may chance to -arrive at this point will think that under similar circumstances he -would argue thus: "The peaches were bought. After all, they were a -little thing--fifteen shillings is not a fortune. Therefore, -undoubtedly the thing to do was to take her in his arms, make much of -her, and remark, 'You extravagant little bean--you'll break the firm, if -you go on like this. But I love you very much, and after we've made a -drefful mess I'm going to talk to you drefful seriously,' or words to -that effect." - -My friendly male, you're quite correct. You appreciate the value of -little things; you see how vastly more important they are than a -stagnating business or any stupid fears as to what may happen to the -being you love most in the world if---- - -Unfortunately, Hugh was not so wise in his time as you. That little -thing seemed to be so big--it's a way of little things. It seemed -bigger than the business and the motor-car and the ottoman all combined. - -"My dear old thing," he said--not angrily, but just a little -wearily--"have you _no_ sense of the value of money?" - -Then he turned and went to his own room, without looking back. And so -he didn't see the look on the girl's face: the look of a child that has -been spoken to sharply and doesn't understand--the look of a dog that -has been beaten by the master it adores. If he had seen it there was -still time--but he didn't. And when he came back five minutes later, -remorseful and furious with himself, the girl was not there. She was -upstairs, staring a little miserably out of the bedroom window. - -And that had been the beginning of it. Sitting there in the restaurant, -Hugh traced everything back to that. Of course, there had been other -things too. He saw them now clearly: a whole host of little stupid -points which he had hardly thought of at the time. Business had not -improved until--the irony of it--that very day, when a big deal had gone -through successfully, and he had realized that the turning-point had -come. He had hurried home to tell her, and had found--the letter. - -Mechanically he lit a cigarette, and once again his thoughts went back -over the last few months. That wretched evening when she gave him a -heavy bill from her dressmaker, with a polite intimation at the bottom -that something on account by return would oblige. He had had a -particularly bad day; but she was his Colt, and there was no good being -angry about it. - -"They hurt their mouths, M'sieur." He ground out his cigarette -savagely. "Handle them gently." And he had told her, when she -mentioned her hundred a year, that she had already spent two in four -months. It was true, but--what the devil had that got to do with it? - -And then John Fordingham. Hugh's jaw set as he thought of that row. -There he had been right--absolutely right. Fordingham was a man whose -reputation was notorious. He specialized in young married women, and he -was a very successful specialist. He was one of those men with lots of -money, great personal charm, and the morals of a monkey. That was -exactly what Hugh had said to her before flatly forbidding her to have -anything to do with him. - -He recalled now the sudden uplift of her shoulders, the straight, level -look of her eyes. - -"Forbid?" she had said. - -"Forbid," he had answered. "The man is an outsider of the purest -water." - -And he had been right--absolutely right. He took out his cigarette-case -again, and even as he did so he became rigid. Coming down the steps of -the restaurant was the man himself, with Doris. - -For a few moments everything danced before his eyes. The blood was -rushing to his head: tables, lights, the moving waiters, swam before him -in a red haze. Then he shrank back behind the pillar in front and -waited for them to sit down. He saw her glance towards the table at -which they had usually sat--the table which he had refused to have that -night; then she followed Fordingham to one which had evidently been -reserved for him at the other end of the restaurant. She sat down with -her back towards Hugh, and by leaning forward he could just see her neck -and shoulders gleaming white through the bit of flame-coloured gauze she -was wearing over her frock. - -His eyes rested on her companion, and for a while Hugh studied him -critically and impartially. Faultlessly turned out, he was bending -towards Doris with just the right amount of deferential admiration on -his face. Occasionally he smiled, showing two rows of very white teeth, -and as he talked he moved his hands in little gestures which were more -foreign than English. They were well-shaped hands, perfectly manicured, -a fact of which their owner was fully aware. - -After a time Fordingham ceased to do the talking. The occasional smiles -showed no more; a serious look, with just a hint of slave-like devotion -in it, showed on his face as he listened to Doris. Once or twice he -shook his head thoughtfully; once or twice he allowed his eyes to meet -hers with an expression which required no interpretation. - -"My poor child," it said; "my poor little hardly used girl. Don't you -know that I love you, tenderly, devotedly? But, of coarse, I couldn't -dream of saying so. I'm only just a friend." - -It was so utterly obvious to the man behind the pillar, that for a while -he watched them with the same disinterested feeling that he would have -watched a play. - -"She's telling him what a rotten life she's had," he reflected, -cynically. "Her husband doesn't understand her. Fordingham answers the -obvious cue with a soulful look. If only he had been the husband in -question, there would have been no misunderstanding. Perhaps not. Only -a broken heart, my Colt, that's all." - -He looked up as François stopped in front of his table. - -"She doesn't know I'm here, does she?" asked Hugh, quietly. - -"No, M'sieur." The head-waiter glanced a little sadly at the two heads -so close together. - -Hugh took a piece of paper from his pocket, and scribbled a few words on -it in pencil. - -"I don't want her to know--at least, not yet. Would you ask the -orchestra to play that?" He handed the slip across the table. "It's -important." And then, "Wait, François; I want to find out where she -goes to after dinner. It's too late now for a theatre, and I expect -she's staying at an hotel. Can you do that for me?" - -The head-waiter nodded in silence, and moved away. Very few men would -have asked him to do such a thing; he would have done it for still -fewer. But this was an exception, and tragedy is never far off when the -Fordinghams of this world dine with youngsters who have run away from -their husbands. - -Hugh, with an eagerness which almost suffocated him, waited for the -first bars of the waltz he had asked the orchestra to play. The last -time he had heard it, he had been dining at the Milan with Doris. It -was their favourite waltz; on every programme they had made a point of -dancing it together. Would she remember? Would it break through the -wretched wall of misunderstanding, and carry her back to the days when -it was just they two, and there was nothing else that mattered in the -whole wide world? - -The haunting melody stole gently through the room, and, with his heart -pounding madly, Hugh Lethbridge watched his wife. At the very first -note she sat up abruptly, and with a grim triumph Hugh saw the look of -sudden surprise on her companion's face. Then, very slowly, she turned -and stared at their usual table. Her lips were parted, and to the man -who watched so eagerly it seemed as if she were breathing a little -quickly. Almost he fancied he could see a look of dawning wonder in her -eyes, like a child awakening in a strange room. - -Then she turned away, and sat motionless till the music sobbed into -silence. And as her companion joined in the brief perfunctory applause, -Hugh's glance for a moment rested on François. The head-waiter was -smiling gently to himself. - -Five minutes later she rose, and Fordingham, with a quick frown, got up -with her. That acute judge of feminine nature was under no delusions as -to what had happened, and behind the smiling mask of his face he cursed -the orchestra individually and comprehensively. Quite obviously a girl -not to be rushed; he had been congratulating himself on the progress -made during dinner. In fact, he had been distinctly hopeful that the -fruit was ripe for the plucking that very night. And now that confounded -tune had wakened memories. And memories are the devil with women. - -He adjusted her opera-cloak, and followed her to the door. Things would -have to be handled carefully in the car going back, very carefully. One -false word, and the girl would shy like a wild thing. He was thankful -that he had already told her quite casually that by an extraordinary -coincidence he was stopping at the same hotel as she was. At the time -it had seemed to make not the slightest impression on her; she had not -even required the usual glib lie that his flat was being done up. - -He helped her into the car and spoke to the chauffeur. And a large man -in a gorgeous uniform, having given a message to a small page-boy, -watched the big Daimler glide swiftly down Piccadilly. - -"Madame has gone to the Magnificent, M'sieur," were the words with which -François roused Hugh from his reverie, a few minutes later. - -"She remembered, François; she remembered that tune." - -"Oui, M'sieur--she remembered. You must not let her forget again. -Monsieur Fordingham is----" He hesitated, and left his sentence -unfinished. - -"Mr. Fordingham is a blackguard," said Hugh, grimly. "And I'm a fool. -So between us she hasn't had much of a show." - -"Monsieur is going to the Magnificent?" François pulled back his table. - -"I am, François"--shortly. - -"Be easy, Monsieur. Be gentle. Don't hurt her mouth again----" He -bowed as was befitting to an old customer. "Good-night, Monsieur. Will -you be dining to-morrow?" - -"That depends, _mon ami_. Perhaps----" - -"I think you will, M'sieur. At that table----" With a smile he pointed -to the usual one. "I will order your dinner myself--for two." - - - *II* - - -It had not occurred to Hugh before; for some reason or other it had not -even entered his mind. And then, with a sudden crushing force, the two -names leaped at him from the page of the register at the Magnificent, -and for the moment numbed him. - -"Doris Lethbridge," and then, a dozen lines below, "John Fordingham." -What a fool, what a short-sighted fool, he was! Good God! did he not -know Fordingham's reputation? And yet, through some inexplicable freak -of mind, this development had not so much as crossed his brain. And -there had he been sitting at his club for over an hour, in order to -ensure seeing the Colt in her room and avoid any chance of having a -scene downstairs. - -Dimly he realized the clerk was speaking. - -"Number seven hundred and ten, sir; and since you have no luggage, we -must ask for a deposit of a pound." - -"I see," said Hugh, speaking with a sort of deadly calmness, "that a -great friend of mine is stopping here--Mr. Fordingham. When--er--did he -take his room?" - -"Mr. Fordingham?" The clerk glanced at the book. "Some time this -afternoon, sir. He is upstairs now; would you like me to ring up his -room?" - -"No, thank you; I won't disturb him at this hour." He pushed a pound -note across the desk and turned slowly away. Half unconsciously he -walked over to the lift and stepped inside. - -"Doris Lethbridge--John Fordingham." Oh! dear God! - -"What number, sir?" The lift-man was watching him a trifle curiously. - -"Six hundred and ninety-four," said Hugh, mechanically. "No--seven -hundred and ten, I mean." - -"They are both on the same floor," said the man, concealing a smile. At -the Magnificent slight confusion as to numbers of rooms was not unknown. - -"Doris Lethbridge--John Fordingham!" - -The lift shot up, and still the names danced madly before his eyes. -Every pulse in his body was hammering; wave upon wave of emotion rose in -his throat, choking him; his mouth seemed parched and dry. - -"Doris Lethbridge--John Fordingham!" - -"To the right, sir, for both rooms." - -The door shut behind him and the lift sank rapidly out of sight. For a -moment he stood in the long, deserted passage; then slowly, almost -falteringly, he walked along it. - -Six hundred and ninety. A pair of brown boots were outside, and Hugh -stopped and looked at them critically. - -"An unpleasant colour," he reflected; "most unpleasant." - -A passing chambermaid glanced at him suspiciously, but Hugh stared right -through her. He was supremely unconscious of her existence; only those -two names mocked him wherever he looked, and the pair of unpleasant -brown boots. He wondered if their owner was equally unpleasant. - -Slowing he walked on. Six hundred and ninety-three--six hundred and -ninety-four. He staggered a little, and leaned for a moment against the -wall. Then, very deliberately, he pulled himself together and listened. -There was no sound coming from the room at all. He listened for voices, -but all was silent; and then suddenly he heard the click of a cupboard -door closing. - -So Doris was inside. Doris was inside--and---- Hugh took a deep -breath; then he knocked. - -"Who's there?" The Colt's voice, a little startled, came from the room, -and Hugh's heart gave a great suffocating jump. His lips moved, but -only a hoarse whisper came. He heard steps coming towards the door; the -handle turned, and the next moment he was looking into the Colt's eyes. - -For one second there shone in them the look of a great joy. Then she -frowned quickly. - -"What are you doing here?" she demanded, "I don't want to see you at -all." - -He pushed past her into the room, and for a while the relief was so -wonderful that he could only stand there staring at her foolishly. Then -at last he found his voice. - -"Oh, my Colt," he whispered, brokenly, "thank God I've found you!" She -closed the door and came slowly towards him. "Thank God I've found -you--in time!" He said the last two words under his breath, but she -heard them. - -"What do you mean by 'in time'?" she said, and her voice showed no sign -of relenting. "If you think I'm going to come home with you, you're -quite wrong. Besides," she added, irrelevantly, "the last train's a -beastly one. It stops everywhere." - -Hugh looked at her with a faint smile, and then sat down on the edge of -the bed. - -"Colt," he said, slowly, "am I the biggest brute in the world? Am I a -cad, and a poisonous beast? Am I, Colt?" - -She stared at him, a little perplexed; then she shrugged her shoulders. - -"Certainly not," she answered. "You're merely an inconsiderate and -selfish man." - -"Because," he went on, ignoring her remark, "if it's any gratification -to you to know it, I should have to be everything I said to deserve such -a punishment as you've given me." - -"I don't see it at all," she remarked. "But--as a matter of fact--if -you want to know, I wasn't going to stay away for good, as I said in my -letter. I was going to come back in a week or so." - -"What made you change your mind?" he asked, quietly. - -"Something which happened to-night." - -For a moment his collar felt strangely tight. - -"Something which recalled you as you used to be--not as you are now. It -made me determine to give you another chance." - -"Ah--h!" A great sigh of relief came from the man. "Was it--a piece of -music?" - -She looked at him quickly. - -"How did you know?" - -"An arrow at a venture," he answered. "Was it Our Tune?" - -"Yes--it was." - -"And where did you hear it?" - -"At the restaurant where I was dining." She lit a cigarette with -studied indifference. "The Milan. I dined there with Mr. Fordingham." - -Hugh nodded thoughtfully. - -"They give you good grub there, don't they? I see Fordingham is stopping -here." - -"Is he?" said the girl. "I believe, now you mention it, he did say -something about it." She was looking away, and did not see the sudden -penetrating glance from the man on the bed. And he--in that one vital -moment--knew, and was utterly and completely happy. His Colt was as -innocent as a little child, and nothing else mattered on God's earth. -Then, through the great joy which was singing in his brain, he heard her -speaking again. - -"I like Mr. Fordingham, Hugh. And you will have to understand that if I -consent to come back to you, it will only be on the condition that if I -want to I can go out and dine with him." - -It was at that moment that once again there came a knock on the door. - -The Colt looked up quickly, and Hugh rose. - -"In case it's a message," he whispered, "I'll get over here." - -He moved to a place where he could not be seen, and waited. On his face -there was a grim smile as he watched her cross the room. In his mind -there was absolute certainty as to who had knocked. If she wanted to, -after this, she should dine with Fordingham as much as she wished. - -She opened the door, and stopped in amazement. - -"Mr. Fordingham!" she gasped. "What on earth do you want?" - -With a quick movement Fordingham stepped into the room and shut the -door. - -"What do I want?" he answered, in the low, vibrant tone that was -generally very successful. "Why, you, my darling little girl." -Engrossed in his desire he failed to notice Hugh, who was leaning on a -chest of drawers watching the scene. He also failed to notice that the -look of blank amazement on the Colt's face had been succeeded by one of -outraged fury. "Give him up, little girl," he went on, "give him up and -come to me." - -The next moment he staggered back, with a hand to his cheek. - -"You little spitfire," he snarled, and then quite suddenly he stood very -still. For Hugh's voice, clear and faintly amused, was speaking. - -"Good for you, Colt. Now the other cheek." - -The sound of a second blow rang through the room, and Hugh laughed -gently. - -"I--I----" stammered Fordingham. "There's been a mistake. I--I--must -apologize. The wrong room----" - -He stood cringing by the door, staring fearfully at Hugh, who had left -his position by the chest of drawers, and was standing in front of him. - -"You lie, you miserable hound," said Lethbridge, contemptuously. -"You've made a mistake right enough; but it was not a mistake in the -matter of the room. You deliberately planned this whole show, and -now----" he took him by the collar, "you can reap the reward." - -He shook Fordingham, as a terrier shakes a rat; then he flung him into a -corner. - -"Open the door, Colt," he said, quietly, "and we'll throw the mess into -the passage." - -The mess did not wait to be thrown; it gathered unto itself legs, and -departed rapidly. - -"Hang it!" said Hugh, as he closed the door. "I've nearly broken my toe -on him." - -He limped to the bed, where he sat rubbing his foot. Just once he stole -a glance at the Colt, who was standing rigidly by the mantelpiece; then -he resumed the rubbing. And on his face there was a faint, tender -smile. - -Then the massage ceased as a pair of soft arms came round his neck from -behind. - -"Boy! oh, boy!" and her mouth was very close to his ear. "You don't -think--oh! tell me you don't think--that I----" - -He put his hand over her mouth. - -"It's no question of thinking, my Colt, I know----" For a while he -stared at the face so close to his own; then very gently he kissed her -on the lips. "I know--I was at the Milan myself to-night, Colt--behind -a pillar. I told 'em to play Our Tune." - -He stood up and smiled at her. - -"We'll manage the show better now. I've been worried; I've been a fool. -I won't be any more. And now it's time you went to bed." He turned -away abruptly. "I'll be getting off to my own room." - -But she was at the door before him, arms outstretched, barring the way. - -"Just wait a moment," she cried, a little breathlessly, "I want to -telephone before--before you go----" - -"Telephone!" His surprise showed on his face. "At this hour." - -But the Colt was already speaking. - -"Halloa! Is that the office? Oh, it's Mrs. Lethbridge speaking. My -husband has suddenly arrived. He has a room here, so could you give us -a double room, in exchange for our two singles? You can? Thank you." - -She replaced the receiver and turned to the Man. - -"There are a whole lot of things I don't understand," she said, -demurely, "and it won't be any more expensive." - -But the Man had her in his arms. - -"My Colt!" he whispered, triumphantly. "My Colt!" - - - - - _*III -- The House by the Headland*_ - - -"You'll no get there, zurr. There'll be a rare storm this night. Best -bide here, and be going to-morrow morning after 'tis over." - -The warning of my late host, weather-wise through years of experience, -rang through my brain as I reached the top of the headland, and, too -late, I cursed myself for not having heeded his words. With a gasp I -flung my pack down on the ground, and loosened my collar. Seven miles -behind me lay the comfortable inn where I had lunched; eight miles in -front the one where I proposed to dine. And midway between them was I, -dripping with perspiration and panting for breath. - -Not a puff of air was stirring; not a sound broke the death-like -stillness, save the sullen, lazy beat of the sea against the rocks -below. Across the horizon, as far as the eye could see, stretched a -mighty bank of black cloud, which was spreading slowly and relentlessly -over the whole heaven. Already its edge was almost overhead, and as I -felt the first big drop of rain on my forehead, I cursed myself freely -once again. If only I had listened to mine host: if only I was still in -his comfortable oak-beamed coffee-room, drinking his most excellent -ale---- I felt convinced he was the type of man who would treat such -trifles as regulation hours with the contempt they deserved. And, even -as I tasted in imagination the bite of the grandest of all drinks on my -parched tongue, and looked through the glass bottom of the tankard at -the sanded floor, the second great drop of rain splashed on my face. -For a moment or two I wavered. Should I go back that seven miles, and -confess myself a fool? or should I go on the further eight and hope that -the next cellar would be as good as the last? In either case I was -bound to get drenched to the skin, and at length I made up my mind. I -would not turn back for any storm, and the matter of the quality of the -ale must remain on the laps of the gods. And at that moment, like a -solid wall of water, the rain came. - -I have travelled into most corners of the world, in the course of forty -years' wandering; I have been through the monsoon going south to -Singapore from Japan, I have been caught on the edge of a water-spout in -the South Sea Islands; but I have never known anything like the rain -which came down that June evening on the south-west coast of England. -In half a minute every garment I wore was soaked; the hills and the sea -were blotted out, and I stumbled forward blindly, unable to see more -than a yard in front of me. Then, almost as abruptly as it had started, -the rain ceased. I could feel the water squelching in my boots, and -trickling down my back, as I kept steadily descending into the valley -beyond the headland. There was nothing for it now but to go through -with it. I couldn't get any wetter than I was; so that, when I suddenly -rounded a little knoll and saw in front a low-lying, rambling house, the -idea of sheltering there did not at once occur to me. I glanced at it -casually in the semi-darkness, and was trudging past the gate, my mind -busy with other things, when a voice close behind me made me stop with a -sudden start. A man was speaking, and a second before I could have -sworn I was alone. - -"A bad night, sir," he remarked, in a curiously deep voice, "and it will -be worse soon. The thunder and lightning is nearly over. Will you not -come in and shelter? I can supply you with a change of clothes if you -are wet." - -"You are very good, sir," I answered slowly, peering at the tall, gaunt -figure beside me. "But I think I will be getting on, thank you all the -same." - -"As you like," he answered indifferently, and even as he spoke a vivid -flash of lightning quivered and died in the thick blackness of the sky, -and almost instantaneously a deafening crash of thunder seemed to come -from just over our heads. "As you like." he repeated, "but I shall be -glad of your company if you cared to stay the night." - -It was a kind offer, though in a way the least one would expect in -similar circumstances, and I hesitated. Undoubtedly there was little -pleasure to be anticipated in an eight-mile tramp under such conditions, -and yet there was something--something indefinable, incoherent--which -said to me insistently: "Go on; don't stop. Go on." - -I shook myself in annoyance, and my wet clothes clung to me clammily. -Was I, at my time of life, nervous, because a man had spoken to me -unexpectedly? - -"I think if I may," I said, "I will change my mind and avail myself of -your kind offer. It is no evening for walking for pleasure." - -Without a word he led the way into the house, and I followed. Even in -the poor light I could see that the garden was badly kept, and that the -path leading to the front door was covered with weeds. Bushes, wet with -the rain, hung in front of our faces, dripping dismally on to the -ground; and green moss filled the cracks of the two steps leading up to -the door, giving the impression almost of a mosaic. - -Inside the hall was in darkness, and I waited while he opened the door -into one of the rooms. I heard him fumbling for a match, and at that -moment another blinding flash, lit up the house as if it had been day. -I had a fleeting vision of the stairs--a short, broad flight--with a -window at the top; of two doors, one apparently leading to the servants' -quarters, the other opposite the one my host had already opened. But -most vivid of all in that quick photograph was the condition of the hall -itself. Three or four feet above my head a lamp hung from the ceiling, -and from it, in every direction, there seemed to be spiders' webs coated -with dust and filth. They stretched to every picture; they stretched to -the top of all the doors. One long festoon was almost brushing against -my face, and for a moment a wave of unreasoning panic filled me. Almost -did I turn and run, so powerful was it; then, with an effort, I pulled -myself together. For a grown man to become nervous of a spider's web is -rather too much of a good thing, and after all it was none of my -business. In all probability the man was a recluse, who was absorbed in -more important matters than the cleanliness of his house. Though how he -could stand the smell--dank and rotten--defeated me. It came to my -nostrils as I stood there, waiting for him to strike a match, and the -scent of my own wet Harris tweed failed to conceal it. It was the smell -of an unlived-in house, grown damp and mildewed with years of neglect, -and once again I shuddered. Confound the fellow! Would he never get the -lamp lit? I didn't mind his spiders' webs and the general filth of his -hall, provided I could get some dry clothes on. - -"Come in." I looked up to see him standing in the door. "I regret that -there seems to be no oil in the lamp, but there are candles on the -mantelpiece, should you care to light them." - -Somewhat surprised I stepped into the room, and then his next remark -made me halt in amazement. - -"When my wife comes down, I must ask her about the oil. Strange of her -to have forgotten." - -Wife! What manner of woman could this be who allowed her house to get -into such a condition of dirt and neglect? And were there no servants? -However, again, it was none of my business, and I felt in my pocket for -matches. Luckily they were in a water-tight box, and with a laugh I -struck one and lit the candles. - -"It's so infernally dark," I remarked, "that the stranger within the -gates requires a little light, to get his bearings." - -In some curiosity I glanced at my host's face in the flickering light. -As yet I had had no opportunity of observing him properly, but now as -unostentatiously as possible I commenced to study it. Cadaverous, -almost to the point of emaciation, he had a ragged, bristly moustache, -while his hair, plentifully flecked with grey, was brushed untidily back -from his forehead. But dominating everything were his eyes, which -glowed and smouldered from under his bushy eyebrows, till they seemed to -burn into me. - -More and more I found myself regretting the fact that I had accepted his -offer. His whole manner was so strange that for the first time doubts -as to his sanity began to creep into my mind. And to be alone with a -madman in a deserted house, miles from any other habitation, with a -terrific thunderstorm raging, was not a prospect which appealed to me -greatly. Then I remembered his reference to his wife, and felt more -reassured.... - -"You and your wife must find it lonely here," I hazarded, when the -silence had lasted some time. - -"Why should my wife feel the loneliness?" he answered, harshly. "She -has me--her husband.... What more does a woman require?" - -"Oh! nothing, nothing," I replied, hastily, deeming discretion the -better part of veracity. "Wonderful air; beautiful view. I wonder if I -could have a dry coat as you so kindly suggested?" - -I took off my own wet one as I spoke, and threw it over the back of a -chair. Then, receiving no answer to my request, I looked at my host. -His back was half towards me, and he was staring into the hall outside. -He stood quite motionless, and as apparently he had failed to hear me, I -was on the point of repeating my remark when he turned and spoke to me -again. - -"A pleasant surprise for my wife, sir, don't you think? She was not -expecting me home until to-morrow morning." - -"Very," I assented.... - -"Eight miles have I walked, in order to prevent her being alone. That -should answer your remark about her feeling the loneliness." - -He peered at me fixedly, and I again assented. - -"Most considerate of you," I murmured, "most considerate." - -But the man only chuckled by way of answer, and, swinging round, -continued to stare into the gloomy, filthy hall. - -Outside the storm was increasing in fury. Flash followed flash with such -rapidity that the whole sky westwards formed into a dancing sheet of -flame, while the roll of the thunder seemed like the continuous roar of -a bombardment with heavy guns. But I was aware of it only -subconsciously; my attention was concentrated on the gaunt man standing -so motionless in the centre of the room. So occupied was I with him -that I never heard his wife's approach until suddenly, looking up, I saw -that by the door there stood a woman--a woman who paid no attention to -me, but only stared fearfully at her husband, with a look of dreadful -terror in her eyes. She was young, far younger than the man--and pretty -in a homely, countrified way. And as she stared at the gaunt, -cadaverous husband she seemed to be trying to speak, while ceaselessly -she twisted a wisp of a pocket-handkerchief in her hands. - -"I didn't expect you home so soon, Rupert," she stammered at length. -"Have you had a good day?" - -"Excellent," he answered, and his eyes seemed to glow more fiendishly -than ever. "And now I have come home to my little wife, and her loving -welcome." - -She laughed a forced, unnatural laugh, and came a few steps into the -room. - -"There is no oil in the lamp, my dear," he continued, suavely. "Have -you been too busy to remember to fill it?" - -"I will go and get some," she said, quickly turning towards the door. - -But the man's hand shot out and caught her arm, and at his touch she -shrank away, cowering. - -"I think not," he cried, harshly. "We will sit in the darkness, my -dear, and--wait." - -"How mysterious you are, Rupert!" She forced herself to speak lightly. -"What are we going to wait for?" - -But the man only laughed--a low, mocking chuckle--and pulled the girl -nearer to him. - -"Aren't you going to kiss me, Mary? It's such a long time since you -kissed me--a whole twelve hours." - -The girl's free hand clenched tight, but she made no other protest as -her husband took her in his arms and kissed her. Only it seemed to me -that her whole body was strained and rigid, as if to brace herself to -meet a caress she loathed.... In fact the whole situation was becoming -distinctly embarrassing. The man seemed to have completely forgotten my -existence, and the girl so far had not even looked at me. Undoubtedly a -peculiar couple, and a peculiar house. Those cobwebs: I couldn't get -them out of my mind. - -"Hadn't I better go and fill the lamp now?" she asked after a time. -"Those candles give a very poor light, don't they?" - -"Quite enough for my purpose, my dear wife," replied the man. "Come and -sit down and talk to me." - -With his hand still holding her arm he drew her to a sofa, and side by -side they sat down. I noticed that all the time he was watching her -covertly out of the corner of his eye, while she stared straight in -front of her as if she was waiting for something to happen.... And at -that moment a door banged, upstairs. - -"What's that?" The girl half rose, but the man pulled her back. - -"The wind, my dear," he chuckled. "What else could it be? The house is -empty save for us." - -"Hadn't I better go up and see that all the windows are shut?" she said, -nervously. "This storm makes me feel frightened." - -"That's why I hurried back to you, my love. I couldn't bear to think of -you spending to-night alone." Again he chuckled horribly, and peered at -the girl beside him. "I said to myself, 'She doesn't expect me back -till to-morrow morning. I will surprise my darling wife, and go back -home to-night.' Wasn't it kind of me, Mary?" - -"Of course it was, Rupert," she stammered. "Very kind of you. I think -I'll just go up and put on a jersey. I'm feeling a little cold." - -She tried to rise, but her husband still held her; and then suddenly -there came on her face such a look of pitiable terror that involuntarily -I took a step forward. She was staring at the door, and her lips were -parted as if to cry out, when the man covered her mouth with his free -hand and dragged her brutally to her feet. - -"Alone, my wife--all alone," he snarled. "My dutiful, loving wife all -alone. What a good thing I returned to keep her company!" - -For a moment or two she struggled feebly; then he half carried, half -forced her close by me to a position behind the open door. I could have -touched them as they passed; but I seemed powerless to move. -Instinctively I knew what was going to happen; but I could do nothing -save stand and stare at the door, while the girl, half fainting, -crouched against the wall, and her husband stood over her motionless and -terrible. And thus we waited, while the candles guttered in their -sockets, listening to the footsteps which were coming down the -stairs.... - -Twice I strove to call out; twice the sound died away in my throat. I -felt as one does in some awful nightmare, when a man cries aloud no -sound comes, or runs his fastest and yet does not move. In it, I was -yet not of it; it was as if I was the spectator of some inexorable -tragedy with no power to intervene. - -The steps came nearer. They were crossing the hall now--the cobwebby -hall--and the next moment I saw a young man standing in the open door. - -"Mary, where are you, my darling?" He came into the room and glanced -around. And, as he stood there, one hand in his pocket, smiling -cheerily, the man behind the door put out his arm and gripped him by the -shoulder. In an instant the smile vanished, and the youngster spun -round, his face set and hard. - -"Here is your darling, John Trelawnay," said the husband quietly. "What -do you want with her?" - -"Ah!" The youngster's breath came a little faster, as he stared at the -older man. "You've come back unexpectedly, have you? It's the sort of -damned dirty trick you would play." - -I smiled involuntarily: this was carrying the war into the enemy's camp -with a vengeance. - -"What are you doing in this house alone with my wife, John Trelawnay?" -Into the quiet voice had crept a note of menace, and, as I glanced at -the speaker and noticed the close clenching and unclenching of his -powerful hands. I realized that there was going to be trouble. The -old, old story again, but, rightly or wrongly, with every sympathy of -mine on the side of the sinners. - -"Your wife by a trick only, Rupert Carlingham," returned the other -hotly. "You know she's never loved you; you know she has always loved -me." - -"Nevertheless--my wife. But I ask you again, what are you doing in this -house while I am away?" - -"Did you expect us to stand outside in the storm?" muttered the other. - -For a moment the elder man's eyes blazed, and I thought he was going to -strike the youngster. Then, with an effort, he controlled himself, and -his voice was ominously quiet as he spoke again. - -"You lie, John Trelawnay." His brooding eyes never left the other's -face. "It was no storm that drove you here to-day; no thunder that made -you call my wife your darling. You came because you knew I was away; -because you thought--you and your mistress--that I should not return -till to-morrow." - -For a while he was silent, while the girl still crouched against the -wall staring at him fearfully, and the youngster, realizing the -hopelessness of further denial, faced him with folded arms. In silence -I watched them from the shadow beyond the fireplace, wondering what I -ought to do. There is no place for any outsider in such a situation, -much less a complete stranger; and had I consulted my own inclinations I -would have left the house there and then and chanced the storm still -raging outside. I got as far as putting on my coat again, and making a -movement towards the door, when the girl looked at me with such an agony -of entreaty in her eyes that I paused. Perhaps it was better that I -should stop; perhaps if things got to a head, and the men started -fighting, I might be of some use. - -And at that moment Rupert Carlingham threw back his head and laughed. -It echoed and re-echoed through the room, peal after peal of maniacal -laughter, while the girl covered her face with her hands and shrank -away, and the youngster, for all his pluck, retreated a few steps. The -man was mad, there was no doubt about it: and the laughter of a madman -is perhaps the most awful thing a human being may hear. - -Quickly I stepped forward; it seemed to me that if I was to do anything -at all the time had now come. - -"I think, Mr. Carlingham," I said, firmly, "that a little quiet -discussion would be of advantage to everyone." - -He ceased laughing, and stared at me in silence. Then his eyes left my -face and fixed themselves again on the youngster. It was useless; he -was blind to everything except his own insensate rage. And, before I -could realize his intention, he sprang. - -"You'd like me to divorce her, wouldn't you?" he snarled, as his hand -sought John Trelawnay's throat. "So that you could marry her.... But -I'm not going to--no. I know a better thing than divorce." - -The words were choked on his lips by the youngster's fist, which crashed -again and again into his face; but the man seemed insensible to pain. -They swayed backwards and forwards, while the lightning, growing fainter -and fainter in the distance, quivered through the room from time to -time, and the two candles supplied the rest of the illumination. Never -for an instant did the madman relax his grip on the youngster's throat: -never for an instant did the boy cease his sledge-hammer blows on the -other's face. But he was tiring, it was obvious; no normal flesh and -blood could stand the frenzied strength against him. And, suddenly, it -struck me that murder was being done, in front of my eyes. - -With a shout I started forward--somehow they must be separated. And -then I stopped motionless again: the girl had slipped past me with her -face set and hard. With a strength for which I would not have given her -credit she seized both her husband's legs about the knees, and lifted -his feet off the ground, so that his only support was the grip of his -left hand on the youngster's throat, and the girl's arms about his -knees. He threw her backwards and forwards as if she had been a child, -but still she clung on, and then, in an instant, it was all over. His -free right hand had been forgotten.... - -I saw the boy sway nearer in his weakness, and the sudden flash of a -knife. There was a little choking gurgle, and they all crashed down -together, with the youngster underneath. And when the madman rose the -boy lay still, with the shaft of the knife sticking out from his coat -above his heart. - -It was then that Rupert Carlingham laughed again, while his wife, mad -with grief, knelt beside the dead boy, pillowing his head on her lap. -For what seemed an eternity I stood watching, unable to move or speak; -then the murderer bent down and swung his wife over his shoulder. And, -before I realized what he was going to do, he had left the room, and I -saw him passing the window outside. - -The sight galvanised me into action; there was just a possibility I -might avert a double tragedy. With a loud shout I dashed out of the -front door, and down the ill-kept drive; but when I got to the open -ground he seemed to have covered an incredible distance, considering his -burden. I could see him shambling over the turf, up the side of the -valley which led to the headland where the rain had caught me; and, as -fast as I could, I followed him, shouting as I ran. But it was no -use--gain on him I could not. Steadily, with apparent ease, he carried -the girl up the hill, taking no more notice of my cries than he had of -my presence earlier in the evening. And, with the water squelching from -my boots, I ran after him--no longer wasting my breath on shouting, but -saving it all in my frenzied endeavour to catch him before it was too -late. For once again I knew what was going to happen, even as I had -known when I heard the footsteps coming down the stairs. - -I was still fifty yards from him when he reached the top of the cliff; -and for a while he paused there silhouetted against the angry sky. He -seemed to be staring out to sea, and the light from the flaming red -sunset, under the black of the storm, shone on his great, gaunt figure, -bathing it in a wonderful splendour. The next moment he was gone.... I -heard him give one loud cry; then he sprang into space with the girl -still clasped in his arms. - -And when I reached the spot and peered over, only the low booming of the -sullen Atlantic three hundred feet below came to my ears.... That, and -the mocking shrieks of a thousand gulls. Of the madman and his wife -there was no sign. - -At last I got up and started to walk away mechanically. I felt that -somehow I was to blame for the tragedy, that I should have done -something, taken a hand in that grim fight. And yet I knew that if I -was called upon to witness it again, I should act in the same way. I -should feel as powerless to move as I had felt in that ill-omened house, -with the candles guttering on the mantelpiece, and the lightning -flashing through the dirty window. Even now I seemed to be moving in a -dream, and after a while I stopped and made a determined effort to pull -myself together. - -"You will go back," I said out loud, "to that house. And you will make -sure that that boy is dead. You are a grown man, and not an hysterical -woman. You will go back." - -And as if in answer a seagull screamed discordantly above my head. Not -for five thousand pounds would I have gone back to that house alone, and -when I argued with myself and said, "You are a fool, and a coward," the -gull shrieked mockingly again. - -"What is there to be afraid of?" I cried. "A dead body; and you have -seen many hundreds." - -It was as I asked the question out loud that I came to a road and sat -down beside it. It was little more than a track, but it seemed to speak -of other human beings, and I wanted human companionship at the -moment--wanted it more than I had ever wanted anything in my life. At -any other time I would have resented sharing with strangers the glorious -beauty of the moors as they stretched back to a rugged tor a mile or two -away, with their wonderful colouring of violet and black, and the scent -of the wet earth rising all around. But now... - -With a shudder I rose, conscious for the first time that I was feeling -chilled. I must get somewhere--talk to someone; and, as if in answer to -my thoughts, a car came suddenly in sight, bumping over the track. - -There was an elderly man inside, and two girls, and he pulled up at once -on seeing me. - -"By Jove!" he cried, cheerily, "you're very wet. Can I give you a lift -anywhere?" - -"It is very good of you," I said. "I want to get to the police as -quickly as possible." - -"The police?" He stared at me surprised. "What's wrong?" - -"There's been a most ghastly tragedy," I said. "A man has been murdered -and the murderer has jumped over that headland, with his wife in his -arms. The murderer's name was Rupert Carlingham." - -I was prepared for my announcement startling them; I was not prepared -for the extraordinary effect it produced. With a shriek of terror the -two girls clung together, and the man's ruddy face went white. - -"What name did you say?" he said at length, in a shaking voice. - -"Rupert Carlingham," I answered, curtly. "And the boy he murdered was -called John Trelawnay. Incidentally I want to get a doctor to look at -the youngster. It's possible the knife might have just missed his -heart." - -"Oh, daddy, drive on, drive on quick!" implored the girls, and I glanced -at them in slight surprise. After all a murder is a very terrible -thing, but it struck me they were becoming hysterical over it. - -"It was just such an evening," said the man, slowly: "just such a storm -as we've had this afternoon, that it happened." - -"That what happened?" I cried, a trifle irritably; but he made no -answer, and only stared at me curiously. - -"Do you know these parts, sir?" he said at length. - -"It's the first time I've ever been here," I answered. "I'm on a -walking tour." - -"Ah! A walking tour. Well. I'm a doctor myself, and unless you get -your clothes changed pretty quickly, I predict that your walking tour -will come to an abrupt conclusion--even if it's only a temporary one. -Now, put on this coat, and we'll get off to a good inn." - -But, anxious as I was to fall in with his suggestion myself, I felt that -that was more than I could do. - -"It's very good of you, doctor," I said; "but, seeing that you are a -medical man, I really must ask you to come and look at this youngster -first. I'd never forgive myself if by any chance he wasn't dead. As a -matter of fact, I've seen death too often not to recognize it, and the -boy was stabbed clean through the heart right in front of my -eyes--but..." - -I broke off, as one of the girls leaned forward and whispered to her -father. But he only shook his head, and stared at me curiously. - -"Did you make no effort to stop the murder?" he asked at length. - -It was the question I had been dreading, the question I knew must come -sooner or later. But, now that I was actually confronted with it, I had -no answer ready. I could only shake my head and stammer out confusedly: - -"It seems incredible for a man of my age and experience to confess it, -doctor--but I didn't. I couldn't.... I was just going to try and -separate them, when the girl rushed in ... and..." - -"What did she do?" It was one of the daughters who fired the question -at me so suddenly that I looked at her in amazement. "What did Mary do?" - -"She got her husband by the knees," I said, "and hung on like a -bull-dog. But he'd got a grip on the boy's throat and -then--suddenly--it was all over. They came crashing down as he stabbed -young Trelawnay." Once again the girls clung together shuddering, and I -turned to the doctor. "I wish you'd come, doctor: it's only just a -step. I can show you the house." - -"I know the house, sir, very well," he answered, gravely. Then he put -his arms on the steering-wheel and for a long time sat motionless -staring into the gathering dusk, while I fidgeted restlessly, and the -girls whispered together. What on earth was the man waiting for? I -wondered: after all, it wasn't a very big thing to ask of a doctor.... -At last he got down from the car and stood beside me on the grass. - -"You've never been here before, sir?" he asked again, looking at me -fixedly. - -"Never," I answered, a shade brusquely. "And I'm not altogether bursting -with a desire to return." - -"Strange," he muttered. "Very, very strange. I will come with you." - -For a moment he spoke to his daughters as if to reassure them; then, -together we walked over the springy turf towards the house by the -headland. He seemed in no mood for conversation, and my own mind was -far too busy with the tragedy for idle talk. - -But he asked me one question when we were about fifty yards from the -house. - -"Rupert Carlingham carried his wife up to the headland, you say?" - -"Slung over his shoulder," I answered, "and then..." - -But the doctor had stopped short, and was staring at the house, while, -once again, every vestige of colour had left his face. - -"My God!" he muttered, "there's a light in the room.... A light, man; -don't you see it?" - -"I left the candles burning," I said, impatiently. "Really, doctor, I -suppose murder doesn't often come your way, but..." - -I walked on quickly and he followed. Really the fuss was getting on my -nerves, already distinctly ragged. The front door was open as I had -left it, and I paused for a moment in the cobwebby hall. Then, pulling -myself together, I stepped into the room where the body lay, to halt and -stare open-mouthed at the floor.... - -The candles still flickered on the mantelpiece; the furniture was as I -had left it; but of the body of John Trelawnay there was not a trace. It -had vanished utterly and completely. - -"I don't understand, doctor," I muttered foolishly. "I left the body -lying there." - -The doctor stood at the door beside me, and suddenly I realized that his -eyes were fixed on me. - -"I know," he said, and his voice was grave and solemn. "With the head -near that chair." - -"Why, how do you know?" I cried, amazed. "Have you taken the body away?" - -But he answered my question by another. - -"Do you notice anything strange in this room, sir?" he asked. "On the -floor?" - -"Only a lot of dust," I remarked. - -"Precisely," he said. "And one would expect footprints in dust. I see -yours going to the mantelpiece; I see no others." - -I clutched his arm, as his meaning came to me. - -"My God!" I whispered. "What do you mean?" - -"I mean," he said, "that Rupert Carlingham murdered John Trelawnay, and -then killed himself and his wife, five years ago ... during just such -another storm as we have had this evening." - - - - - _*IV -- The Man who would not Play Cards*_ - - - *I* - - -"Thanks very much, but as I told you before--I don't play cards." - -The speaker, a tall, bronzed man whose clear eye and slightly -weather-beaten face proclaimed him to be no dweller in cities, paused at -the smoking-room door, and stared, a little deliberately, at the man who -had just accosted him. It was the second time that day that this same -gentleman had endeavoured to rope him into a game of poker--"just small -stakes, you know"--and Hugh Massingham disliked being asked things -twice. Almost as much as, in this particular case, he disliked the -appearance of the asker. - -He paused long enough to let the stare become pointed; then he opened -the door and stepped out on deck. He hated the stuffiness of the -smoking-room, with its eternal cards and whisky pegs, and with an -atmosphere so thick with tobacco smoke that at times he could hardly see -across it. - -Away to port, like a faint smudge on the horizon, lay the North Coast of -Africa, and Hugh Massingham, with a faint smile, wondered just how many -times he'd seen that smudge before. And how many times he'd see it in -the future. - -He leaned over the rail staring at the water thoughtfully. It depended, -of course, on Delia. Things are apt to depend on a man's wife. There -was no necessity for him to go back to the East--no financial -necessity--yet somehow he hoped Delia would like to come, at any rate, -for a few years. England, from all he heard, didn't sound much of a -place to live in just now, but, of course, she'd have to decide. - -Surreptitiously he put a hand into his breast pocket and pulled out a -photograph. It was the likeness of a woman--little more than a -girl--with a pair of eyes that, even on the cardboard, mocked and -haunted him. It was the likeness of a girl who was more than passing -lovely; it was the likeness of his wife; a wife with whom he had spent -his whole married life of one week. Involuntarily he smiled. A week -together, out of four years. But if tactless Governments will conduct -campaigns in Mesopotamia, some such result is hardly to be wondered at. - -He drew in a deep breath, and once again started to stroll up and down -the deck. He wondered if she'd find him much changed: a bit thinner, -perhaps, but enteric tends to remove superfluous flesh. And what would -she be like? Grown a little--no longer a lovely girl, but a lovely -woman. The photograph was nearly five years old, and she had been -nineteen then--no, nearly twenty. A week out of four years--a week! - -With a faint smile still on his lips, he turned and re-entered the -smoking-room. The persuasive gentleman, he noticed, had settled down to -his game of poker with four youngsters, and for a moment Massingham -frowned. He knew the type--knew it inside out, and whoever might lose -at that quiet game of poker there was one player who would certainly -win. Not that he accused the persuasive gentleman for a moment of -anything unfair; but he was of the type who had forgotten more about -poker than the other four players combined were ever likely to know. -With a slight shrug of his shoulders, he walked over to the bar and -called for a gin and bitters. It was no business of his, and, from time -immemorial, youth has had to pay for its experience. - - -It was about ten o'clock that night that it became increasingly evident -that youth was paying with a vengeance. The persuasive gentleman had a -very considerable proportion of the total number of chips beside him, to -say nothing of a small library of written chits. And two of the other -four players were looking worried, very worried. The thing was perfectly -absurd; had they not played poker pretty consistently in the mess? Made -a bit of money out of it, too, taking it in the long run. But to-night -the luck was simply infernal. Hugh Massingham smiled grimly to himself. -Truly, the lambs had walked docilely to the slaughter. - -For a while he watched the persuasive gentleman narrowly through -half-closed eyes; then, because it was still no business of his, he -moved towards the door for a final stroll on deck before turning in. -And it was as he was on the point of opening it that one of the -youngsters rose suddenly with a muttered curse. - -"I can't play any more," he said, shortly. "I'm holding good cards, but -they always seem to go down." - -Hugh smiled once again; it isn't the man who holds bad cards who loses -heavily at poker; it's the man who holds good ones when somebody else is -holding a bit better. Then something in the boy's face made his hand -drop to his side; quite evidently he had lost more than he could -comfortably afford. And the persuasive gentleman's complacent smirk -made Hugh annoyed. He disliked the persuasive gentleman. - -"Have your revenge to-morrow night," he remarked, with a kind of oily -suavity, and with a grunt the youngster drained his whisky and soda -sullenly. - -"Won't someone else take his place?" As if by accident the speaker's -eyes met Hugh's, and it may have been due to the procession of whiskies, -or it may have been due to the fact that the dislike was reciprocal, but -the persuasive gentleman allowed himself the pleasure of a very faint -sneer. "You, as you have told me twice, do not play, do you?" - -It wasn't the words, but it was the way they were said that decided -Massingham. The persuasive gentleman should have his lesson. - -"I don't mind taking this gentleman's place for half an hour," he -remarked, quietly. "What stakes are you playing?" - -"Maximum five-pound rise, and limit of a hundred in the pool," returned -the other, and Hugh's eyebrows went up. He called those small stakes, -did he? - -For a while the game went on normally without any hands of importance, -and it was not until they had been playing about twenty minutes that the -cards became interesting. And that hand they were very interesting! It -was Hugh's deal, and he dealt, as usual, slowly and methodically. The -three youngsters threw their hands in at once; only the persuasive -gentleman remained. And Hugh noted that the little finger of his left -hand twitched slightly as he glanced at his cards. - -"How many?" he demanded. - -"One," said the other, and his voice was oily as ever. - -"I stand," said Hugh, laying his cards face downwards on the table. - -Then began the betting and the youngster whose place he had taken -watched eagerly in his excitement. They mounted a fiver at a time, -until the persuasive gentleman reached the limit of a hundred. - -"I'll see you at a hundred," drawled Hugh. - -And a little gasp of, envy ran round the spectators as the originator of -the quiet game laid down four aces. - -"You dealt 'em to me," he remarked with a smirk, his hand already -stretched out to collar the pool. - -"Er--one moment," murmured Hugh, and the persuasive gentleman turned -white. Four aces. Only a straight flush could beat it. Surely-- - -Another gasp ran round the group. Hugh had just turned up his hand. -And the three, four, five, six, and seven of clubs being a straight -flush beats four aces. - -For a moment Hugh allowed himself the luxury of watching the other's -face. Then he spoke. "I certainly dealt you four aces, my friend; so I -took the precaution of dealing myself a straight flush. And that is the -reason why I do not play cards. Years of boredom by myself on a -plantation made me take up card-conjuring as a hobby. And I did this -simple little trick to-night in order to demonstrate to you boys that -even a fine card-player like the gentleman opposite may be quite -helpless when playing with a stranger. In fact, I could win money off -him just as easily as he can win money off you." - -The persuasive gentleman appeared to be the least pleased member of the -group, though the fact that after all he had not lost his money appeased -him somewhat. - -"Anyone, sir," he remarked, a little thickly, "can win money by -cheating." - -"Not anyone," said Hugh, amicably. "But we'll let that pass. Only I'd -win money off you playing perfectly fair. You're not a good gambler: -your finger twitches. Good-night." - -And he was still smiling as he turned in. - - - *II* - - -With fingers that fumbled over the unaccustomed stiff shirt, Hugh -Massingham was dressing for dinner. His first dinner with his wife for -four years. It was the moment he had dreamed of through long, -sweltering days in Mesopotamia--and now that it had come, he was afraid. - -Things were different to what he had expected; Delia was different. He -could hear her now, moving about in the next room, and her voice as she -spoke to her maid. Somehow, he hadn't expected that maid. He had -hoped--well, it didn't much matter what he'd hoped. Anyway, it was -absurd: naturally, his wife would have a maid. - -It wasn't that that made him pause every now and again and stare a -little blankly in front of him; it was something far bigger and more -fundamental than such a triviality as a maid. And even to himself he -would hardly acknowledge what it was. She was shy--naturally, any woman -would be after such a long separation. And then the idea of associating -shyness with his singularly self-possessed and lovely wife made him -smile grimly. It was not that. No, it was simply--and Hugh Massingham -took a deep breath like a man about to dive--it was simply that she had -become a stranger to him. Or, to put it more accurately, he had become -a stranger to her. The kiss which she had given him had been such as a -sister would give to her brother. True, there had not been much -time--some people had arrived to play bridge and had remained most of -the afternoon. Delia wouldn't hear of their going away, though they had -half suggested it. And he had spent the afternoon at his club--the -afternoon of which he'd dreamed through four long weary years. A -stranger--he was a stranger in his own house. With a twisted apology -for a smile, he put on his coat and switched out the light. Time -doubtless would straighten out the situation; but there had been enough -time, already in their married life. There had been four years. - -Dinner, perfectly served and faultlessly cooked, merely continued the -hollow mockery of his home-coming. He felt that he might have been -dining with any pretty woman at any house; not with his wife in his own. -In fact, except that he happened to pay for it, it wasn't his house. -Everything about it was hers--except himself. He was merely the stranger -within his own gates. - -"A little different, Delia, to what I had imagined it," he remarked, -quietly, as the servant, having placed the port in front of him, left -the room. - -For a moment she looked at him narrowly; then she leaned back in her -chair. - -"In what way?" she asked, calmly. "Don't you think the flat is -comfortable?" - -They had got to have a straight talk anyway; perhaps it was as well, she -reflected, to get it over and done with. There was no good starting on -false pretences. - -"Very." He rose and stood by the fireplace looking down at her. "It -wasn't the flat I was alluding to." With ostentatious deliberation he -selected a cigarette and lit it. "Do you know it's four years since -we've seen one another?" - -"Quite strangers, aren't we?" she agreed, lightly. - -"Exactly--the very word. Strangers. But through no wish of mine." - -"Nor mine, either, my dear man. It's simply the inevitable result of -four years' separation." - -"I disagree; the result is by no manner of means inevitable. However, I -won't press the point. But was it absolutely essential that those -people should have stopped to bridge this afternoon? They had the -decency to suggest going." - -It was not a happy way of putting it, and a red spot burned for a moment -on his wife's cheek. - -"And I had not the decency to let them, you imply." She laughed a -little shortly. "Well, since you've started this conversation, I -suppose we may as well have it out." - -Hugh's hand clenched suddenly behind his back, and he stood very still. -A little dully, he wondered what was coming. - -"I can only hope that you will be sensible and try and look at the -matter from all points of view." She, too, lit a cigarette, and stared -at him deliberately. "In the first place, I suppose I've -changed--considerably. And in order to save any misunderstanding, it's -just as well that we should both know where we stand." - -"You mean you don't love me any more?" said her husband, slowly. - -"Don't be ridiculous," she cried. "I never said anything of the sort. -I'm very fond of you. But----" she stirred a little restlessly in her -chair. "I've never believed, as you know, in beating about the bush, and -there is another man whom I'm very fond of, too." - -The dull, sickening blow, which well-nigh stunned him mentally, showed -not at all on Hugh Massingham's face. - -"One can't help these things," continued his wife, gravely, "and I think -you'll agree that it is best for everybody to discuss matters as they -are--rather than go on living as if they were otherwise." - -"Quite," he murmured, grimly. "Please go on." - -"We need neither of us insult our intelligences by regarding the matter -in the light that our fathers and mothers would have looked at it. The -fact that a married woman falls in love with a man who is not her -husband is not a thing to hold up hands of pious horror at--or so it -seems to me; it is just a thing which has happened, and if one is -sensible, the best course is to see the most satisfactory way out for -all concerned. Don't you agree?" - -"Your argument certainly has its points," concurred Hugh. Great -heavens! was this conversation real, or was he dreaming? - -"Jimmy Staunton has kissed me--but that's all." - -His wife was speaking again, and he listened dully. - -"Jimmy Staunton! Is that the man's name?" - -He threw his cigarette, long gone out, into the grate. - -"Yes--that is the man. He's been asking me for months to go away with -him, but I've refused. I didn't tell him why, but I'm going to tell you -now. I wouldn't go until you'd come home, and I'd seen you again, and -made sure--that----" - -She hesitated, and the man laughed grimly. - -"Made sure that you really did love Mr. Jimmy Staunton more than me! -Dreadful thing to make a second mistake." - -"Put it that way, if you like," she answered, quietly. "Though it -wasn't from quite such baldly selfish motives that I refused to go with -him. I tried, Hugh, to argue the thing out as best I could; I tried to -be fair to him and to you. I realized that I might be wrong--that I -didn't really love him----" the man by the fireplace made a quick, -convulsive movement, "and anyway I realized that I must give you a -chance if you want to have it. If, after what I've told you, you decide -to let me go--well and good; we can arrange details easily. If, on the -other hand, you refuse, and in the course of a month, say, I find that I -was not mistaken, and that I'm fonder of Jimmy than I am of you, well, I -shall have to take the law into my own hands." - -Hugh Massingham laughed shortly. - -"I see," he answered. "You have put things very clearly." He turned on -her with an expressionless face. "I take it, then, that as matters -stand at present, I am on trial." - -"If you wish," she said. "I realize that you have a perfect right to -refuse that trial, and tell me to go; but, after all your goodness to -me, I could not do less than offer it to you." - -"Your generosity touches me," he remarked, grimly. "And----" - -It was at that moment that the servant opened the door and announced: -"Mr. Staunton." - -"Are you coming to Hector's, Delia?" - -An immaculately clad young man entered, with his evening overcoat on his -arm and a top-hat in his hand, to stop in momentary confusion on seeing -Hugh. - -"I beg your pardon," he muttered. "I--er----" - -"This is my husband, Jimmy," said Delia, composedly, and the two men -bowed. - -"My wife was just talking about you, Mr. Staunton," said Hugh, -impassively, while he took in every detail of the other's face--the -mouth, well-formed, but inclined to weakness; the eyes that failed to -meet his own; the hands, beautifully manicured, which twitched uneasily -as they played with his white scarf. - -Good God! This effeminate clothes-peg! To be on trial against--this! -He stifled a contemptuous laugh; there was Delia to be considered. - -"Pray don't let me detain you from Hector's; though I'm not quite -certain what it is." - -"A night-club, Mr. Massingham," said the other, nervously. "But perhaps -Mrs. Massingham would prefer not to go this evening?" - -"I am convinced my wife would prefer nothing of the sort," returned -Hugh, and for a moment his eyes and Delia's met. Then with a faint -shrug she stood up. "Four years in Mesopotamia do not improve one's -dancing." He strolled to the door. "I shall wander round to the club, -my dear," he murmured. "And, by the way, with regard to your offer, I -accept it." - -"Good Lord, darling!" whispered Staunton, as the door closed. "I'd got -no idea he'd come back. What an awful break!" - -But she was staring at the door, and seemed not to hear his remark. It -was only as he kissed her that she came back to the reality of his -presence. - -"Let's go and dance, Jimmy," she said, feverishly. "I feel like -dancing--to-night." - - - *III* - - -"Halloa, Hugh! Got back, have you?" - -The words greeted Massingham as he strolled through the club -smoking-room in search of a seat, and with a start he looked at the -speaker. So engrossed had he been in his own thoughts that he had failed -to notice his brother-in-law, John Ferrers, till he was right on top of -him. - -"Yes, John--back," he said, slowly. "Back to-day--after four years." - -Ferrers grunted and leaned over to pull up a chair. Something -wrong--quite obviously. A man doesn't come to his club on the first -evening home after four years, under normal circumstances. - -"Have a drink!" Ferrers beckoned a waiter and gave the order. "How do -you think Delia is looking?" - -"Very well," said Hugh, quietly. "Very well indeed. She has gone off -to a place called Hector's to-night." - -Ferrers paused in the act of lighting his pipe, and looked at him in -mild amazement. "Delia gone to Hector's to-night! What the devil has -she done that for?" - -"A gentleman of the name of Staunton--Jimmy Staunton--arrived in his -glad rags after dinner," remarked Hugh. "She went to Hector's with -him--I came here." - -"Young Staunton!" muttered Ferrers. "I didn't know----" He looked -quickly at Hugh; then he resumed lighting his pipe. "If I were you, -Hugh--of course I know it's not my business--but if I were you I -wouldn't let Delia go about too much with young Staunton. He's a--well, -he's a useless young puppy to begin with, and his reputation is nothing -to write home about in addition." - -"Ah! is that so?" Hugh lay back in his chair and stared at his -brother-in-law. "I had already classed him as a puppy; but I didn't -think he was big enough to have a reputation of any kind--good or bad." - -"My dear fellow--he's young, he's good-looking, and he's sufficiently -well off to be able to do nothing. Also I believe he dances perfectly. -Whether it's those assets, or whether it's something which the vulgar -masculine eye is unable to appreciate, I can't tell you. But I do know -this: that three ordinary, decent, sensible young married women of my -acquaintance have made the most infernal fools of themselves over that -youth." John Ferrers shook his head. "I'm hanged if I know what it is. -It must be the war or something. But a lot of these girls seem to have -gone completely off the rails." - -He sighed ponderously; he was a good-hearted individual, was John -Ferrers, but anything which deviated from his idea of the normal -generally called forth a mild outburst. Also he was very fond of his -sister. - -And really it wasn't quite the thing to go barging off to a night-club -the day your husband returned after four years. Especially with young -Staunton. It came back to his mind now, as he sat there pulling at his -pipe, that off and on he had seen her about with the fellow; in the -park, and twice at a theatre. Also having supper once at the Ritz, and -two or three times at dinner. Of course there was nothing in it, -but--still--confound it! the first night after four years. - -"Are you going to take Delia out East with you, old boy?" - -"That depends, John, on a variety of circumstances," remarked Hugh, -quietly. - -"I would if I were you," grunted the other. "It's been lonely for her, -you know, and----" He became very interested in his pipe. "I wouldn't -take too much notice of that young ass. Delia is far too sensible a girl -to make a fool of herself over any man--let alone Staunton. But," and -John Ferrers drained his glass decisively, "the next time I see her, I -shall tell her a few home truths." - -"Oh, no, John!" said Hugh, "you won't. I don't want you to allude to -the matter at all. But I want you to tell me one thing. In those three -cases you mentioned, did any question of divorce come up?" - -"Divorce!" John Ferrers sat up in his chair abruptly. "What the deuce -are you talking about?" - -"The three cases you were speaking of," returned Hugh, imperturbably. -"What manner of man is this Staunton, if things pass the dallying stage -and come to a head?" - -"Oh!" His brother-in-law sat back, relieved. "I can't tell you more -than that Mr. James Staunton does not strike me as the type who would -ever face the music. While he can take his pleasure with other men's -wives, I don't think he has any intention of providing himself with one -of his own." - -"That was my diagnosis of his character," said Hugh. "I'm glad you -confirm it." - -John Ferrers rose as another member came up. - -"Will you join us, Hugh? Snooker." - -"No, thanks, old boy. Not to-night. So long." - -With a faint smile he watched his worthy brother-in-law as he crossed -the room. Then, having ordered another drink, he lay back in his chair -and closed his eyes. And it was not till an hour later that he rose and -wrote a short letter to a certain firm of shipping agents. Then he left -the club, with the look on his face of a man who had made up his mind. - - - *IV* - - -It was Hugh himself who opened the door of the flat at two o'clock in -the morning and let in his wife. Staunton was standing behind her on -the landing, and Hugh nodded to him. - -"Had a good time?" he asked, genially, standing aside to let Delia in. -"Come in, Mr. Staunton, and have a nightcap before you go. No? Really, -I insist." - -Gently but firmly he propelled his reluctant guest towards the -dining-room. The last thing which Mr. James Staunton wanted was a drink -in his present surroundings. In fact, Mr. James Staunton wanted more -than words can express to retire to his lonely bachelor couch, where he -could meditate at leisure on how best to extricate himself from a -situation which had suddenly ceased to appeal to his somewhat peculiar -sense of humour. Really he had credited Delia with a little more -knowledge of the rules of the game. For months he'd been suggesting that -there were possibilities by the sad sea waves at a delightful little -fishing village down in Cornwall; or if that was too far afield he knew -of a charming little hotel on the upper reaches of the Thames. In fact, -the whole of his vast experience in such matters would have been at her -disposal, and for no rhyme or reason, so far as he could see, she had -continually refused his suggestion. And he was not used to being -refused. Up to a point, of course, a little coyness and hesitation was -delightful; but pushed to an extreme it became tedious. And then, to -cap everything, on the very night when this large and somewhat -uncouth-looking husband had returned from the back of beyond, Delia had -become serious. - -Hector's had not been a success; though he had manfully tried to be his -own bright self. But there had been long silences--rather awkward -silences--when he had been conscious that Delia was studying him--almost -as if he was a stranger to her. And since he had an uneasy suspicion -that he had not altogether shone during his meeting with her husband, he -had found things increasingly difficult as the evening wore on. - -"Say when, Mr. Staunton." Massingham was pouring some whisky into a -glass, and he stepped up to the table. - -"That's enough, thanks. Yes, soda, please. And then I must be off." - -"The night is yet young," said his host, "and I rather want to have a -talk with you, Mr. Staunton." - -The youngster looked up quickly at the words; then he glanced at Delia, -who was staring at her husband with a slight frown. - -"Rather late, isn't it?" he murmured. - -Massingham smiled genially. "Two--late! You surprise me, Mr. Staunton. -I thought that was about the time some of you people started to live." -He splashed some soda into his own glass. "It's about my wife--about -Delia. Absurd to call her anything but Delia to you, isn't it? I mean, -we three need not stand on formality." - -Staunton stiffened slightly; then, because he was painfully aware that -his hands were beginning to tremble, he put them in his pockets. - -"Really, Mr. Massingham," he laughed slightly, "you're very kind." -Surely to Heaven she hadn't told her husband--anything. - -"Not at all," returned Hugh. "Not at all, my dear fellow. It is -absurd--as you said yourself, my dear, earlier in the evening--for us to -become in any way agitated or annoyed over an unfortunate but very -natural occurrence. And I consider it very natural, Staunton, that you -should have fallen in love with my wife. I regard it in many respects -as a compliment to myself." - -His eyes were fixed steadily on the other's face, and a wave of -contemptuous disgust surged up in him, though outwardly he gave no sign. -The pitiful indecision of this king of lady-killers: the weak mouth, -loose and twitching--surely Delia could see for herself what manner of -thing it was. But his wife was sitting motionless, staring in front of -her, and gave no sign. - -"I--er, really," stammered Staunton. - -"Don't apologize, my dear fellow--don't apologize. As I said, it's a -most natural thing, and though this discussion may seem at first sight a -trifle bizarre, yet if you think it over it's much the best manner of -dealing with the situation." - -"Er--quite." - -Staunton shifted uneasily on his feet, and endeavoured feverishly to -regain his self-control. Of course, the whole thing was farcical and -Gilbertian; at the same time, just at the moment it appeared remarkably -real. And he couldn't make up his mind how to take this large, -imperturbable man. - -"I told my husband, Jimmy," said Delia, speaking for the first time, -"that we were in love with one another--and that you'd asked me to go -away with you." - -With intense amusement Hugh watched Staunton's jaw drop, though his -wife, still staring in front of her, noticed nothing. - -"Most kind of you," remarked Hugh, affably, and Delia looked at him -quickly. "Most flattering. But my wife apparently decided that it -wouldn't be quite fair to me--so she waited till I came home. And now -I'm on trial--so to speak." - -Staunton sat down in a chair; his legs felt strangely weak. - -"The trouble is," continued Hugh, "that circumstances have arisen only -to-night which prevent me standing on trial. I found a letter waiting -for me at my club which necessitates my return to the East at -once--probably for a year." - -"By Jove--really!" Staunton sat up; the situation looked a little -brighter. - -"Going East at once?" Delia was staring at him puzzled. - -"I'm afraid I must," returned her husband. "And so it makes things a -little awkward, doesn't it? You see, Mr. Staunton, my wife's proposal -was this. If after a few weeks of my presence she still found that she -preferred you to me, she was going to tell me so straight out. -Then--since, as I think you will agree, a woman must always be a man's -first consideration--I would have effaced myself, gone through the -necessary formalities to allow her to divorce me, and left her free to -marry you. If, on the other hand, she had found that after all she -could not return your devotion--well, we should then have gone on as we -are. Perhaps not exactly the Church's idea of morality--but for all -that, very fair. Don't you agree?" - -Staunton nodded; speech was beyond his power. - -"Now," continued Hugh, lighting a cigarette, "this sudden necessity for -me to go East has upset her plan. I can't wait for those few weeks of -test, and so we are confronted with a difficulty. I feel that it is not -fair to keep her from you for a year or possibly longer; on the other -hand, I feel that it is rather hard luck on me to relinquish her without -a struggle. You said, Mr. Staunton? Sorry; I thought you spoke." He -flicked the ash off his cigarette, and, crossing the room, he opened a -bureau on the other side. "And so I've evolved a plan," he remarked, -coming back again with a pack of cards in his hand. "A time-honoured -method of settling things where there are two alternatives, and one -which I suggest can be used with advantage here. We will each cut a -card, Mr. Staunton. If I win, Delia comes East with me--on the clear -understanding, my dear, that you may leave me at any moment and return -to Mr. Staunton. I wouldn't like you to think for an instant that I am -proposing to deprive you of your absolute free will whichever way the -cards go. If I lose, on the other hand, I go East alone, and the -necessary information to enable you to institute divorce proceedings -will be sent you as soon as possible." - -His wife rose quickly, and stood in front of him, "I'll come East with -you, Hugh--anyway, for a time. It's only fair." - -"Quite," agreed Staunton. "It's only fair." - -"Not at all," remarked Massingham, decidedly. "I wouldn't dream of -accepting such a sacrifice. It's a totally different matter if I win it -at cards: then I shall hold you to it. Otherwise I go East alone. I -have, I think, a certain say in the matter, and my mind is made up." - -He turned to Staunton, who was staring at him open-mouthed: then he -glanced at Delia, and she, for the first time, was looking at Jimmy -Staunton. - -"I suppose," he remarked, suddenly, "that I'm not making any mistake? -You do wish to marry Delia, don't you, Mr. Staunton?" - -For a moment that gentleman seemed to find difficulty in speaking. -Then--"Of course," he muttered. "Of course." - -"Good!" said Massingham. "Then we'll cut. Ace low--low wins." - -He put the pack on a small table by the other man: then he turned away. - -"Cut--please." - -"But, Hugh," his wife laid her hand on his arm, "it's -impossible--it's----" - -"Not at all, Delia. It's all quite simple. Have you cut?" - -"I've cut the King of Hearts." Staunton was standing up. "So it looks -as if I lose." His voice seemed hardly to indicate that the blow had -prostrated him. - -Massingham turned round, while his wife's breath came sharply. - -"It does--undoubtedly," he remarked. "Yes--mine's the two of clubs. So -you come, Delia." He broke off abruptly, his eyes fixed on the chair in -which Staunton had been sitting. The next moment he stepped forward and -pulled a card from the crack between the seat and the side. "The ace of -diamonds," he said, slowly. "What is this card doing here? I don't -quite understand, Mr. Staunton. Ace low--low wins--and the ace of -diamonds in your chair. I didn't watch you cut--but did you not want to -win?" - -"I--I--don't know how it got there," stammered Staunton, foolishly. "I -didn't put it there." - -"Then one rather wonders who did," said Massingham, coldly. "It makes -things a little difficult." - -For a moment or two there was silence: then Delia spoke. - -"On the contrary," she remarked, icily, "it seems to me to make them -very easy. Good-night, Mr. Staunton. I shall not be at home to you in -future." - -And when Hugh Massingham returned a few minutes later, having shown the -speechless and semi-dazed Staunton the front door, his wife had gone to -her room. - -"Undoubtedly one rather wonders who did," he murmured to himself with a -faint smile. "But I think--I think, it was a good idea." - - - *V* - - -"It was a sort of infatuation, Hugh. I can't explain it." With her arm -through his--she hadn't quite found her sea-legs yet--they were walking -slowly up and down the promenade deck of the liner. - -He smiled gently. - -"Doesn't need any explanation, darling," he answered. "It's happened -before: it will happen again. There are quite a number of Mr. James -Stauntons at large--more's the pity." - -"I know," she said. "I know that. But somehow he seemed different." - -"HE always does." For a while they continued their walk in silence. -"Quite cured, little girl?" - -"Quite, absolutely." She squeezed his arm, "I think I was well on the -way to being cured, before--before he cheated. And that finished it." - -"Ah!" Hugh stopped a moment to light a cigarette. - -"It simply defeats me how, after all he said, he could have done such a -thing." - -"I wouldn't let it worry you, sweetheart. The matter is of little -importance. Halloa! What do these people want?" - -"Glad to see you about again, Mrs. Massingham." An officer in the -Indian Army, returning from leave, and his wife came up. "Would you and -your husband care to make up a four at bridge?" - -"Would you, dear?" She turned to him, and Massingham smiled. - -"You go, Delia. You'll be able to find a fourth, and you've walked -enough. I never play cards, myself." - -"What a refreshing individual," laughed the officer's wife. "Does it -bore you?" - -"Intensely," murmured Hugh. "And I'm such a bad player." - -He watched his wife go away with them: then, leaning over the rail, he -commenced to fill his pipe. Away to starboard, like a faint smudge on -the horizon, lay the north coast of Africa: two days in front was Malta. -And then---- Surreptitiously he put a hand into his breast pocket and -pulled out a photograph. Yes: it had been a good idea. - - - - - _*V -- A Question of Personality*_ - - - *I* - - -The personally conducted tour round Frenton's Steel Works paused, as -usual, on reaching the show piece of the entertainment. The mighty -hammer, operated with such consummate ease by the movement of a single -lever, though smaller than its more celebrated brother at Woolwich -Arsenal, never failed to get a round of applause from the fascinated -onlookers. There was something almost frightening about the deadly -precision with which it worked, and the uncanny accuracy of the man who -controlled it. This time it would crash downwards delivering a blow -which shook the ground: next time it would repeat the performance, only -to stop just as the spectators were bracing themselves for the -shock--stop with such mathematical exactitude that the glass of a watch -beneath it would be cracked but the works would not be damaged. - -For years now, personally conducted tours had come round Frenton's -works. Old Frenton was always delighted when his friends asked him if -they might take their house-parties round: he regarded it as a -compliment to himself. For he had made the works, watched them grow and -expand till now they were known throughout the civilized world. They -were just part of him, the fruit of his brain--born of labour and hard -work and nurtured on the hard-headed business capacity of the rugged old -Yorkshireman. He was a millionaire now, many times over, but he could -still recall the day when sixpence extra a day had meant the difference -between chronic penury and affluence. And in those far-off days there -had come a second resolve into his mind to keep the first and ever -present one company. That first one had been with him ever since he -could remember anything--the resolve, to succeed; the second one became -no less deep rooted. When he did succeed he'd pay his men such wages -that there would never be any question of sixpence a day making a -difference. The labourer was worthy of his hire: out of the sweat of -his own brow John Frenton had evolved that philosophy for himself.... - -And right loyally he had stuck to it. When success came, and with it -more and more, till waking one morning he realized that the big jump had -been taken, and that henceforth Frenton's would be one of the powers in -the steel world, he did not forget. He paid his men well--almost -lavishly: all he asked was that they should work in a similar spirit. -And he did more. From the memories of twenty years before he recalled -the difference between the two partners for whom he had then been -working. One of them had never been seen in the works save as an aloof -being from another world, regarding his automatons with an uninterested -but searching eye: the other had known every one of his men by name, and -had treated them as his own personal friends. And yet his eye was just -as searching.... But--what a difference: what an enormous difference! - -And so John Frenton had learned and profited by the example which stared -him in the face: things might perhaps be different to-day if more -employers had learned that lesson too. To him every man he employed was -a personal friend: again all he asked was that they should regard him -likewise.... - -"Boys," he had said to them on one occasion, when a spirit of unrest had -been abroad in the neighbouring works, "if you've got any grievance, -there's only one thing I ask. Come and get it off your chests to me: -don't get muttering and grousing about it in corners, if I can remedy -it, I will: if I can't I'll tell you why. Anyway, a talk will clear the -air...." - -In such manner had John Frenton run his works: in such manner had he -become a millionaire and found happiness as well. And then had come the -great grief of his life. His wife had died when Marjorie, the only -child, was born. Twenty years ago the sweet kindly woman who had -cheered him through the burden and heat of the day had died in giving -him Marjorie. They had been married eight years, and when she knew that -their hopes were going to be realized, it seemed as if nothing more -could be wanting to complete their happiness. The stormy times were -over: success had come. And now ... a child. - -When the doctor told John Frenton he went mad. He cursed Fate: he -cursed the wretched brat that had come and taken away his woman. For -weeks he refused to see it: and then Time, the Great Healer, dulled the -agony. Instead of a wife--a daughter: and on the girl he lavished all -the great wealth of love of which his rugged nature was capable. He -idolized her: and she, because her nature was sweet, remained a -charming, unaffected girl. Some day she would be fabulously rich, but -the fact did not concern her greatly. In fact she barely thought of it: -it would be many long days before her dearly loved dad left her. And so -it had been up to a year ago.... Then she'd met the man. - -It would perhaps be more correct to say that the man had met her. The -Honourable Herbert Strongley received an intimation from an aunt of his, -that if he would find it convenient to abstain for a while from his -normal method of living, and come and stay with her in the country, she -would introduce him to a charming girl staying at a neighbouring house. -She specified who the charming girl was, and suggested that though from -his birth Herbert had been a fool, he couldn't be such a damned fool as -to let this slip. She was an outspoken lady was this aunt.... - -The Honourable Herbert made a few inquiries, and left London next day -for a protracted stay with his relative. It took him a week--he -possessed a very charming manner did Herbert--before he was formally -engaged to Marjorie. The armament of nineteen has but little resisting -power when exposed to the batteries of a good-looking delightful man of -the world who is really bringing all his guns to bear. And because the -man was a consummate actor when he chose to be, he had but little more -difficulty in getting through the defences of her father. Marjorie -seemed wonderfully happy: that was the chief thing to John Frenton. And -he was getting old: carrying out his usual routine at the works was -daily becoming more and more of a strain. Why not? He had no -son--everything would go to his girl and her husband at his death. His -lifework would be in their hands.... If he'd had his way, perhaps, he'd -have chosen someone with a little more knowledge of the trade--the -Honourable Herbert didn't know the difference between mild and tool -steel: but after all a happy marriage did not depend on such technical -qualifications. As a man he seemed all that could be desired, and that -was the principal thing that mattered. He could trust his managers for -the rest.... - -And so his prospective son-in-law became a prospective partner. -Ostensibly he was supposed to be picking up the tricks of the trade, a -performance which afforded him no pleasure whatever. He loathed work in -any form: he regarded it as a form of partial insanity--almost a -disease. During the hours which he spent in the office his reason--such -as it was--was only saved by the help of _Ruff's Guide_ and telephonic -communication with his bookmaker.... But he was far too astute a person -to run any risks. He was playing for immeasurably larger stakes than he -could afford to lose, and in addition he was quite genuinely fond of -Marjorie in his own peculiar way. He intended to marry her, and then, -when the old man was dead--and he was visibly failing--the Honourable -Herbert had his own ideas on the subject of Frenton's Steel Works. The -only trouble was that Frenton's Steel Works had their own ideas on the -subject of the Honourable Herbert, though that gentleman was supremely -ignorant of the fact. Without a slip he had acted his part before John -Frenton: with just the right eagerness to learn he had played up to the -managers: but--and it was a big but--he had forgotten the men. They had -never even entered into his calculations, and it would doubtless have -amazed him to hear that he had entered very considerably into theirs. -For the men did not like the Honourable Herbert--in fact they disliked -him considerably: and since there was no secret regarding his future--a -future which concerned them intimately--this error in the calculations -was serious. They were a rough-and-ready crowd, with rough-and-ready -ideas of justice and fair play. In addition they idolized Marjorie -Frenton and her father to a man. It had taken them about a month to -size up the new partner, and that was six months ago. Since then, -slowly and inexorably--their brains did not work very quickly--the -determination that they would not have the Honourable Herbert as John -Frenton's successor had crystallized and hardened. For a while they had -waited: surely the old man would see for himself that the man was -useless. But the old man did not see: the Honourable Herbert still -strolled yawning through the works, taking not the slightest notice of -any of the hands--the man whom they in future would have to work for. -Very good: if old John could not see it for himself, other steps would -have to be taken to dispose of the gentleman. - -They might have been peaceful steps, but for an incident which had -occurred the day before the personally conducted tour already mentioned. -It was conducted by the Honourable Herbert himself, and consisted of the -house-party staying with John Frenton and Marjorie. The house-party -noticed nothing unusual, somewhat naturally: they were bored or -interested according to their natures. But as the tour progressed, a -look of puzzled wonder began to dawn in Marjorie's eyes. What on earth -was the matter with the men? - -It was some time since she had been in the works, and the change was the -more pronounced because of it. Instead of cheery smiles, sullen faces -and black looks followed them wherever they went: she sensed that the -whole atmosphere of the place was hostile. And after a while the uneasy -suspicion began to form in her mind that the object of this hostility -was her fiancé. She took advantage of the halt at the steam hammer to -draw him on one side. - -"What on earth is the matter with the men, Herbert?" she demanded. -"I've never seen them like this before." - -The Honourable Herbert cursed under his breath. He, too, had been -painfully aware of the scowls which had followed them, though he had -hoped against hope that Marjorie would not notice. Moreover, he had -known only too well the reason of the demonstration. And now it would -come to old John's ears.... He cursed again, as the girl looked at him -with questioning eyes. - -"Lord knows, my dear," he answered, abruptly. "I suppose the blighters -have got some fancied grievance." - -"'Blighters! Fancied grievance!'" The girl stepped back a pace in -genuine amazement. "Then why don't you have them together and ask them, -like daddy used to do?" - -As she spoke she glanced over his shoulder, and for a moment her eyes -met those of a man standing behind him. He was looking at her -deliberately and intently, and suddenly, to her surprise, he held up a -twisted slip of paper in his hand. Then he pointed to the floor and -turned away. It had been done so quickly that for a while she could -hardly believe her eyes. One of the men, trying to pass a secret -note.... To her.... What on earth _was_ the matter with everybody?... - -Once again the man looked at her with the suspicion of a smile on his -face, and she frowned quickly. He was impertinent, this youngster, and -she turned to her fiancé. She remembered now that the last time she had -been round she had seen him working on a lathe: that it had struck her -then that he had seemed different from the others--his hands, oily -though they were: the cool unembarrassed look in his eyes: his way of -speaking.... Almost as if he had been her equal.... And now he was -presuming on her kindness then.... - -Her hands clenched involuntarily as she looked at her fiancé. - -"What is the name of that man with his back half towards us, over -there?" she demanded. For the moment the "fancied grievance" was -forgotten in more personal matters. - -The Honourable Herbert, thankful for the respite, swung round. Then as -he saw the subject of her question his jaw set in an ugly line. - -"John Morrison," he answered, shortly. "And if I had my way I'd sack him -on the spot. A useless, argumentative, insubordinate swine...." - -And it was as this graceful eulogy concluded that John Morrison looked -at her again. Her fiancé had moved away, and she was standing alone. -For a moment she hesitated: then she, too, turned to join the rest of -the party. And lying on the ground where she had been, was her -handkerchief.... - -It was done on the spur of the moment--a feminine impulse. And the -instant she had done it, she regretted it. But there had been something -in her fiancé's voice as he spoke that had come as a shock to her: -something ugly and vicious; something new as far as she was concerned. -Though what that had to do with John Morrison passing her a note was -obscure. - -"You dropped your handkerchief, Miss Frenton." A courteous, well-bred -voice was speaking close behind her, and she turned slowly to find John -Morrison holding it out to her. - -"Thank you," she answered. Rolled up inside it she could feel the -twisted wisp of paper, and as the Honourable Herbert came up with an -angry look on his face she hesitated. - -"What do you want?" he snapped at the man. - -"Miss Frenton dropped her handkerchief, sir," answered Morrison, -impassively. - -The other grunted. - -"All right. Get on with your work." - -Marjorie hesitated no longer. With a sort of blinding certainty there -flashed into her mind the conviction that something was wrong. She -didn't stop to analyse her thoughts: she merely felt convinced that John -Morrison was not an insubordinate swine, and that in the note she held -in her hand lay the clue to a great deal that was puzzling her at the -moment. And so with a gracious smile at the man she slipped her -handkerchief into her bag.... - -It was ten minutes before she found an opportunity of reading the note. -It was in pencil, and the handwriting was small and neat. - -"It is immaterial to me what action you take on receiving this," it ran. -"But if you are in any way interested in your fiancé's future, I most -strongly advise you to suggest a change of air to him. Of his -capabilities as a husband you must decide for yourself: of his -capabilities as the boss of Frenton's, other people have already -decided, as possibly you may have noticed this morning. So get him away, -and _keep him away_. You haven't got much time." - -"Get him away, and keep him away." The words danced before the girl's -eyes. She was conscious of no anger against John Morrison: merely of a -stunned surprise. The thing was so totally unexpected. "Of his -capabilities as the boss of Frenton's, other people have already -decided." And even as she read and re-read the sentence, she found that -she was actually asking herself the question--"Was it so totally -unexpected after all?" That matters should have come to a head in such -an abrupt way was a staggering shock: but ... She crumpled the note into -her bag once more, and walked slowly towards the waiting cars. A -hundred little half-defined thoughts came crowding in on her memory: a -hundred little things which had not struck her at the time--or was it -that she hadn't allowed them to strike her?--now arrayed themselves in -massed formation in front of her. - -She paused with her foot on the step of the car. The Honourable Herbert -was solicitously bending over a stout and boring aunt of hers, and she -watched him dispassionately. "Of his capabilities as a husband you must -decide for yourself." Impertinent.... And yet she was not conscious of -any resentment. - -"Come up to lunch, Herbert," she said, as he stepped over to her. "I -want to talk to you afterwards." - -He raised his eyebrows slightly. - -"I shall be very busy this afternoon, dear." - -"I think the works will stand your absence for one afternoon," she -remarked quietly, and he bit his lip. - -"I'll be there, Marjorie." He fumbled with her rug. "One o'clock -sharp, I suppose." - -He stood back, and the cars rolled off. - -"What a charming man your fiancé is, my dear!" cooed the elderly female -sitting beside Marjorie. "So polite: so ... so ... impressive." - -The girl smiled a little absently, and nodded. "Impressive...." It -struck her that the word exactly described Herbert. He was impressive. -And then because she was loyal clean through, she started to fan herself -into a furious rage at the abominable impertinence of this wretched man -John Morrison. Herbert was right: he was an insubordinate swine.... -How dare he--how _dare he_--hand her such a note! He ought to be sacked -at once. She would tell Herbert about it after lunch, and he would -explain matters. Of course he would explain--of course.... - -John Frenton was standing on the steps as the cars drove up, and -impulsively she went up to him. - -"Herbert is coming to lunch, daddy," she cried, putting her arm through -his. - -"Is he, darling," said the old man, patting her hand. "That's all -right." He turned to the rest of the party as they came up. -"Well--what do you think of my works? None in England to beat 'em, my -friends, not if you search from John o' Groats to Land's End. And as -for a strike, it's unknown, sir, unknown.... My men don't do it, -whatever other firms may do." - -He passed into the house talking animatedly to one of his guests, and -for a while Marjorie stood, staring over the three miles of open country -to where the high chimneys of Frenton's Steel Works stuck up like -slender sticks against the dull background of smoke. Then with a little -sigh she too went up the steps into the house. - - - *II* - - -"Herbert, I don't quite understand about this morning." She was in her -own sitting-room, and her fiancé, standing in front of the fire, was -lighting a cigarette. "What is the matter at the works?" - -All through lunch the Honourable Herbert, in the intervals of being -charming to the ghastly collection of old bores--as he mentally dubbed -them--who formed the party, had been puzzling out the best line to take -at this interview. That the girl had seen that something was wrong was -obvious: no one but a blind person could have failed to notice it. And -now that the interview had actually started he was still undecided.... - -"My dear little girl," he remarked, gently, sitting down beside her and -taking her hand.... "Why worry about it? As I told you this morning, -some little grievance, I expect--which I'll inquire into...." - -The girl shook her head. - -"It's something very much more than a grievance," she said, quietly but -positively. "There's something radically wrong, Herbert. I want to know -what it is." - -"Good heavens! Marjorie"--there was a hint of impatience in his -voice--"haven't I told you I'll inquire into it? Do be reasonable, my -dear girl." - -"I'm being perfectly reasonable," she answered, still in the same quiet -tone. "But I don't understand how things have got as far as they have -without any steps on your part. You say you don't know what's the -matter. Daddy would have known long ago--and remedied it." The -Honourable Herbert's opinion of daddy, at that moment, remained -unspoken.... "You see," went on the girl, "they're just part of daddy, -are the works. He was only saying to-day that he had never had any -strikes. And now, when he's getting old..." She stirred restlessly in -her chair, and looked at the fire. "Of his capabilities as the boss of -Frenton's, other people have already decided." The words danced before -her in the flames, and almost passionately she turned to the man beside -her. "Don't you see," she cried, "don't you realize that I feel -responsible? You're there--as a partner--because you're my fiancé. -That's the only reason. The works will come to me when daddy dies: I -shall be responsible for them--I and my husband...." - -"You could always turn the thing into a Limited Company, darling," -murmured the man, "if you found it too great a strain." He waited for -an answer, but none came, and after a while he continued in an easy, -reassuring voice. "Of course, I understand, my little Marjorie, your -feelings on the matter." - -"Do you?" she interrupted, slowly. "I wonder." - -"I'm only a beginner," he went on, and his voice was a trifle hurt. -"One can't pick up all sorts of technical knowledge in a month, or even -a year...." - -"Technical knowledge isn't wanted, Herbert--so much as human knowledge, -personality. I could run those works--with the help of Mr. Thompson and -the other managers.... Ah, dear!" she bent forward quickly. "I don't -want to hurt you. But I just can't imagine what would have happened if -dad had gone round the works with us this morning.... I believe it -would have almost killed him...." - -"Very well, dear, if those are your feelings there is no more to be -said." With quiet dignity her fiancé rose to his feet. "If you are not -satisfied with me..." He left the sentence unfinished. - -"I am," she cried, quickly. "I am, Herbert--perfectly satisfied. -But..." - -"Then don't think any more about it," he said, quickly. "I'll go down, -little girl, and find out what the trouble is. And then I'll put it -right, and let you know...." - -"You'll let me know this evening, won't you?" - -For a moment he hesitated. - -"If possible, Marjorie...." - -"But of course it's possible," she cried, impulsively. "At our works, -you've only got to ask.... Have the men together and ask....." - -The Honourable Herbert's face was expressionless, as he bent over and -kissed her. - -"Quite so, darling," he murmured. "Quite so. Don't worry about it any -more...." - -And it was not until he was at the wheel of his car driving back to his -office that he gave vent to his real feelings. "Ask the men?" He saw -himself doing it. The cursed luck of the thing. But for that one -episode yesterday, he could have bluffed it through, until they were -married at any rate. After that he had never had an intention of -carrying on a deception which bored him to extinction: there would be no -need to.... But now.... The marvel to him was that they hadn't struck -already. And once they did, and John Frenton came down to the works and -the cause became known--good-bye to his hopes of the future. Marjorie -would never forgive him. And as the realization of what that would -entail struck him seriously for the first time, he swore savagely. He -had been banking on the Frenton millions not only morally but actually. -And if they failed to materialize.... Once again he cursed under his -breath.... - - -It was after dinner that night that Marjorie made up her mind. She had -twice rung up her fiancé with no result. The first time he had not come -in: the second he had just gone out--to the local theatre, the servant -believed. With a frown she hung up the receiver, and turning away -walked slowly to her father's study. - -"I want to see the book of addresses, daddy," she said, quietly. - -It was one of old Frenton's hobbies to have the address of every one of -his men entered in a large book, which enabled periodical gifts to -arrive if there was any illness in the family. - -"It's over there, girlie," he said, with a sleepy smile. "What do you -want it for?" - -"Mrs. Tracy has just had a baby," she announced, turning over the -leaves. - -But it was not under the T's that she looked. Mendle, Morgan, Morrison -... Morrison, John, 9, Castle Road.... Thoughtfully she closed the -book, and put it back in its proper place. Then she crossed the room, -and kissed her father lovingly on his bald head. - -"You're a dear old thing," she whispered. "Go and play billiards with -the general...." - -A few minutes later she was driving her little runabout towards Castle -Road. An onlooker, had he been able to see under the thick veil she -wore, would have been struck with the likeness of the small determined -face to that of old John Frenton. Like her father--once she came to a -decision, she required some stopping. And since her fiancé had left -after lunch she had become more and more uneasy, more and more certain -that something was being kept from her--something thing which concerned -the Honourable Herbert pretty closely. And if it concerned him, it -concerned her: she, as she had told him, had brought him into the -firm.... - -Castle Road proved to be a better neighbourhood than she had expected. -Most of the hands preferred to live nearer to the works, and this street -struck her as being more suitable for well-to-do clerks. But she was -far too preoccupied to worry overmuch with such trifles. John Morrison -and the truth were what she wanted. She left the car at the end of the -street, and walked to Number 9. - -Yes. Mr. Morrison was at home. A disapproving sniff preceded the -opening of a sitting-room door, which closed with a bang behind her. She -heard the steps of the landlady going down the stairs, and then she took -an uncertain pace forward. - -"... I ..." she stammered. Undoubtedly the man in evening clothes -facing her was John Morrison, but he looked so different. And whoever -had heard of a factory hand getting into a smoking jacket for dinner? -... And the room.... The prints on the walls: the big roll-top desk: -golf clubs in the corner, and to cap everything--a gun-case. - -"I think there must be some mistake," she said, haltingly. "I must -apologize.... I..." She turned as if to leave the room.... - -"I hope not, Miss Frenton." She gave a little start: she had hoped he -had not recognized her. "Won't you come and sit down by the fire and -tell me what I can do for you?" - -After a moment's hesitation she did as he said. - -"You must admit, Mr. Morrison," she loosened her veil as she spoke, -"that there is some excuse for my surprise." - -The man glanced round the room with a slight smile. - -"Yes," he murmured. "I can understand it causing you a slight shock. -Had I known you were coming I would have tried to make it -less--er--startling." - -"What on earth are you doing in the works?" she asked, curiously. - -"My poor concerns will keep, Miss Frenton." A charming smile robbed the -words of any offence. "I don't think it was to discuss me that you came -to-night. My note, I suppose. Am I to be rebuked?" - -"No," she answered, slowly. "I am to be enlightened, please." - -"Have you spoken to Strongley about it?" he asked, after a pause. - -She raised her eyebrows. - -"I asked _Mr._ Strongley what was the matter with the men, after lunch -to-day." - -"I stand corrected." With an expressionless face John Morrison held out -a heavy silver cigarette box to her, but she shook her head. - -"No, thank you," she said curtly, and he replaced the box on the table. -"But please smoke yourself, if you want to." - -"And what did Mr. Strongley say?" asked the man. - -"Nothing." She stared at the fire with a little frown. "He didn't seem -to know: but he said he'd find out and ring me up. He hasn't done so, -and I want to know, Mr. Morrison--know the truth. There's something -radically wrong down there. What is it?" - -John Morrison thoughtfully lit a cigarette and leaned against the -mantelpiece, staring down at her. - -"May I ask you one or two questions, Miss Frenton: questions which, -though they may sound impertinent, are not intended in that spirit?" - -"Yes." She looked up at him steadily. "But I don't promise to answer." - -"How long ago did you meet Herbert Strongley?" - -"About a year." - -"And how long was it before you got engaged to him?" - -She shifted a little in her chair. - -"Not very long," she said at length. - -He did not press the point: though a faint smile hovered for a moment on -his lips. - -"Not very long," he repeated, softly. "Are you quite sure, Miss -Frenton--and this is a very important question--are you quite sure that -you haven't made a mistake?" - -"It may be important, but it's one I absolutely refuse to answer." She -faced him angrily. "What business is it of yours?" - -"Absolutely none--at the moment," he said, quietly. "But you've come to -me to find out what the trouble is. And if you have not made any -mistake with regard to your engagement, I advise you to carry out the -suggestion contained in my note. Get your fiancé away from Frenton's, -and keep him away, both before and after your marriage. It will come, I -imagine, as a blow to your father, but you can easily turn it into a -company." - -"You mean--that the men don't like Herbert?" She forced herself to ask -the question. - -"I mean," he answered, deliberately, "that the men loathe and detest -him, and that only the love they have for you and your father has staved -off trouble up till now. And even that love will fail to avert a crisis -after--well, after the regrettable episode that happened yesterday." - -"What was it?" she demanded, and her voice sounded dead to the man. - -"I don't think we need bother as to what it was," he said, quietly. -"Shall we leave it at the fact that however excellent a husband -Strongley may make, as a boss of Frenton's he is a complete failure?" -He bit his lip as he saw the look on the girl's face. Then he went on -in the same quiet voice. "Things like this hurt, Miss Frenton: but you -are the type that appreciates frankness. And I tell you quite openly -that the men are after your fiancé. And I don't blame them." - -"You side with them, do you?" She threw the words at him fiercely. - -"Am I not one of them?" he replied, gravely. - -"You know you're not." She stood up and faced him. "You're not one of -the ordinary hands. Look at your evening clothes; look at that gun-case -in the corner...." She paused as she saw the sudden look on his face. -"What is it?" - -"Into this room quickly," he whispered. "You must stop there till he -goes. Good Lord! What a complication!" - -"Who is it?" she cried, startled by his evident agitation. - -"Strongley," he whispered. "Heard his voice in the hall. Absolutely -unexpected." - -He closed the door, and she found herself in his bedroom, just as the -landlady ushered in the second visitor. - -And if she had been surprised on her first entrance to John Morrison's -rooms, it was evident that the Honourable Herbert was even more so. - -"Good Lord, man," he spluttered. "Why the glad rags? I--er--of course, -it's no business of mine, but your general appearance gave me a bit of a -shock." - -To the girl listening intensely on the other side of the door it seemed -as if a note of relief had crept into her fiancé's voice--relief in -which a certain amount of uneasiness was mingled. - -"What can I do for you?" John Morrison asked, gravely. - -"Well--er--don't you know"--undoubtedly the visitor was not at all sure -of his ground--"your rooms and that sort of thing have rather knocked -me. I mean--er--I'm rather in the soup, Morrison: and I really came -round to ask your advice, don't you know. I mean you saw the whole -thing--yesterday: and though I'm afraid I lost my temper with you too, -yet even at that time I saw you were different. And--er--I thought..." - -The Honourable Herbert mopped his forehead and sank into a chair. - -"The mere fact that I change for dinner doesn't seem to alter the -situation appreciably," said Morrison, quietly. - -"No, by Jove--I suppose not." The other sat up and braced himself for -the plunge. "Well, what the hell am I to do? And what the devil are -the men going to do? Are they going to strike?" - -"No--I don't think so." Morrison smiled at the sudden look of relief on -Strongley's face. "They're too fond of Mr. Frenton and his daughter. -It's you they're after." - -"What are they going to do?" - -"Give you a pleasant half-hour under the steam-hammer," said Morrison -deliberately, and the other rose with a stifled cry. "Just to test your -nerves. Let it drop to within an inch to you--then stop it. And if -that doesn't expedite your departure--they'll take other steps...." - -"But, damn it, Morrison," his voice was shaking--"don't you understand I -can't go? I--er--Good Lord! do you suppose I want to stop here for one -second longer than I must? I loathe it. Can't you stop 'em, man: tell -'em I'm clearing the instant I'm----" - -"Married," said Morrison, quietly. - -"Well, yes," said the other. "I'll have to be frank with you--and I can -see you'll understand." His eyes strayed round the room. "I admit -absolutely that this isn't my line: I detest the show. But old Frenton -is wrapped up in these works--and--well--he looks for a son-in-law who -will carry on. After I'm married I can explain things to him, don't you -know. And until then--well, we must stave off this trouble, Morrison." - -"Wouldn't it be a little more straightforward to explain your views to -him before the marriage?" - -"Perhaps it would have been," said the other, with apparent frankness. -"But it's too late now--and then there's that damned show yesterday. -That's what I'm so afraid will come out." He stared at the fire. "I -didn't mean to hurt the fellow," he went on querulously. "And I'm -certain he dropped that spanner on my toe on purpose." - -"Still, that hardly seems sufficient justification for slogging a boy, -who is not quite all there, over the head with an iron bar, does it?" -Almost unconsciously his eyes travelled to the bedroom door as he spoke, -and then he grew suddenly rigid. For the door was open, and the girl -stood between the two rooms with a look of incredulous horror on her -face. - -"So that's what was the matter with Jake," she said, slowly, and at the -sound of her voice Strongley swung round with a violent start. - -"Marjorie..." he gasped, "what on earth..." - -"Why didn't you tell me at the beginning?" she demanded, staring at him -with level eyes. "Why lie about it? It seems so unnecessary and petty. -And then--to hit Jake over the head.... You, ... Take it back, please." -She laid her engagement ring on the table. "And I think you'd better -go--at once. The fault was partially mine; and I wouldn't like them to -punish you for my--for my mistake...." - -Without another word she turned and left the room. And it was not till -the front door banged that Strongley turned his livid face on John -Morrison. - -"You swine," he muttered. "I believe this was a put-up job." - -John Morrison laughed. - -"Yes--you told me you were coming, didn't you?" - -"No--I didn't tell you," said Strongley, slowly, with a vicious look -dawning in his eyes. "Which perhaps accounts for the fact that Miss -Frenton was here.... In your bedroom.... How nice.... The gentleman -workman and the employer's daughter.... A charming romance.... I should -think Mr. Frenton will be delighted to hear it to-morrow...." - -Not a muscle on John Morrison's face moved. - -"More than delighted, I should imagine.... Except that it will be a -little stale. Personally, I am going up to tell him to-night." He -smiled slightly. "I don't like you, Strongley; I know far too much -about you. But I _did_ pass Miss Frenton a note to-day at the works -warning her to get you away...." - -"Your solicitude for my welfare is overwhelming," sneered Strongley. - -"Good heavens!" laughed John Morrison. "I didn't care a damn about you. -I was afraid the men might get into trouble. Steady! Don't get gay -with me. I'm not half-witted; and I can hit back...." - - - *III* - - -It was in London the following spring that Marjorie Frenton next saw -John Morrison. She had not been present at the interview with her -father--was in ignorance that it had ever taken place until the next -day. And on that next day John Morrison had disappeared, leaving no -trace.... For a while she had waited, wondering whether he would -write--but no word came. After all, why should he? There was nothing to -write about.... It was merely curiosity on her part--nothing more, of -course.... A workman in evening clothes.... Enough to make anybody -curious.... - -And now there he was--three tables away, dining with a very pretty -woman. He hadn't seen her yet.... Probably wouldn't remember her when -he did ... After all, why should he? ... And at that moment their eyes -met.... - -She looked away at once, and started talking to the man next to her: but -even as she spoke she knew John Morrison had risen and was coming -towards her. - -"How are you, Miss Frenton?" She looked up into his face: met the glint -of a smile in the lazy blue eyes. - -"Quite well, thank you, Mr. Morrison," she answered, coldly. - -"Hullo, Joe!" A woman opposite had begun to speak, to stop with a -puzzled frown at Marjorie's words. "Morrison! Why Morrison? ... Have -you been masquerading, Joe, under an assumed name?" - -"I did for a while, Jane," he said, calmly, "to avoid you; you know how -you pursued me with eligible girls.... Battalions of 'em, Miss -Frenton--ranged in rows. I had to disappear stealthily in the dead of -night...." - -"Well, when are you going to get married?" demanded the woman, laughing. - -"Very soon, I hope.... I do much better than you, Jane, in these -things. The girl I've got my eye on is a girl who summoned several -hundred factory hands together; and told 'em she was sorry for a mistake -she'd made. And she halted a bit, and stumbled a bit--but she got -through with it.... And then the men cheered 'emselves sick...." - -"Good heavens! Joe ... Factory hands!" gasped the woman. "What sort of -a girl is she?" - -"A perfect topper, Jane." Out of the corner of his eye he glanced at -Marjorie, whose eyes were fixed on her plate. "By the way, Miss -Frenton, has your father turned his works into a company yet?" - -"Not yet," she answered, very low. - -"Ah! that's good." He forced her to meet his eyes, and there was -something more than a smile on his face now. "Well, I must go back to -my sister.... And I'll come and call to-morrow if I may.... Jane will -expose my wicked deceit doubtless...." - -"Mad--quite mad," remarked the woman opposite, as he went back to his -interrupted dinner. "Morrison, did you say? I knew he wanted to study -labour conditions first-hand--why, Heaven knows. He's got works of his -own or something.... But all the Carlakes are mad.... And I'd got a -splendid American girl up my sleeve for him...." - -"Carlake," said Marjorie, a little faintly. "Is that Lord Carlake?" - -"Of course it is, my dear. That's Joe Carlake.... Mad as a hatter.... -I wonder who the girl is...." - - - - - _*VI -- The Unbroken Line*_ - - - *I* - - -"My dear man, where have you been buried? You don't seem to know -anybody. That's Bobby Landon, Lord Fingarton's only son. Just about to -pull off _the_ marriage of the season." - -I accepted the rebuke meekly: a spell of three years in Africa -investigating the question of sleeping sickness does almost count as -burial. - -"Oh! is that Lord Landon?" I murmured, glancing across the crowded -restaurant at a clean-looking youngster dining with a couple of men. -"See--who is he engaged to?" - -"You win the bag of nuts," laughed my fair informant. "Robert Landon, -only son of Earl Fingarton of Fingarton, is about to marry Cecilie, -youngest daughter of the Duke of Sussex. A fuller society announcement -can be given if required, bringing out the pleasing union of two -historic families in these socialistic days...." She laughed again. -"But speaking the normal mother tongue, a first-class boy is marrying a -topping girl, which is all that matters." - -"It's all coming back to me," I said, slowly. "I'm getting warm. There -was another son, wasn't there, and he died." - -"I believe so," she answered; "in fact I know there was. But he died -before I was born. That was the first wife's son. Daddy would be able -to tell you all about that." - -"What's that, my dear?" My host leaned across the table with a smile. - -"Sir Richard was asking me about Lord Fingarton's family history, old -man," she remarked, brightly. "I was telling him that I was slightly on -the youthful side, and that you would elucidate the matter in your -well-known breezy style. - -"It doesn't require much elucidation," he said, slowly. "It was a -mixture of tragedy and good fortune...." - -"I remember that the first son died, Bill, but..." I paused and waited -for him to continue. - -"He broke his neck in the hunting field the day after he came of age. -And the accident broke his mother's heart. They were absolutely wrapped -up in that boy--both of 'em.... Six months later she died in Scotland, -at Fingarton...." He puffed thoughtfully at his cigar, and -unconsciously my eyes wandered to the youngster at the neighbouring -table. - -"And where exactly does the good-fortune part of it come in?" I asked at -length. - -"This way," he answered. "They idolized the boy, and he certainly was -the first thing in their lives. But when he died, the thing that came -only one degree behind their love for him of necessity took first -place.... Family.... While he lived, the two things were synonymous: -they both centred in the boy himself.... And he was a splendid -boy--better even than this one." Again he paused, and smoked for a -while in silence. "You see--Betty Fingarton was too old to have another -child, when the accident took place ... I think that fact hastened her -death. And the man who would have come into the title was an outsider -of the purest water--a distant cousin of sorts.... Bob used to move -about like a man in a dream--dazed with the tragedy of it all. But I -remember that even then, before she died, he realized that her death -would--how shall I put it--help matters. Not that he ever said -anything: but I knew Bob pretty well those days ... I've lost sight of -him a bit since.... It was a horrible position for the poor old chap. -The Fingartons have kept their line direct since 1450. Family was his -God ... and he idolized Betty. Then she died; and Bob married again.... -Quite a nice girl, and she made him a thundering good wife.... But he -told me the night before he married, that the price of duty could -sometimes be passing high.... It was with him...." - -My host paused and sipped his brandy, while the girl at my side -whispered a little breathlessly: - -"I didn't know all that, daddy. Poor old Uncle Bob!" - -I looked at her inquiringly, and she smiled. - -"He's always been uncle to me," she explained. "Though lately I've -hardly seen him at all.... He buries himself more and more up at -Fingarton...." - -"And what of the present Lady Fingarton?" I inquired. - -"I like her--she's a dear," answered the girl. "Though I think daddy -always compares her with the first one." Her father smiled, but said -nothing. "She is generally here in Town.... She likes to be near -Bobby...." - -For a while we were silent, while the soft strains of the orchestra -stole through the smoke-laden air above the hum of conversation.... It -had gripped me--the picture painted by Bill Lakington, in his short -clipped sentences. The tragedy of it--and, as he had said, the good -fortune too.... Duty: pride of family--aye, they have their price. -Mayhap Betty Fingarton was paying her share in the knowledge that the -next of the line was not her son.... Or did she, with clearer vision, -understand the workings of the Great Architect, which at first must have -seemed so inscrutable?... - -"When is the wedding?" I asked. - -"In about a month," said the girl. "Everyone will be there." - -"Personally," I murmured, "I shall be one of the forty or fifty odd -million who won't. So you can send me an account of it." - -"Where are you going, Sir Richard?" - -"To a little village way up in the outskirts of Skye," I replied with a -smile. "More burial, young lady--and more hard work." - -"You ought to take a bit of a rest, Dick," said Bill Lakington. "You -deserve it...." - -"After I've broken the back of the book, I shall," I answered. - -"Are you writing a novel, Sir Richard?" inquired the girl. - -"No such claim to immortality," I sighed. "My subject is the mode of -life of Glossina palpales--with illustrations." - -"And who are they when they're at home?" she asked, dubiously. - -"Flies--whose conduct is not above suspicion. Shall I present you with a -copy?" - -"Rather. As long as you don't expect me to read it.--Hullo! Bob. -Going to anything to-night?" - -"We're staggering to Daly's, old thing...." With a feeling of mild -curiosity I glanced at the boy who had paused by our table on the way -out: a clean-cut, good-looking youngster. No outsider, this future -seventeenth earl, like the distant cousin.... Yes, one could see where -the good fortune came in.... - -We, too, were going to Daly's, and we all passed out of the restaurant -together. I had a word or two with the youngster as we waited for the -car: he was keen as mustard on hearing about Africa, and especially -Uganda.... - -"Everybody is tottering out to the country these days, Sir Richard, and -'pon my word, I don't blame 'em..." - -"If they can, no more do I. But the head of the family can't go, my -dear boy.... That's the drawback to responsibility." - -"Do you know Fingarton?" A gleam came into his eyes as he spoke. - -"I'm afraid I don't," I answered. "I've never met your father." - -"Go and look him up, if you're in those parts," he said, impulsively. -"It'll do the dear old governor good.... He's burying himself too much -up there, and it's lonely for him.. I've written and written just -lately, and I can't get any answer out of him.... I want him to come -South--he will for my wedding, of course--but these last few months, if -ever I do get a line from him, it's in reply to a letter about three -weeks old...." - -"Come on, Sir Richard...." Molly Lakington was calling me from the -car.... "We mustn't miss the last part of the first act...." - -Undoubtedly not, and with a nod to the youngster I stepped into the car. - -"A good lad that, Bill," I remarked. - -"Aye ... a good lad.... But not _quite_ so good as the other," he -answered, thoughtfully. - -"He's good enough for Cecilie, anyway, old man, and that's saying a good -deal," said Molly.... - -By the light of a passing lamp I saw Bill Lakington's face. He was -smiling quietly to himself, as a man smiles when he has his own opinion, -but refuses to argue about it.... - -"Besides, you scarcely knew the first son," pursued Molly. "I've heard -you say so yourself." - -"No, my dear, but I knew the first wife," answered her father, still -with the same quiet smile. Evidently, on the subject of Betty Fingarton, -Bill was adamant. - -And at that moment we drew up at Daly's and the conversation ceased. We -were in time for the last part of the first act as the girl had -demanded--though apparently one priceless song about a Bowwow named -Chow-chow had eluded us.... My sorrow at this failure on our part was -heightened by the information that it was one of the best Fox Trots you -could dance to.... I was very anxious to know what a Fox Trot was: in -Uganda, as a form of amusement, it is in but little vogue.... - -But we'd missed it, and though I endeavoured to bear up under the -staggering blow, I found my attention wandering more and more from the -stage, and centring round the story or the sixteenth Earl Fingarton and -his first wife Betty. - -The picture of the old man, shutting himself up more and more in his -Highland castle, waiting for the time when he could be relieved of duty, -and go once more to the woman he loved, came between me and the -stage.... _His_ child to carry on the line, but not _hers_.... But it -would be carried on in direct descent--that was the great point--it -would remain unbroken. The sacrifice of the father had had its -reward.... - -"There is Lady Fingarton in the box opposite," said Molly Lakington in -my ear, as the lights went up at the end of the first act.... "Sitting -next to Bobby ... and Cecilie on the other side." - -I glanced across the theatre. The youngster was just getting up to go -out and smoke, and for a moment or two he bent over a lovely girl, who -smiled up into his face. Then he turned to his mother, and she too -smiled--a smile of perfect happiness. She was a sweet-looking woman of -rising fifty, and on a sudden impulse I spoke my thoughts to Bill -Lakington. - -"He ought to come down, Bill: he oughtn't to bury himself. He'd like -it--once he'd broken away. It's not fair to them--or himself. Why -doesn't he?" - -"I can't tell you, old man..." he answered, slowly. "I know no more -than you. He's happy up North: when he does come he's always hankering -to get back again." - -"But they go up there, I suppose?" - -"Sometimes," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Sometimes. But never -for long.... When shooting starts, and he has guests." - -"I agree with Sir Richard," said Molly, decidedly. "It's not fair. -He's got the son he wanted, and now he sees as little of the woman who -gave it him as he can.... He ought at any rate to pretend...." - -The orchestra was filing back: the smokers were returning to their -seats. And as the safety-curtain rolled slowly up, I glanced once more -across the theatre at Lady Fingarton. Did she feel that too? And it -seemed to me that her eyes were weary.... He ought at any rate to -pretend.... - - - *II* - - -And so, but for a strange turn in the wheel of fate, the matter would -have rested as far as I was concerned. For an evening the story of the -sixteenth Earl Fingarton and his wife Betty had appealed to my -imagination, then stress of work drove it from my mind. In Scotland, -especially in the Highlands, the fierce pride of family and clan seems -natural and right: from time immemorial that pride has been a dominant -trait of those who live there. - -And up in Skye, where I wandered for a while before settling down to -work, the old Earl's action seemed easier to understand.... As a man, -his heart had died with his wife Betty; as the sixteenth of his line, he -had gone forth into the world, which had ceased to interest him, and -taking unto himself another wife, had waited until she gave him a son. -Then, his duty over, he had come back to his dead and his memories.... -Callous, perhaps, to the living; primitive in his treatment of his -second wife, as men of old were primitive in their treatment of women, -regarding them as merely the bearers of their children--yet -understandable.... Look on the glory of Glen Sligachan, and it is -understandable. Country such as that in another part of the Highlands -belonged to the Fingartons, and the breathless marvel of it is not to be -lightly parted with. It must remain for a man's son, and his son's son -... a sacred heritage. There must be no outsider to break the line. - -Thus did it strike me as I settled down to work in the island that I -loved. And then, as I have said, it gradually faded from my mind. Vast -tracts of territory at present infested with sleeping sickness could, I -felt convinced, be rendered immune from that dreadful scourge if my -proposals were adopted. Starting from the point at which the German -Commission under Professor Koch had left off, years before the war, I -had carried his investigations several steps further. And I knew that I -had been successful. So I found an undisturbed place to write, and -quickly became absorbed in my task. Without undue conceit, I knew it -was an important one.... - -And then, one evening, after I had been working for about a fortnight, -occurred the strange turn of the wheel which was to bring my attention -back from the dark interior of Africa to things much nearer at hand. I -had finished for the day, and was sitting by the open window watching -the sun sink in a blaze of golden glory over the Coolin Hills, when a -small urchin obtruded himself into my line of vision, and stared at me -fixedly in the intervals of sucking his thumb. The inspection -apparently proved satisfactory, and after a while the small urchin -spoke. His language required interpretation by my landlady, but finally -I gathered that the attentions of a medical man were wanted. And since -the local doctor was away, he wanted to know whether I would come. - -"It's for Mrs. MacDerry, sir," explained my landlady. "She's old and -ailing fast." - -No doctor can disregard a call of such a sort, and though I had -certainly not come to Skye with the idea of attending to the local man's -practice during his absence, I followed my small guide to a little house -some half a mile away. He left me at the door, and after a moment's -hesitation I knocked. It was opened almost at once by a somewhat stern -and forbidding-looking woman, who stared at me suspiciously, and then -curtly inquired what I wanted. - -"Nothing," I answered a little nettled by her tone. "But from the boy -who led me here I gathered you wanted a doctor." - -"It was Doctor Lee I sent him for," she snapped. - -"Well, Doctor Lee is out," I replied. "But doubtless he will be back -soon, so I'll go away." - -I turned away distinctly annoyed at my reception, and was on the point -of passing through the little gate when the woman overtook me. - -"Are you a clever doctor?" she demanded. - -"I have been told so," I remarked, suppressing a smile. - -"Then come inside and see what you can do for my mistress." - -"Is your mistress Mrs. MacDerry?" - -"Aye," she nodded. "It's herself." Without another word she turned and -led the way up the narrow path, apparently taking it for granted that I -would follow. - -"What's the matter with your mistress?" I asked as I reached the door. - -"If you're clever you'll find out for yourself," she remarked tersely, -and again I suppressed a smile. An uncompromising handmaiden this.... - -She left me alone in the room which in such houses is generally alluded -to as the parlour, and while I waited I stared about me idly. And as I -stared my vague curiosity gave way to acute surprise. Generally the -furniture in such rooms must be seen to be believed: stuffed birds in -glass domes, and beaded ornaments of incredible design meet one at every -step. And should one lift one's eyes in a moment of panic to the walls, -innumerable photographs of wedding groups leap at you in mute protest. -But there was nothing of that sort in this room.... - -Everything was in the most exquisite taste, from the bric-à-brac on a -beautiful inlaid table, to the baby Grand standing in the corner. I -glanced at some of the pictures, and my surprise changed to amazement. -Three at least were genuine Corots.... And the next thing that caught -my eye were half a dozen pieces of Sèvres.... - -"Will you come this way, please?" The woman's harsh voice from the door -interrupted my inspection, and I followed her slowly up the stairs. - -I found Mrs. MacDerry propped up in bed awaiting me. The bedroom, in -the quick glance I took around it, seemed in keeping with the room -below; then my attention centred on my patient. She was an old -lady--sweet and fragile-looking as her own Sèvres china--and it needed -but a glance to see that the fires were burning low. For Mrs. MacDerry -the harbour was almost reached. - -"It is good of you to come, Doctor----" She paused inquiringly. - -"Morton is my name," I answered gently, drawing up a chair beside the -bed. - -"Doctor Lee seems to be out," she continued, "and--and..." - -Her voice died away, and she lay back on her pillows, while the -harsh-voiced woman bent over her with a look of such infinite love on -her weather-beaten face that I inwardly marvelled at the transformation. - -"You see"--the invalid opened her eyes again as my fingers closed round -the weak, fluttering pulse--"it's very important, Doctor Morton, that I -should see my husband.... He has been up in London, and came down by -the mail from Euston last night.... So he should be here in a few -hours, shouldn't he?" - -"He should," I answered, taking out a notebook and pencil. "Don't talk, -Mrs. MacDerry ... just rest." - -I scribbled a few lines and handed the paper to the maid. I knew only -the simplest drugs would be available, and it was going to be a stiff -fight to keep the feeble flame alight even for a few hours. - -"Either go yourself, or send the boy at once to the nearest chemist for -those drugs," I whispered. "There's no time to be lost...." - -She left the room without a word, and once more the weak voice came from -the bed. - -"Can you do it, doctor; can you keep me ... till my husband comes?" - -"Of course, Mrs. MacDerry, and long after he's come," I said, -cheerfully; but she only shook her head with a faint smile. - -"You can't deceive me," she whispered.... "Besides, I don't want to stay -on.... It's finished--now; only I just want to hear from his own lips -that it went off well.... That it's not all been in vain...." - -And then for a while she lay very still--so still that once I thought -she had gone. But she stirred again, and said a few words which I could -not catch. Faintly through the open window came the ceaseless murmur of -the distant sea, while from a dozen cottages on the hillside opposite -little yellow beams of light shone out serenely into the darkening -night. And after a while I rose and lit the lamp, shading it from the -face of the woman in the bed. One swift glance I stole at her, and she -was sleeping with a look of ineffable peace on her face.... Then once -more I sat down to wait.... - -It was an hour before the maid returned with the drugs, and the slight -noise she made as she entered the room roused the sleeper.... - -"Has he come?" she cried, eagerly, only to sink back again with a tired -sigh as the maid shook her head. - -"He couldn't be here yet, Mrs. MacDerry," I said, reassuringly. "Not -for an hour or two.... And now I want you to drink this, please...." - -Without a word she did as I told her, and once again closed her eyes. - -I beckoned to the maid. "Get a hot bottle. And a little brandy...." - -"Can you do it, doctor?" she said, gripping my arm tight. "Can you let -him see her alive?" - -"Yes--I think so.... But he will have to come to-night." - -She left the room, and for a while I stood by the window staring out -into the night. Was it my imagination, or did I see the head-lights of -a car coming over the pass in the distance? He would have to come that -way if he'd crossed from Kyle to Lochalsh.... But they had vanished -again, and I couldn't remember if the road dipped behind a rise there or -not.... - -"Do you often go to London, Doctor Morton?" The invalid's voice was a -little stronger, and I crossed to the bed. - -"Very often, Mrs. MacDerry," I answered. "In fact, except when I'm -abroad, I generally live there. At the moment I've come up here to -work...." - -"Ah! I see." ... She smiled faintly. "I haven't been to London for -over twenty years. I haven't left Skye for over twenty years.... I -suppose it's changed a lot...." - -"Yes--I think you'd find it different to twenty years ago.... Motors -everywhere instead of hansoms...." - -"I've never been in a motor-car," she said, still with the same sweet -smile. "I've been buried, doctor--just buried...." - -"You could not have chosen a lovelier tomb," I answered, gently; and she -nodded her head. - -"Those are three delightful Corots you have downstairs," I continued -after a moment. "I was admiring them before I came up...." - -She looked at me quickly. - -"You know about such things, do you?" - -"I'm a collector myself in a mild way," I answered. - -"They belong to my husband," she said, abruptly; and once more closed -her eyes. "Tell me, doctor," she continued after a while, "what is -happening in London?" - -"The usual things, Mrs. MacDerry.... In that respect I don't think -there is much change since you were there. The world dances and goes to -theatres as ever...." - -"But is there no big event," she persisted, "in the season this year? -... No big ball ... or ... or marriage?" - -"Why, yes," I answered, "there's a big marriage.... It's just taken -place...." And though I saw those two fragile hands clenched tight, no -suspicion dawned on me as I spoke. "Lord Fingarton's only son has just -married the Duke of Sussex's youngest daughter...." - -"And what do they say of Lord Fingarton's only son?" she demanded. "Is -he a worthy successor of his father?" - -"They say that he's a good lad," I answered. "I thought so myself when I -spoke to him the other night...." - -"You spoke to him?" she cried. "Tell me about him--everything you -can...." - -And still I did not suspect.... I told her of the boy; I sketched him -for her to the best of my ability, and she listened eagerly. And then -when I had finished, something--I know not what--made me add one -sentence for which, till my dying day, I shall be thankful. - -"There is only one criticism," I said, "which I can make. And that was -given by a man who knew the first Lady Fingarton well. Good though this -boy is--he is not _quite_ so good as the one who died...." - -"Who was the man who said that?" she whispered, breathlessly. - -"Sir William Lakington--the great heart specialist," I answered, and at -that moment clear and distinct through the still night came the -thrumming of a motor-car. - -"Is it--my husband?" She listened tensely, and I crossed to the window. -The car had stopped outside the gate, and already a man was striding up -the narrow path to the front door. - -"He has come, Mrs. MacDerry," I said, cheerfully.... "Now I want you to -have another drink of this...." - -I poured out the dose, and as I held the glass to her lips, the bedroom -door gently opened and a man came in. I glanced up at him to ensure -silence, and met a pair of piercing eyes, which were staring at me from -under great bushy eyebrows. His huge frame seemed to fill the whole -doorway; then, on tiptoe he crept towards the bed. - -I laid the glass down, and turned away. My part was over, save for a -word of warning. And so I beckoned to him, and he followed me to the -window. - -"You have not got long, Mr. MacDerry," I whispered. "The sands are very -low." It was then that I noticed a huge roll of illustrated papers -under his arm. "I shall be downstairs: call me if you want me." - -"Is it the end?" he whispered, and I bowed gravely. - -"It is the end," I answered. - -I heard him whisper, "Thank God I was in time"; and then I left them -together. - -For maybe half an hour I sat in the room downstairs. Once the maid came -in to know if I would have anything to eat, and after that the house -grew very silent. Only the murmur of a man's deep voice above broke the -stillness, and at length that, too, ceased. And then suddenly I heard -him calling me from the landing, and went upstairs. - -One glance was enough, and he looked at my face and understood. -Mechanically I stooped and picked up one of the papers that had slipped -off the bed: then I moved away ... I could do no more for the sweet old -lady: she had passed beyond all earthly aid. - -I put the paper on the table within the circle of light thrown by the -lamp. It was a copy of the _Tatler_ open at the page of photographs -taken at the big wedding. There was one of young Landon and his -bride--a good photo: and then I found myself staring foolishly at one of -the others. I bent forward to examine it closer; there was no mistaking -the great spare frame and thick eyebrows. Why had Robert, Sixteenth -Earl of Fingarton, rushed post-haste from the wedding of his son to the -death-bed of Mrs. MacDerry? And why had she called him--husband?... - - - *III* - - -It was the following day that, closely muffled up, he came into my room -as I worked. - -"Do I disturb you, Sir Richard?" he asked as I rose. - -So he had made inquiries about my name.... "Not at all," I answered, -gravely. "Sit down." - -He took the chair I indicated, and for a while he stared at me in -silence. - -"It was unfortunate that Doctor Lee was out," he said at length. "And -Hannah--the maid--had naturally no idea who you were. I, on the -contrary, know you well by reputation...." - -I bowed silently. - -"And you know me, Sir Richard?" - -Again I bowed. - -For a while he drummed with his fingers on the table, then once again he -fixed his piercing eyes on me. - -"I want you to listen to a short story," he said, quietly. "It's very -short, and"--his voice shook a little--"your reception of it is very -important. I am no spinner of glib phrases: I have no tricks of speech -to captivate your imagination. But I have an idea that the story I have -to tell requires no assistance. Nearly fifty years ago a son was born -to a certain man and his wife. He was their only child; the woman was -not strong enough to have another. But that son was enough: he was the -heir that was needed to an historic house.... And then there was an -accident, and the boy broke his neck out hunting...." - -He broke off and stared out of the window. - -"The woman was too old to have another child," he went on after a while, -"and so it seemed that that historic name would pass out of the direct -line. And it would go to a man who had recently been expelled from his -London clubs for cheating at cards.... He was openly boasting of his -good fortune: had already started to raise money on his prospects...." -He paused again, his great fists clenched. - -"A few months later the woman fell ill. And though she loved the man as -it is given to few men to be loved, she was glad--for the sake of his -family. She thought she was going to die, and then he could marry -again.... She prayed to die, and her prayer was not heard, though maybe -it was one of the most divinely unselfish prayers that a human heart has -ever raised.... Then one night, as she was recovering, the man found -her with a glass of something by her bedside.... And he didn't leave her -till she had sworn that she would not take that way out...." - -He shifted restlessly in his seat. "It was about then that the plan was -conceived. It was hazy at first, and the man would have none of it.... -But after a while he began to think of it more and more.... And, one -day, to his amazement he found that the woman had an unexpected ally in -the shape of the heart specialist who was attending her." - -"Who was the heart specialist?" I asked, quietly. - -"Sir William Lakington," he answered. "You see, Sir Richard, through a -turn of fate, this man is in your hands. He has no intention of hiding -anything from you.... That same day the prospective heir, who had -married a barmaid, became the father of twin sons; and the man made up -his mind. The woman died, and was buried in the family vault.... Such -was the story that was told the world. And then, with the help of that -great-hearted doctor, the woman was smuggled away. For twenty-four -years she has lived by herself with only one maid--buried, scarce daring -to leave the house, in case she should be recognized. Through those -long years the man has visited her just now and then.... Not too often, -again for fear of discovery, though when he did come he came disguised, -save only last night, when nothing mattered but the fact that it was the -end. And through those long years her only mainstay has been the -knowledge that his son will succeed to the title--that the line is still -direct.... Fate decreed it was not to be hers; but no word of complaint -or disappointment has ever passed her lips. Maybe they did wrong--that -man and that woman: maybe they sinned. But they did it for the best at -the time, and when, ten years afterwards, the man who would have been -the heir was confined in an inebriates' home, it seemed to them that -they had been justified. And now in your hands, Sir Richard, rest the -issue as to whether that sweet woman's sacrifice shall have been in -vain.... Rests also the issue of a dreadful scandal...." - -The deep voice ceased, and I rose and stood by the window. The sun was -glinting on the hills opposite, bathing them in a riot of purple and -gold: a cart was moving lazily along the rough track below the house.... -Maybe it had been a sin; who was I to judge? The risk was over now, the -sacrifice finished. And God knows that sacrifice had been heavy. At -the time they had done it for the best: that best was good enough for -me. - -"You have told me a very wonderful story, Mr. MacDerry," I said, as I -turned and faced him. "For a short time I foolishly confused you with -Lord Fingarton: I must apologize for my mistake. May I express my -deepest sympathy with you in your terrible loss, and assure you that I -will attend to all the necessary formalities with regard to Mrs. -MacDerry's death?..." - -For a moment I thought he would break down: instead he took my hand and -wrung it.... And then without a word he was gone. - - * * * * * - -It was a year later that I went with Bill Lakington to the christening -of a man-child. They are not entertainments that I generally patronize, -but this was an exception. Judging by the noise it contributed to the -performance, it was a fine, lusty child: certainly its parents seemed -more than usually idiotic about it. - -"He's aged, Dick," said Bill to me after it was over. "Bob's aged -badly." - -Coming towards us down the aisle was a tall gaunt man, whose piercing -eyes gleamed triumphantly from under his bushy eyebrows. He stopped as -he reached us, and held out a hand to each. And so for a moment we -stood in silence.... Then he spoke: - -"The line is unbroken, old friends--the line is unbroken." - -Without another word he was gone. - - - - - _*VII -- The Real Test*_ - - - *I* - - -"It depends entirely," remarked the Great Doctor, twirling an empty -wine-glass in his long, sensitive fingers, "what you mean by fear. The -common interpretation of the word--the method which I think you would -use to portray it on the stage"--he turned to the Celebrated Actor, who -was helping himself to a cigarette from a silver box on the table in -front of him--"would show a nervous shrinking from doing a thing: a -positive distaste to it--a probable refusal, finally, to carry out the -action. And rightly or wrongly--but very naturally--that emotion is the -object of universal scorn. But----" and the Great Doctor paused -thoughtfully--"is there no more in fear than that?" - -The Well-known Soldier drained his port. "It would be a platitude to -remark," he said, "that the successful overcoming of fear is the highest -form of bravery." - -"That if, for instance, our young friend had overcome his fear this -afternoon," said the Rising Barrister, "and had jumped in after that -horrible little dog, it would have been an act of the highest bravery." - -"Or the most stupid bravado," supplemented the Celebrated Actor. - -"Precisely my point," exclaimed the Great Doctor. "What is the dividing -line between bravado and bravery?" - -The Well-known Soldier looked thoughtful. "The man," he said at length, -"who exposes himself to being killed or wounded when there is no -necessity, with probably--at the bottom of his mind--a desire to show -off, is guilty of culpable bravado. The man who, when his battalion is -faltering, exposes himself to certain death to hold them is brave." - -"Two extreme cases," answered the Doctor. "Narrow it down, General. -What is the dividing line?" - -"I suppose," murmured the Soldier, "when the results justify the -sacrifice. No man has a right to throw his life away uselessly." - -"In those circumstances," said the Rising Barrister, "there can be no -fixed dividing line. Every man must decide for himself; and what is -bravery to you, might be bravado in me." - -The Doctor nodded. "Undoubtedly," he agreed. "And with a thoughtful -man that decision may be very difficult. For the fraction of a second -he will hesitate--weigh up the pros and cons; and even if he decides to -do it finally, it may then be too late." - -"Only a fool would have gone in after that dog," said the Actor, -dogmatically. - -"Women love fools," answered the Barrister, _à propos_ of nothing in -particular; and the Celebrated Actor snorted contemptuously. - -"Which is why the man who is reputed to know no fear is so universally -popular," said the Soldier. "If such a man exists, he is most certainly -a fool." - -The door opened and their hostess put her head into the room. "You men -have got to come and dance," she cried. "There's no good looking at one -another and hoping for bridge: you can have that afterwards." - -The strains of a gramophone came faintly from the drawing-room as they -rose dutifully. - -"I cannot perpetrate these new atrocities, dear lady," remarked the -Soldier, "but if anybody would like to have a barn dance, I shall be -happy to do my best." - -"Sybil shall take you in hand, Sir John," she answered, leading the way -across the hall. "By the way, young Captain Seymour, the V.C. -flying-man, has come up. Such a nice boy--so modest and unassuming." - -As they entered the room a fresh one-step had just started, and for a -while they stood watching. The two sons of the house, just home from -Eton, were performing vigorously with two pretty girls from a -neighbouring place; while Sybil, their sister, who was to take the -General in hand, floated past in the arms of a keen-eyed, bronzed young -man who had won the V.C. for a flying exploit that read like a -fairy-tale. The other two couples were girls dancing together; while, -seated on a sofa, knitting placidly, were two elderly ladies. - -"And where, Lady Vera," murmured the Actor to his hostess, "is our young -friend Peter?" - -She frowned almost imperceptibly and looked away. "He disappeared after -he left the dining-room," she remarked, shortly. "I suppose, in view of -what occurred this afternoon, he prefers to be by himself." - -The Actor ran a delicate hand through his magnificent grey hair--it was -a gesture for which he was famous--and regarded his hostess in surprise. -"Even you, Lady Vera!" he remarked pensively. "I can understand these -young girls blaming the boy; but for you--a woman of sense----" He -shrugged his shoulders--another world-famed movement, feebly imitated by -lesser lights. - -"I don't think we will discuss the matter, Mr. Peering," she said, -turning away a little abruptly. - - -It had been a somewhat unpleasant incident at the time, and the -unpleasantness was still apparently far from over. Madge Saunderson, -one of the girls stopping in the house, had been the owner of a small -dog of rat-like appearance and propensities, to which she had been -devoted. She shared this devotion with no one, the animal being of the -type that secretes itself under chairs and nips the ankle of the next -person who unsuspectingly sits down. However, _De mortuis_ ... And -since its violent death that afternoon, Toots--which was the animal's -name--had been invested with a halo. Its atrocious habits were -forgotten: it lived in everyone's memory as poor little Toots. - -It was over its death that Peter Benton had made himself unpopular. Not -far from the house there was a disused mill, past which, at certain -times of the year, the water poured in a black, evil-looking torrent, -emerging below into a deep pond cupped out in the rocks. For a hundred -yards before the stream came to the old mill-wheel the slope of the -ground affected it to such an extent that, if much rain had fallen in -the hills above, the current was dangerous. The water swirled along, -its smoothness broken only by an occasional eddy, till with -ever-increasing speed it dropped sheer into the pond, twenty feet below. -Occasionally battered things were found floating in that pond--stray -animals which had got caught in the stream above; and twice since the -mill had closed down twenty years ago a child had been discovered, -bruised and dead, in the placid pool below the wheel. But, then, these -had been small animals and children--quite unable to keep their feet. -Whereas Peter Benton was a man, and tall at that. - -Into this stream, flooded more than usual with the recent rain, had -fallen poor little Toots. Being completely blind in both eyes, it had -serenely waddled over the edge of the small hand-bridge which spanned -the water, and had departed, struggling feebly, towards the mill-wheel -seventy yards away. At the moment of the catastrophe Peter Benton and -Madge Saunderson were standing on the bridge, and her scream of horror -rang out simultaneously with the splash. - -The man, seeing in an instant what had happened, raced along the bank, -and overtook the dog when it had gone about half-way, at the point where -the current quickened and seemed to leap ahead. And then had occurred -the dreadful thing. - -According to the girl, afterwards, he just stood there and watched Toots -dashed to pieces. According to the man--but, incidentally, he said -nothing, which proved his cowardice, as the girl remarked. He had -nothing to say. Instead of going into the water and seizing the dog, he -had stood on the bank and let it drown. And he had no excuse. Of -course, there would have been a certain element of risk; but no man who -was a man would have thought of that. Not with poor little Toots -drowning before his eyes. - -And his remark at the moment when she had rushed up to him, almost -hysterical with grief, showed him to be--well, perhaps it would be as -well not to say what she thought. Madge Saunderson had paused in her -narrative at tea and consumed a sugar cake. - -"What _did_ he say, Madge?" asked Sybil Lethbridge. - -"He said," remarked Miss Saunderson, "'Sorry. No bon, as they say. It -really wasn't worth it--not for Toots.' Can you beat it?" she stormed. -"'Not for Toots!' Poor little heart--drowning before that brute's -eyes." - -"Of course," said Sybil, thoughtfully, "the mill-stream is very -dangerous." - -"My dear Sybil," answered Madge Saunderson, coldly, "if you're going to -take that point of view I have nothing more to say. But I'd like to -know what you'd have said if it had been Ruffles." - -The terrier in question regarded the speaker with an expectant eye, in -which thoughts of cake shone brightly. - -"What happened then?" asked one of the audience. - -"We walked in silence down to the pool below," continued Madge. "And -there--we found him--my little Toots. He floated to the side, and Mr. -Benton was actually daring enough to stoop down and pull him out of the -water. It was then that he added insult to injury," she went on, in a -voice of suppressed fury. "'Rotten luck, Miss Saunderson,' he said; -'but in a way it's rather a happy release for the poor little brute, -isn't it? I'm afraid only your kind heart prevented him being put away -years ago.'" - -A silence had settled on the room, a silence which was broken at length -by Sybil. - -"He _was_ very old, wasn't he?" she murmured. Madge Saunderson's eyes -flashed ominously. "Eighteen," she said. "And I quite fail to see that -that's any excuse. You wouldn't let an old man of ninety drown, would -you--just because he was old? And Toots was quite as human as any old -man, and far less trouble." - -Such had been the official _communiqué_, issued to a feminine gathering -at tea-time; in due course it travelled to the rest of the house-party. -And, as is the way with such stories, it had not lost in the telling. - -Daisy Johnson, for instance, had retailed it with some gusto to the -Rising Barrister. - -"What a pity about Mr. Benton, isn't it?" she had murmured before -dinner, moving a little so that the pink light from a lamp fell on her -face. Pink, she reflected, was undoubtedly the colour she would have for -all the shades when she had a house. - -The Rising Barrister regarded her casually. "What is a pity?" he asked. - -"Haven't you heard?" she cried. "Why, this afternoon poor little -Toots--Madge Saunderson's dog--fell into the mill-stream." - -"Thank God!" ejaculated the Barrister, brutally. - -"Oh, I know he wasn't an attractive dog!" she said. - -"Attractive!" he interrupted. "Why, the little beast's snorts -reverberated through the house!" - -"But still," she continued, firmly, "I don't think Mr. Benton should -have let it drown before his eyes without raising a finger to save it. -He stood stock-still on the bank--hesitating; and then it was too late. -Of course, I suppose it was a little dangerous." She shrugged a -delightful pair of shoulders gracefully. "I don't think most men would -have hesitated." She glanced at the Rising Barrister as she spoke, and -if he failed to alter the "most men" to his own advantage the fault was -certainly not hers. It struck him suddenly that pink gave a most -attractive lighting effect. - -"Er--perhaps not," he murmured. "Still, I expect he was quite right, -you know. One--er--should be very careful what one says in cases of -this sort." - -Which was why a few minutes later he retailed the story to the -Celebrated Actor, over a sherry-and-bitters. - -"The faintest tinge of the yellow streak," he said, confidentially. -"There was something or other in France--I don't exactly recall it at -this moment. I know I heard something." - -But the Celebrated Actor flatly refused to agree. "I don't know anything -about France," he said, firmly. "I know a lot about that dog. If a -suitable occasion arises, I shall publicly propose a vote of thanks to -young Benton. Would you believe me, sir, only yesterday, when outlining -my part in my new play to Lady Vera and one or two others, the little -brute bit me in the ankle! True, I had inadvertently trodden on it, -but----" He waved a careless hand, as if dismissing such a trifling -cause. - -From all of which it will be seen what the general feeling in the house -was towards Peter Benton on the night in question. And Peter, a very -discerning young man, was not slow to realize it. At first it had -amused him; after a while he had become annoyed. More or less a -stranger in the locality, he had not known the depth of the mill-stream; -and he frankly admitted to himself that he had hesitated to go into that -black, swirling water, not a stone's throw from the mill itself, in -order to save a dog. He had hesitated, and in a second it had been too -late. The dog had flashed past him, and he had watched it disappear -over the fall by the wheel. It was only later that to him the -additional reason of the dog's extreme age and general ill-health -presented itself. And the additional reason had not added to his -popularity with the animal's mistress. - -He quite saw her point of view: he was annoyed because no one apparently -saw his. And he was far too proud to attempt any explanation--apart -from seeing the futility of it. He could imagine the cold -answer--"Doubtless you were perfectly right. Poor little Toots is dead -now. Shall we consider the incident closed?" - -Savagely he kicked the turf on the lawn outside the window where they -were dancing. For three in succession Sybil had had Captain Seymour as -her partner, and Peter had hoped---- - -"Oh, hang that horrible little dog!" he muttered to himself, striding -viciously away into the garden. - -A brilliant moon was shining, flooding the country with a cold white -light, in which things stood out almost as clearly as by day. Half a -mile away an unfinished factory chimney, still with its scaffolding -round it, rose sheer and black against the sky. Around it new works -were being erected, and for a while Peter stood motionless, gazing at -the thin column of bricks and mortar. - -Only that morning he had watched men at work on it, with almost a -shudder. They looked like so many flies crawling over the flimsy -boards, and he had waited while one workman had peered nonchalantly over -the edge of his plank and indulged in a wordy warfare with the man -below. It seemed that unless the latter mended his ways he would shortly -receive a brick on his blinking nut; but it was the complete disregard -for their dizzy height that had fascinated Peter. He could imagine few -professions which he would less sooner join than that of steeplejack. -And yet the funny thing was that on the occasions when he had flown he -had not noticed any discomfort at all. - -Presumably there was some scientific reason for it--something which -would account for the fact that, though he could fly at twenty times the -height of St. Paul's without feeling giddy, on the occasion when he had -looked over the edge of that great dome from the little platform at the -top he had been overcome with a sort of dreadful nausea and had had to -go back quickly. - -"Why, Peter, what are you doing here all alone?" A voice behind him -made him look round. - -For a moment the dog episode had gone out of his mind, and, with a quick -smile, he took a step towards the speaker. "Why, Sybil," he said, "how -topping you look! Isn't it a glorious night?" And then suddenly he -remembered, and stopped with a frown. - -"Peter," said the girl, quietly, "I want to hear about this afternoon -from you, please." - -"Haven't you heard all there is to be heard?" he answered, a little -bitterly. "Miss Saunderson's dog fell into the mill-stream. I failed -to pull it out: to be strictly accurate, I failed to attempt to pull it -out. That's all there is to it." - -They faced one another in the moonlight, and after a while the girl -spoke again. "That's not like you. Peter. Why did you let it drown?" - -"Because," said the man, deliberately, "I did not consider I was called -on to risk my life to save a dog. Even poor little Toots," he added, -cynically. - -"Supposing it had been a child, Peter?" said the girl, gravely. - -"My God!" answered the man, very low. "As bad as that, is it? Oh, my -God!" - -"They're saying things, Peter: all these people are saying things." - -The man thrust his hands into his pockets, and stared with brooding eyes -at the black, lifeless chimney. - -"Saying I'm a coward, are they?" He forced the words out. "What do you -think, Sybil?" - -The girl bit her lip, and suddenly put her hand on his arm. "Oh, -Peter," she whispered, "it wasn't like you--not a bit!" - -"You think," he said, dispassionately, "that I should have been -justified--more, that I ought to have jumped into the mill-stream in -flood to save that dog?" - -But the girl made no answer: she only looked miserably at the man's -averted face. - -"I don't know," she said at length. "I don't know. It's so--so -difficult to know what to say." - -Gently Peter Benton removed her hand from his arm. "That is quite a -good enough answer for me, Sybil." He faced her gravely. "The thing is -unfortunate, because I was going to ask you--to-night----" His jaw set -and he turned away for a moment. Then he faced her again. "But never -mind that now: the situation, as they say in Parliament, does not arise. -I would like you, however, to know that I do not think about the matter -at all. For one brief second this afternoon I did think about it; for -the fraction of a minute I had made up my mind to go in after the dog. -And then I realized how utterly unjustifiable such an action would be. -Since that moment--as I say--I have not thought about the matter at -all." - -"And supposing it had been Ruffles?" asked the girl, slowly. - -For a while the man hesitated. Then: "My decision would have been the -same," he answered, turning on his heel. - - - *II* - - -Inside the house the Celebrated Actor and the Rising Barrister were each -proving to their own satisfaction, if not to their partners', that the -modern dance held no terrors for them. The two boys were getting warmer -and more energetic; Lady Vera, after chatting for a little with the -Great Doctor and the Well-known Soldier, had left them to their own -devices, and had joined the two elderly ladies on the sofa. - -In a corner of the room sat Captain Seymour talking to Madge Saunderson, -though, incidentally, she was doing most of the talking; and with them -sat the two other girls. Every now and then Seymour frowned -uncertainly, and shook his head: the invariable signal for all three -girls to lean forward in their most beseeching manner and look adoringly -up into his face. - -"I wonder," remarked the Doctor, after watching the quartette for a -while, "what mischief those girls are plotting?" - -The Soldier adjusted his eyeglass and looked across the room. "Probably -asking for his autograph," he answered, cynically. "What I want to know -is where my teacher has gone to--Miss Sybil." - -"I saw her go out into the garden some time ago," said the Doctor. "By -Gad, but I'm sorry about this afternoon!" - -The Soldier pulled at his cigar. "I am not well versed in the family -history," he murmured, "and the connection is a trifle obscure." - -"That confounded dog!" answered the Doctor. "Those two are head over -heels in love with one another." - -"And you think----?" - -"My dear fellow," said the Doctor, "Sybil is one of the dearest girls in -the country. I brought her into the world; in many ways she is like my -own daughter. But--she is a girl. And if I know anything about the -sex, she'd find it easier to forgive him if he'd stolen." - -A peal of laughter from the quartette opposite made both men look up. -Seymour was nodding his head resignedly and Madge Saunderson was -clapping her hands together with glee. - -"Don't forget," her voice came clearly across the room, "we'll pretend -it's a bet." - -It was at that moment that Sybil appeared in the window, and the Soldier -let his eyes dwell on the girl approvingly. - -"What a thoroughbred!" he said at length, turning to the Doctor. "I'm -not certain it isn't better--as it is." - -"Hang it, man!" said the Doctor, irritably. "The boy is a thoroughbred, -too. What did you say yourself after dinner about the results having to -justify the sacrifice?" - -But the Soldier only grunted non-committally. - -It would doubtless be an excellent thing if theory and practice never -clashed. - -Sybil came slowly into the room, and Madge Saunderson rose with a -meaning glance at Captain Seymour. - -"Syb," she cried, "we've got the finest bet on you've ever thought of! -I've betted Captain Seymour six pairs of gloves that he doesn't climb up -Mill Down chimney in the moonlight, and he's betted me five hundred of -his most special cigarettes that he does." - -For a moment a silence settled on the room, which was broken by Lady -Vera. "But are you quite sure it's safe, my dear?" she remarked, -searching for a dropped stitch. "It might fall down or something." - -Miss Saunderson laughed merrily. "Why, Aunt Vera," she cried, "there -are men working on it every day. It's quite safe--only I bet he'll have -cold feet, and not get to the top--V.C. and all." She flashed a smile -at the flying-man. "And it's a ripping evening for a walk." - -The Doctor turned to his companion. "I wonder what that young woman's -game is?" he remarked, thoughtfully. - -"I don't know," answered the Soldier. "I suppose you've got a good head -for heights, Seymour?" he called out. - -"Pretty fair, sir," replied the airman, with a grin. "I don't mind -twenty thousand feet, so I don't think Mill Down chimney should worry me -much." - -"The two things are not quite alike," said a quiet voice from the -window, and everyone turned to see Peter Benton standing there, with his -hands in his pockets. "I've got a shocking head for height myself, but -I never noticed it when I was flying." - -"I think I will chance it," answered Seymour with a slight drawl, and -having recently been supplied with Madge Saunderson's version of the dog -accident his tone was understandable. - -"Let's all go down and see he doesn't cheat," cried one of the girls, -and there was a general exodus of the younger members of the party for -wraps. Only Sybil, with troubled eyes, stood motionless, staring out -into the brilliant moonlight; while Peter, lighting a cigarette, picked -up an illustrated paper and glanced through it. And to the Doctor, -watching the scene with his shrewd grey eyes, the only person in the -room who seemed ill at ease was the flying-man himself. - -"What would the world be like," he remarked to the Soldier, "if woman -lost her power to cause man to make a fool of himself?" - -"Good Lord! my dear fellow," said the other, "it's only an after-dinner -prank. That boy will do it on his head." - -"I dare say he will," returned the Doctor. "But it's cheap, and he knows -it." He rose. "Shall we go down and witness the feat?" - -"Why not?" answered the Soldier. "It may stop Deering telling us again -about his new play." - - -Half an hour later the whole house-party were grouped round the base of -the chimney. Close to, it seemed to have grown in height, till it -towered above them into the starlit sky. The girls were chattering -gaily, standing around Seymour--except for Sybil, who stood a little -apart; while the two Eton boys were busily engaged hi deciding on the -correct method of ascent. Seated on a pile of bricks sat the four men, -more occupied with a never-ending political argument than the -performance of climbing the chimney; while in the background, standing -by himself, was Peter Benton, with a twisted, bitter smile on his face. - -He was under no delusions as to why the bet had been made: just a -further episode, thought out by a spiteful girl, to show his conduct -that afternoon in a blacker light. On the surface, at any rate, it was -more dangerous to the ordinary man to climb this chimney than to go into -the mill-stream. And this was being done merely for sport--as a prank; -while the other might have saved a dog's life. - -With a laugh, Seymour swung himself off the ground, and started to -climb. He went up swiftly, without faltering; and after a while even -the political discussion ceased, and the party below stared upwards in -silence. In the cold white light the climber looked like some gigantic -insect, creeping up the brickwork, and gradually as he neared the top -the spectators moved farther away from the base of the chimney, in order -to see him better. At length he reached the limit of the main -scaffolding; only some temporary makeshift work continued for the few -feet that separated him from the actual top. He hesitated for a moment, -apparently reconnoitring the best route; and Madge Saunderson, cupping -her mouth in her hands, shouted up to him: - -"Right up, Captain Seymour, or you won't get your cigarettes." - -And Seymour looked down. - -It would be hard to say the exact moment when the watchers below -realized that something was wrong--all, that is, save Madge Saunderson -and the other two girls who had been in the quartette. - -It was the Doctor who rose suddenly and said, "Heavens! he's lost his -head!" - -"Don't shout!" said the Soldier, imperatively. "Leave it to me." He -looked up, and his voice rang through the night: "Captain -Seymour--General Hardcastle speaking. Don't look down. Look up--do you -hear me?--look up. At once!" But the face of the aviator still peered -down at them, and it almost seemed as if they could see his wide, -staring eyes. - -"My God!" muttered the Soldier. "What are we going to do?" - -"Let's all shout together," said the Actor. - -"No good," cried the General. "You'll only confuse him." - -And it was then that the quiet voice of Peter Benton was heard. He was -talking to Madge Saunderson, who with the other two girls had been -whispering together, ignorant that he was close behind them in the -shadow. - -"Do I understand you to say, Miss Saunderson, that Captain Seymour is -only pretending?" - -"You had no business to hear what I said, Mr. Benton," she answered, -angrily. "I wasn't talking to you." - -But the Doctor appeared interested, and very few of either sex had ever -hesitated for long when he became serious. - -"You will kindly tell me at once whether this is a joke," he said, -grimly. - -For a moment the girl's eyes flashed mutinously, and then she laughed--a -laugh which rang a little false. - -"If you wish to know, it is," she answered, defiantly. "I wanted to -find out if Mr. Benton would consider a human life worth saving." - -She laughed again, as the four men with one accord turned their backs on -her. - -"Perhaps it would be as well, then," said Peter, calmly, "for you to -tell Captain Seymour that the charming little jest has been discovered, -and that he can come down again." - -She looked at him contemptuously; then, raising her voice, she shouted -to the man above: "You can come: down, Captain Seymour: they've found -out our little joke." - -But the aviator remained motionless. - -"Come down," she cried again. "Can't you hear me?" But Seymour's face, -like a white patch, still peered down, and suddenly a girl started -sobbing. - -"It would seem," remarked Peter, "that the plot is going to be -successful after all." - -The next moment, before anyone realized what was happening, he was -climbing steadily up towards the motionless man at the top. - -There was only one remark made during that second ascent, and it came -from the Doctor. - -"You deserve, young woman," he said, quietly, to Madge Saunderson, "to -be publicly whipped through the streets of London." - -Then silence reigned, broken only by Peter, as he paused every now and -then to shout some encouraging remark to the man above. - -"I'm coming, Seymour. Absolutely all right. Can't you send for one of -your bally machines, and save us both the trouble of climbing down -again?" - -Between each remark he climbed steadily on, until at last he was within -a few feet of the aviator. - -"Look away from me, Seymour," he ordered, quietly, gazing straight into -the unblinking, staring eyes above. "Look at the brickwork beside you. -Do as I tell you, Seymour. Look at the brickwork beside you." - -For what seemed an eternity to those below the two men stayed -motionless; then a great shuddering sigh broke from them--Seymour was no -longer looking down. - -It was only the General who spoke, and he was not conscious of doing so. -"By Gad! you're right, Doctor," he muttered. "He's thoroughbred right -enough--he's thoroughbred." - -And the Great Doctor, whose iron nerve had earned for him the reputation -of being one of the two finest operating surgeons in Europe, wiped the -sweat from his forehead with a hand that shook like a leaf. - -Then began the descent. - -"Look at the brickwork the whole time, Seymour--and hold fast with your -hands. Now give me your right foot: give me your right foot, do you -hear? That's it--now the left." - -Step by step, with Peter just below him, the aviator came down the -chimney, and he was still thirty feet from the bottom when the onlookers -saw him pause and pass a hand over his forehead. He gazed down at them, -and on his face there was a look of dazed surprise--like a man waking -from a dream. Then he swung himself rapidly down to the ground, where -he stood facing Peter. - -"You've saved my life, old man," he said, a little breathlessly, with -the wondering look still in his eyes. "I--don't understand quite what -happened. I seemed to go all queer--when I looked down." He laughed -shakily. "Dashed funny thing--er--thanks, most awfully. Good Lord! -What's the matter, old boy?" - -He leant over Peter, who had pitched forward unconscious at his feet. - - -"I think," remarked the Well-known Soldier to no one in particular, as -they walked back, "that the less said about this little episode the -better. It was a good deal too near a tragedy for my liking." - -"A most instructive case," murmured the Great Doctor, "showing, first of -all, the wonderful power of self-hypnotism. I have heard of similar -cases in those old-fashioned London houses, where the light in the hall -has fascinated people leaning over the banisters two or three stories -above it, and caused them to want to throw themselves over." - -"And what is your second observation?" murmured the Rising Barrister, -who was always ready to learn. - -"The influence of mind over matter," returned the Doctor, briefly, "and -the strain involved in the successful overcoming of intense fear. Young -Benton has never, and will never, do a braver thing in his life than he -did to-night." - -"Ah!" murmured the Celebrated Actor, running his hand through his hair. -"What a situation! Magnificent! Superb! But, I fear, unstageable." - -They entered the drawing-room, to find the conversation being -monopolized by a newcomer--a captain in the Coldstream. It was perhaps -as well: the remainder of the party seemed singularly indisposed to -talk. - -"Climbin' chimneys? Might be in you flying wallahs' line--but not old -Peter. D'you remember, Peter, turnin' pea-green that time we climbed -half-way up Wipers Cathedral, before they flattened it?" The Guardsman -laughed at the recollection. "No--swimming is his stunt," he continued -to everyone at large. "How he ever had the nerve to go overboard--in -the most appalling sea--and rescue that fellow, I dunno. It was a great -effort that, Peter." - -But the only answer was the door closing. - -"A good swimmer, is he?" remarked the Great Doctor, casually. - -"Wonderful," answered the other. "The rougher it is the more he likes -it. He got the Royal Humane Society's medal, you know, for that thing I -was talking about. Leave-boat--off Boulogne." - -He rattled on, but no one seemed to be paying very much attention. In -fact, the only other remark of interest was made by the Rising -Barrister, just as the door closed once again--this time behind Sybil. - -"That was what I remember hearing about in France," he said, calmly, to -the Great Doctor. "You remember I was mentioning it to you before -dinner. I knew there was something." - -"Wonderful!" murmured the Actor. "Quite wonderful!" - -The Rising Barrister coughed deprecatingly, and lit a cigarette. - - - - - _*VIII -- "Good Hunting, Old Chap"*_ - - - *I* - - -The Well-known Soldier leaned back in his chair, and thoughtfully held -his glass up to the light. - -"Personally," he remarked at length, "I would sooner be sent to prison -for five years for a thing I had done than be let out after two and a -half for a thing I hadn't." - -"An interesting point," conceded the Celebrated Actor. "But to the -casual observer, unversed in psychology, it might appear to be merely a -choice between five years of hell and two and a half." - -The Celebrated Actor, it may be stated, had recently been dipping into -various "ologies" in the course of studying his newest and greatest -part. Luckily for the sake of the public, the leaves of most of the -treatises were still uncut, which ensured that his rendering of the -strong, silent Napoleon of finance would not differ appreciably from his -own celebrated personality. Incidentally he had never intended that it -should, but the author of the play was a serious young man, and the -Actor was nothing if not tactful. - -"I am inclined to disagree, General," said the Eminent Divine. "Surely -the moral support of a clear conscience----" - -"Quite," murmured the Actor. "Quite." - -"Would cut no ice, Bishop," declared the Soldier. "Two and a half years -is too long a time for such a comparatively frail support as a clear -conscience. Especially a youngster's." - -"Exactly," agreed the Actor. "Exactly. Two and a half years of hell -for something one has not done.... Appalling--quite appalling." With -great care he continued the delicate process of peeling a walnut. - -But the Bishop was not convinced. "All the time he would know that a -mistake had been made; that sooner or later he would be cleared in the -eyes of the world. Whereas if he was guilty he would know that no such -chance existed, and that when he came out from prison he would be an -outcast--a jail-bird." - -The Soldier shook his head and drained his glass. "Right in theory, -Bishop; right in practice, too, if the clearing had been quicker. But -two and a half years is too long. Hope would die: a youngster would -grow bitter." - -"Where is he now?" demanded the Celebrated Actor, sweeping back his hair -with the gesture for which he was rightly famous. - -"No one knows," said the Soldier, quietly. "He came out a week ago. His -brother met him at the prison gates, but Hugh gave him the slip. And -since then he's hidden himself. Of course, he could be traced, but his -father is wise, I think, in not doing so." - -The Bishop nodded. "He will find himself in time; and it's best to -leave him alone till he does. A good boy, too." - -For a while the three men were silent while the soft summer breeze -played gently through the old-fashioned garden outside, and the -wonderful scent of the laburnum came fragrant through the open windows. - -"I forget exactly what happened," remarked the Actor, at length. "I was -producing 'King Lear' at the time, I remember, and----" He glanced -inquiringly at the General. - -"A fairly common story," returned the Soldier, lighting a cigarette -thoughtfully. "The boy had been an ass and owed a lot of money to some -bookmaker. Then he plunged on the Derby--the year Signorinetta won at a -hundred to one--and went down, like most of us did. Two days afterwards -a couple of thousand in cash was missing. Also the books were falsified -over a long period. Everything pointed to him, and they found him -guilty, though he protested his innocence all through. A month ago the -real thief confessed--two and half years too late." - -The General shrugged his shoulders, and then suddenly sat motionless, -staring with narrowed eyes into the darkness outside. - -"Quaint how one's eyes deceive one at night." He sat back again in his -chair. "For a moment I thought I saw someone moving by the edge of the -lawn." - -"And your niece?" pursued the Actor. "Weren't they engaged or -something?" - -"Yes. It almost broke Beryl's heart. You know, of course, the dog was -his?" - -"I did not," said the Actor. "Ah! that accounts, of course, for her -terrible grief." - -"If I had my way," snarled the General, fiercely, "I'd flog that young -swine Parker to within an inch of his worthless life. And then I'd put -a trap on his own leg." - -The Actor nodded. "I agree, General. Personally I am no great -dog-lover. They have a way of concealing themselves about the furniture -which is most disconcerting should one inadvertently sit upon them. But -a trap----" - -He shuddered, and poured himself out some more port. - -"If only we could get hold of the boy," mused the General, returning to -his original theme. "I can guess what he's feeling, and the longer he -goes on without the human touch, the harder and more bitter he'll -become. He wants to be made to shake hands with reality again; to hit -something, if you like--but to get it over. He's bottling it up--I know -it; and it's a bad thing for a youngster to bottle up bitterness." - -The Soldier rose and strolled over to the window. For a while he leaned -against the open frame, smoking quietly, and hardly conscious of the -argument which had started in the room behind him. The power of the -stage as a pulpit was an evergreen with the Celebrated Actor, and he -felt in no mood for a discussion on the matter. The youngster, Hugh -Dawnay, was filling his mind, and also Tommy, that morning. - -He'd helped the vet. put the little terrier under, with a dose of -prussic acid, and after it was over the two men had stared at one -another, and then looked away, as is the manner of men who are feeling -deeply. - -"I hate it, more and more each time," said the vet., gruffly. "Poor -little chap!" - -"It's worse than a man," snapped the General. "A dog trusts a fellow -so--so infernally. Damn that young Parker!" - -With which explosion he had blown his nose loudly and stalked off for a -long walk. - -At length he pitched his cigarette away and turned back into the room. -And at that moment, very clear and distinct from somewhere in the -garden, there came a low whistle. - -"Hush! you fellows, listen!" The argument ceased at his abrupt words, -and the two men stared at him, as he stood motionless half-way between -the table and the window. "Did you hear that whistle?" - -"Personally, I did not," remarked the Actor, "but at the moment I was -engrossed in other matters. A vulgar habit--whistling--but not, I -regret to say, uncommon." - -"There's someone in the garden," said the General. "I thought I saw -something move earlier, and just then I heard a whistle most -distinctly." - -"My dear man," said the Actor, with a beneficent wave of his shapely -hand, "are there not maidservants in the house? I fear that soldiering -destroys romance." - -The Soldier grunted. "Perhaps you're right. My mind was busy with other -things. I think I'll take a stroll outside, too, for a bit. Give me a -hail when you've finished your discussion." - -He moved once more towards the window, only to pause on the threshold. - -"Why, Hugh, my dear lad," he said, quietly, "it's good to see you again. -Come in." - -And the Celebrated Actor and the Eminent Divine, looking up quickly at -his words, saw a man standing outside on the path, whose face was the -face of one into whose soul the iron had entered. - -For a moment or two Hugh Dawnay hesitated. Then, with the faintest -perceptible shrug of his shoulders, he stepped into the room. He -glanced at each man in turn; then his eyes came back to the Soldier's -face and rested there. - -"Good evening, General." His voice was quite expressionless. "I must -apologize for intruding like this." - -"Apologize!" The Soldier smiled at him. "What the devil is there to -apologize about? I'm just amazingly glad to see you. Do you know the -Bishop of Sussex and Mr. Trayne?" - -"I had the pleasure of seeing you act, Mr. Trayne, just before I was so -kindly accommodated at His Majesty's expense." Hugh's voice was as -expressionless as ever. "I suppose you are still charming London with -your art?" - -For the first time in his life the Celebrated Actor felt at a loss. Had -some charming woman made the remark to him--and many had--he would have -known his cue. A deprecating wave of his hands--a half-hearted -denial--a delicately turned compliment; it was all too easy. But as he -stared at the boy on the other side of the table--the boy with the tired -face of a man--the cloak of mannerisms which he had worn successfully -for twenty years slipped off, and the soul of the great artist--and he -was that, for all his artificiality--showed in his eyes. More clearly, -perhaps, than either of the other two, he realized the dreadful laughter -which was shaking the boy's soul; realized the bitter cynicism behind -the ordinary words. More clearly than they could he saw himself, he saw -the room, he saw life through the eyes of Hugh Dawnay. - -"I still strut my small part," he said, gravely. "I still win a little -brief applause. And if I can help those who see me to forget the -bitterness and sorrow of the day, even though it be only for a while, it -is enough." He rose, and laid both his hands on the boy's shoulders. -"Forgive an old mummer's presumption, my lad. Don't think me an -impertinent fool prating of what I do not know and cannot understand. -You have been in the depths. God knows how deep and bitter they have -been--God and you--unjustly, unfairly--I know that. And to you at the -moment we seem typical of the smug respectability which pushed you -there. Vain words of regret--empty phrases of sorrow, cannot give you -back your two and a half wasted years any more than my playing alters -the realities of the past. But maybe the hour or two of forgetfulness -helps a man to face the realities of the future. Will you not try to -forget, too?" - -"And what play will you stage for me, Mr. Trayne," answered Hugh, -quietly, "which will help me to forget? Will you cast me for the -principal part, or am I to be one of the audience?" The boy threw back -his head and laughed silently. "Two and a half years of the same -soul-killing monotony. Why, I became an expert at talking to the man -next to me, who was a 'lifer.' They couldn't prove he'd actually -intended to murder the girl, and his counsel successfully pleaded drink. -A charming fellow." Once again he laughed; then, with a quick movement, -he thrust his hands in his pockets and, stepping back towards the -window, faced the three men for a while in silence. - -"For a moment or two you must listen to me," he said, and there was a -harsh commanding ring in his voice. "Each of you is old enough to be my -father in years; I am older than all of you combined in reality. At -least, that is how I feel just now. You, Mr. Trayne, have talked about -forgetfulness; in time, perhaps, I shall forget. But there's something -inside me at the present moment which is numbing me. I can't feel, I -can't think, I can't hate--I'm simply apathetic. I don't want to have -anything to do with men; I want to get right away from them. And I'm -going--I'm going; but I'm not going alone." He swung round and faced -the Soldier. "Do you know why I've come here to-night, General?" - -The Soldier looked at him quietly. "To see Beryl? Because she'd like -to see you, Hugh." - -But Hugh Dawnay shook his head. "No, not to see Beryl. I'm not fit to -see her--yet. Perhaps in a year or two--if she isn't--married by then. -No, it's not to see any human being; not even her. It's to get Tommy; -and take him with me out into the big spaces where, perhaps, in time one -may see things differently." - -Unconscious of the effect of his words on his listeners, he had turned -and was staring into the soft summer night. - -"All the time that I've been in prison"--and his voice had lost its -harshness--"I've thought, of that little chap. I've sat on my stool in -the cell, and I've felt his cold, wet muzzle thrust into my hand: I've -seen his eyes--those great brown eyes--staring up at me, asking for a -hunt. But there's no hunting in prison--no rabbits: and I used to -promise him that when I came out we'd go off together, just he and I--on -to the moors somewhere--and be alone. He wouldn't mind even if I'd done -it--even if I had stolen the money. That's the wonder of a dog: where -he's so infinitely better than a man." The boy gave a little sigh, and -for the first time a genuine smile flickered round his lips. "I've been -all round the house, whistling and looking for him--but I expect he's in -the drawing-room somewhere. With Beryl, perhaps. I wonder, General, if -you'd get him for me?" - -He glanced at the Soldier, and slowly his eyes dilated, as he saw the -look on the older man's face. He glanced at the Bishop, who was staring -at the cloth; he glanced at the Actor, who was staring at the Bishop, -and suddenly he gave a little choking cry. - -"My God!" he muttered, brokenly, "don't tell me that! Don't say that -Tommy is--dead!" - -It was the Soldier who answered, and his voice was suspiciously gruff. - -"The little fellow was mauled in a trap this morning, old chap: and we -had--to put him out of the way." - -"Mauled in a trap?" The boy's voice was dead. "Tommy mauled in a trap? -Who laid the trap?" - -And it was the Actor who sat up, with a sudden light in his eyes, and -supplied the information. - -"Young Parker, who is farming the bit of ground next to here," he said, -with almost unnecessary distinctness. "You can see his house through -the trees." - -"Young Parker? I remember young Parker." Covertly the Celebrated Actor -watched the boy's face, and what he saw there seemed to afford him -satisfaction. - -"Where is the little dog buried?" asked the boy, quietly. - -"Underneath the old yew tree," said the General. "Beryl put a ring of -stones around his grave this afternoon." - -"I see," said the boy. "Thank you. I'm sorry to have troubled you." - -The next instant he was gone, and it was the Actor who stopped the -Soldier as he was on the point of going after him. - -"The boy has got his part," he remarked, cryptically. "At present he -requires no prompting." - -"What the deuce are you talking about?" demanded the General, irritably. - -But the Celebrated Actor was himself once more. - -"Leave it to me, my dear fellow," he murmured, magnificently, throwing -back his head in another of those famous gestures which were the pride -and delight of countless multitudes. "Leave it entirely to me. The -stage is set: very soon the curtain will ring up." He stalked to the -window, and stood for a moment on the path outside, while the other two -looked at one another and shrugged their shoulders. - -"Can't feel, can't think, can't hate. That boy feels and thinks and -hates--hates, I tell you, at this moment." - -With which Parthian shot the Celebrated Actor vanished into the night. - -"What on earth is the fellow driving at?" said the Soldier, peevishly. - -But the answer to that question was apparently beyond the scope of the -Eminent Divine, and in silence the two men listened to the scrunch of -the Actor's footsteps on the gravel, growing fainter and fainter in the -distance. - - - *II* - - -Half an hour later they were still sitting at the table. The Actor had -not returned: there had been no further sign of Hugh, and the inaction -was getting on the Soldier's nerves. Twice had he risen and gone to the -window: twice had he taken a few steps into the darkness outside, only -to return and hover undecidedly by the fireplace. - -"I feel I ought to go and look for the boy," he remarked for the -twentieth time. "Trayne's such an ass." - -And for the twentieth time the Bishop counselled patience. - -"In some ways he is," he agreed: "in others he's very shrewd. He's got -more imagination, General, than both of us put together, and real -imagination is akin to genius. Leave him alone: he can't do any harm." - -With a non-committal grunt, the Soldier sat down, only to rise again -immediately as a tall, slight girl in white came in through the open -window. There was a misty look in her eyes, and her lips were faintly -tremulous, but she came straight up to the General and put a hand on his -arm. The other hand, with a piece of paper clutched in it, she held -behind her back. - -"Hugh has come back, Uncle Jim," she said. "Did you know?" - -"Yes, old lady, I knew. Have you seen him?" - -"No, I haven't seen him. Did he--did he come for Tommy?" - -The General nodded. "Yes. And I told him what had happened." - -For a moment the girl's lips quivered. "Poor old Hugh!" - -Very gently the Soldier stroked the girl's hair. "We must give him time, -Beryl. He's--he's not quite himself yet. By the way," he added, struck -by a sudden thought, "if you haven't seen him, how do you know he's come -back?" - -The girl's eyes filled with tears. "I went out to Tommy's grave -again--I wanted to see that the little fellow was comfortable, -and--and--I found this." - -She held out the scrap of paper to the Soldier, and then broke down -uncontrollably. And the man, having glanced at it, coughed with -unnecessary violence and handed it to the Eminent Divine. - -"It was just like him--just like Hugh," sobbed the girl. "And -Tommy--why, what more would Tommy want?" She picked up the paper and -stared at it through her tears. "'Good hunting, old chap.--H.D.' Good -hunting. He's got a soul--I know he has. He's having the most glorious -chase after bunnies now--somewhere--somewhere else. Isn't he?" - -She turned appealingly to the Bishop, but that eminent Pillar of the -Church was engrossed in the study of a very ordinary print, and from the -assiduous manner he was polishing his glasses he seemed to be having -difficulties with his eyesight. - -And it was thus a moment or two later that the Celebrated Actor found -them. - -"Successful." He barked the word grandiloquently from the window. -"Utterly and completely successful. The curtain is shortly going up: it -would be well if the audience took their seats as silently as possible." - -"What do you mean, Mr. Trayne?" The girl was staring at him in -amazement through her tears. - -"A very human play, my dear young lady, is on the point of being acted. -As producer, general manager, and box office combined, I beg to state -that there will be only one performance. The financial receipts will be -_nil_: the moral receipts will be a soul regained. And who shall say -that it is not a more tangible asset?" For a while he stared -magnificently at nothing, with one hand thrust carelessly out--that -attitude which had long caused infatuated denizens of the pit to stand -for hours in dreadful draughts lest they should fail to secure the front -row. Then he returned with an effort to things mundane. "Follow me," -he ordered, "and do not talk or make a noise." - -"Where's the boy, Trayne?" demanded the General, almost angrily. In his -own vernacular, he was feeling rattled. - -"You shall see in good time. Come." - -It was a strange procession which might have been seen wending its way -through the darkness a little later. First came the Celebrated -Actor--supremely happy, as befits the great showman who has the goods to -offer. Then, a few steps behind him, was the Well-known Soldier, -periodically muttering under his breath, and with the girl's hand on his -arm. Behind them again trotted the Eminent Divine, unable to see very -well in the dark, and continually stubbing his toes on various -obstructions in the ground. - -"Where is he taking us to?" whispered the girl to her uncle. - -"Heaven knows, my dear!" he answered, irritably. "The man's an ass, as -I've said before." - -"But what did he mean about the very human play?" she persisted. "And -the soul regained?" - -Before the Soldier could answer, the guide turned, and holding up his -hand demanded silence. - -"We approach the stage," he declaimed. "Silence is essential." - -He led the way between some trees, and finally halted behind a clump of -low bushes. - -"Personally," he whispered, "I am a man of peace, but it struck me from -my rudimentary knowledge of pugilism that the clearing in front was -ideally suited to that brutal form of amusement. And when I suggested -it to Hugh, he quite agreed." - -"You suggested it to Hugh!" said the Soldier slowly, and gradually a -look of comprehension began to dawn in his eyes. "Why, Actor-man, -Actor-man, I retract every thought I've had about you to-night." - -He peered cautiously through the bushes, and a slow smile spread over -his face. - -"Tell me, Actor-man," he whispered, "how did you get the other?" - -"I howled such insults as I could think of in my poor way through the -window." - -Then he, too, cautiously peered over the top of the bush. "What think -you of my show, Soldier-man?" - -"It is altogether beautiful and lovely to regard," replied the other. -"Can the Church see?" - -And, behold, the Church was lying on its stomach to get a better view. - -The moonlight shone down, clear and bright, on the little glade in -front. At the back of it, in the trees, stood young Parker's house, but -young Parker himself, with an ugly sneer on his face, was engaged in -removing his coat. Facing him stood Hugh Dawnay, and in the cold white -light his eyes shone hard and merciless. - -"So you want me to thrash you as well as stop your damned dog poaching," -laughed young Parker. "All right, you bally jail-bird, come on!" - -He rushed in as he spoke and his fist shot out as he closed. The fight -had started, and from that moment no one of the fascinated audience -spoke or moved. Parker was the heavier of the two, but the boy was the -better boxer. In fact, in the strict sense of the word, the young farmer -was not a boxer at all--but he was fit and he was strong. And had it -not been for the two and a half years' hard manual labour which the -other had gone through, the issue in all probability would have been -different. - -As it was they fought all out for five minutes, and then young Parker -grew wild. He became flurried--tried rushing--his fists whirling like -flails. And the more flurried he grew the more cool and collected -became the boy. And then came the end. A right-arm jolt below his -heart brought the farmer's head forward, a left uppercut under the jaw -laid him out. For a while the spectators watched him moaning on the -ground, while the Church wriggled ecstatically under its sheltering -bush. - -"Had enough, you swine?" asked the boy, quietly. - -The prostrate figure mumbled something. - -"Get up and swear to me that you will never again lay a trap in that -part of your land. Get a move on!" he snarled. - -"All right." The farmer shambled to his feet, watching him sullenly. -"I swear." - -"Now go down on your knees and apologize for calling me a jail-bird. -Hurry up, you filthy scum! On your knees, I said." - -And as young Parker went on his knees, according to order, the girl, her -eyes shining like stars, clapped her hands softly together. - -"Quick!" said the Celebrated Actor, authoritatively. "Back to the house, -you people. The play is over and my estimate of the receipts is, I -think, correct." - -Stealthily as it had come, the procession moved back to the house. At -intervals, the Eminent Divine was observed to jolt with his right, -following it up with a slashing left upper-cut into space, what time he -chuckled consumedly. And even a slight error as to distance, which -caused him far more pain than the tree which he unfortunately smote, -failed to damp his spirits. The Soldier walked with a spring in his -step, the Actor hummed gently under his breath, and it was only as they -reached the open window of the dining-room that they realized that the -girl had slipped away in the darkness and was not with them. - -"Where is Beryl?" said the General, pausing on the path. - -"Heaven help the man!" fumed the Actor, addressing space. "His past -career, we understand, is comparatively distinguished from a military -point of view. But"--and he turned accusingly to the Soldier--"you must -have driven every woman you ever met completely off her chump." - -"Chump," chuckled the Bishop, feinting with his right and gently -upper-cutting the Celebrated Actor's celebrated chin. "What is chump, -you old sinner?" - -But the Well-known Soldier only smiled--a trifle sadly. "She's all I've -got, old chap, and her happiness is mine." - -"She is happy now," remarked the Actor, quietly. "The boy's all right." - -For a while the three men were silent, each busy with his own thoughts. -And then over the General's face a grin began to spread. - -"Tell me, you charmer of foolish women," he demanded, "how did you -manage it?" - -"Your vulgar gibe leaves me unmoved," returned the Actor, calmly. -"To-night is merely a proof of how brains and imagination control every -situation. I hope you both appreciate my inference." - -"Go on," chuckled the General. "The Church and the Army hide their -diminished heads." - -"What better destroyer of apathy is there than scrapping with someone, -whom in less civilized and more primitive days one would have killed? I -followed him. I suggested it to him--I even went so far as to assist -him in his search for a suitable spot on which to do it. And then"--he -paused magnificently--"I drew the badger. I bolted the fox. I -extracted young Parker." - -"How?" murmured the Church. - -"I hit him first on the head with an over-ripe pear, which I threw -through the window. A wonderful shot--not once in a hundred times would -I do it again. And as he jumped up from the table where he was sitting, -I spoke to him from my heart." - -"Yes," grinned the Soldier. "And what did you say?" - -"I said, 'You dirty louse--you maimer of little dogs--come out and -fight, unless you're a coward as well as a swine.' Then," murmured the -Actor, "I ran as fast as I could, for fear he might mistake his opponent -and start on me." - -For a space there was silence, while the Army and the Church shook -hopelessly, and the Stage impressively lit a cigar. And it was as he -deposited the match in an ash-tray on the table that he saw the piece of -paper lying in front of him. He read what was written on it, and then -he turned slowly and looked at the other two. - -"So that's what he was doing under the yew tree," he said, softly. -"Dear lad! Why, yes, he's a dear lad." - -"Of course he is," returned the Soldier, gruffly. "What the devil did -you think?" - - -It was under the yew tree that the boy and the girl met. She was -kneeling there, her frock gleaming white in the moonlight as Hugh came -through the trees, and for a time he watched her without speaking. Two -and a half years--more--since he had seen her, and now it seemed to him -that she was more lovely than ever. His eyes took in every detail of -her, as she bent forward and laid both her hands on the little grave, -and, suddenly, with a great wave of wonder, he realized that all the -bitterness had gone from his soul. The past was blotted out--sponged -from the slate; he was alive again, and the present--why, the present -held out beckoning hands of welcome. - -"Beryl," he whispered very low, but not so low that she failed to hear -him. - -"Why, Hugh, dear," she answered. "I was afraid you'd go away without -seeing me." - -"I should, if--Tommy had been alive." - -He knelt beside her, and together they rearranged two or three of the -stones. - -"I put a bit of paper here," he said, after a moment. - -"I found it," she answered. "That's how I knew you were here--first. -Oh! Hugh"--almost unconsciously she found herself in his arms--"poor -little chap! And I'd been telling him all last week he'd be seeing you -soon." - -"You darling!" The boy's voice was husky. "He knows--Tommy knows." - -And so for a while they clung together, while the scent of the summer -flowers drifting idly by mingled with the scent of her hair. - -"If he'd been here, Beryl, I was going to take him," he said, at last. -"I was bitter--dear heavens! but I was bitter. I felt I didn't even -want to see you. We were going hunting together--just he and I--out in -the wilds." - -"And now, boy," whispered the girl, "are you bitter any more?" - -"No," he answered, wonderingly. "I'm not. Because, Beryl, because I've -thrashed that swine who killed him. Something seemed to snap in me as -he went down and out, and I was conscious of a sort of marvellous -happiness." - -"I know," she said, laughing a little and crying a little, as a girl -will do. "I know, dear boy. I saw you do it." - -"You saw me thrash him!" he said, amazed. "But how? I don't -understand." - -"We all did!" she cried: "Uncle Jim and the Bishop and Mr. Trayne and -me. Mr. Trayne came back and told us to come." - -"I see," said the boy, slowly. "I see. I think I'll go and thank Mr. -Trayne." - -But there are other things in this world more important even than a debt -of gratitude to the most celebrated of Actors, and half an hour later -the boy and the girl were still pacing slowly up and down the lawn. -There were so many things to be discussed--so many glorious plans to be -made for the future--the future out of which the blackness had vanished -so completely. And it was with almost a feeling of reproach that the -girl suddenly turned to him. - -"Why, boy!" she cried, "we've forgotten Tommy." - -"Tommy!" he said. "Why, so we have." He stared at her for a while, and -there was a little quizzical smile on his lips. "It's funny, isn't it?" -he went on slowly, "that the greatest thing the little chap has ever -done for me he has done by his death." He took her in his arms and held -her very close. "If he'd lived, it might have all come right--in time; -but now----" - -And Hugh Dawnay finished his sentence in the only way such sentences can -be finished. - -"Come in, you two youngsters." - -The General's voice came cheerfully from the dining-room, and arm-in-arm -they walked towards the open window. - -Half-way there they paused, and instinctively their eyes turned towards -the old yew tree. - -"Why, there he is, boy," breathed the girl. "Don't you see him, and the -black mark on his neck and his tail wagging?" - -"It's the shadows, darling," answered the boy. "The moonlight through -the trees." - -Maybe, maybe. Who knows? - -Gently he led her on, and she passed into the room ahead of him. And -from the path outside there rose once again into the soft summer night -the farewell message of a friend to a friend: - -"Good hunting, old chap." - - - - - _*IX -- The Man with his Hand in his Pocket*_ - - - *I* - - -"I'll take one card." - -With the expressionless face of the born gambler, the man glanced at his -draw, and laid the five cards face downwards on the table in front of -him. Not a muscle twitched as he leaned back in his chair, his right -hand thrust deep in his trouser-pocket. So had he played all through -the evening, losing with steady persistence and losing highly: losing, -in fact, as only a man can lose who is holding good cards at poker when -somebody else is holding a little better. And now he had drawn one card -to three of a kind, and it had come off. There were four eights in the -hand in front of him, and they had made their appearance just in time. -For Billy Merton knew only too well that the chips by his side -represented everything that was left out of a matter of twenty thousand -pounds. The play was high at the Ultima Thule Club in Bond Street. - -A fat man opposite him had also taken one card, and Merton's keen eye -noticed the twitching of his fingers as he laid his cards down. A bad -gambler, but having a run of the most infernal luck, this fat fellow. -So much the better: he'd probably got a straight at least--possibly a -full house. Fours could be ruled out: the fat man was the type who -would always discard two if he held three of a kind. - -They were playing without a limit, and at length Billy Merton leaned -across the table. - -"My chips are finished, I'm afraid," he remarked, with a faint drawl. -"Will you take paper till the end of the hand?" - -"Certainly," said the fat man, in a voice which shook a little. - -"Good!" With his left hand Merton scrawled an IOU, quite regardless of -the spectators who had collected at the rumour of big play which flies -round with such mysterious rapidity. He might have been playing -halfpenny nap for all the interest he apparently took in the game. - -The fat man saw him at five thousand pounds--which was just four -thousand more than Billy Merton possessed in the world. And the fat man -laid down a straight flush. - -"You're lucky, sir," said Merton, with a genial smile, lighting a -cigarette with a perfectly steady hand. "I'll just cash a cheque and -get you the chips." - -A faint murmur of admiration passed round the onlookers: this -clean-shaven, steady-eyed man with the whimsical smile was a gambler -after their own hearts. Then in a couple of minutes he was forgotten: -players at the Ultima Thule are, in the main, a selfish brand of -individual. Possibly had they suspected the utter hopelessness seething -behind the impassive face of the man who stood by the buffet eating a -caviare sandwich and drinking a glass of champagne, they might not have -forgotten him so quickly. But they did not suspect: Billy Merton saw to -that. It was only as he turned to help himself to another sandwich that -a look of despair came into his eyes. No one could see: the mask could -slip for a moment. Ahead lay ruin and disgrace. The cheque could not be -met next morning: there was no human possibility of raising the money in -the time. And to the descendant of a long race of gamblers there was -something peculiarly abhorrent in failing over a debt of honour. - -"Bad luck--that last hand of yours, sir." A thick-set, middle-aged man -beside him was making a careful study of the various edibles. "Just came -up in time to see the show-down." - -"I have known the cards run better," answered Merton, curtly. - -"I can see that you're a born gambler," continued the man, "and being -one myself--though not in this particular line--one has, if one may say -so, a sort of fellow-feeling." He was munching a sandwich and staring -round the room as he spoke. "The nerve, sir--the nerve required to -stake everything on the turn of a card--on the rise or fall of a -market--by Heaven, it's the only thing in life!" - -Almost against his will--for he was in no mood for talking--Billy Merton -smiled. - -"Your game is the Stock Exchange, is it?" - -"It is, sir--and there's no game like it in the world. Even when ruin -stares you in the face, you've still got till next settling day. You've -still got a chance." - -"I wish the same thing applied here," said Merton, with a hard laugh. - -"As bad as that, is it?" remarked the other, sympathetically. "Never -mind: the luck will change. I guess there have been times when I've -felt like stealing or forging or doing any other blamed thing under the -sun to put my hand on some ready money." - -Merton smiled mirthlessly, and said nothing. The point of view coincided -rather too unpleasantly with his own. - -"And mark you, sir," continued the stranger, dogmatically. "I've got a -greater respect for a man who wins through, by fair means if -possible--but, if not, by foul--than for the weakling who goes down and -out. The first, at any rate, is a _man_." - -Again Merton smiled. "Leaving out the ethical side of your contention, -sir," he remarked, "there are one or two small practical difficulties -that occur to one's mind. It is sometimes as difficult to find the foul -means as it is to find the fair. Burglary and forging rank high amongst -the arts, I believe, which are not taught at most of the public -schools." - -The other man shrugged his shoulders contemptuously. "Of course you -mustn't take me too literally. But"--he thumped an enormous fist into -the open palm of his other hand--"there's always a way, sir, if you've -got the nerve to take it. Nerve: that's the only thing that counts in -this world. Without it--why, you can go and grow tomatoes in the -country! Nerve, and the capability of seizing the right moment. With -those two assets you come to the top and you stay there." For a moment -or two he stared fixedly at the half-averted face of the younger man; -then he gave a jovial laugh. "Anyway--if you start to recoup your -fortunes with journalism--you needn't give those as the opinions of Paul -Harker. Not that they aren't pretty widely known, but in this world one -must pretend." - -Merton glanced at the speaker. So this was the celebrated Paul Harker, -was it? What the devil was it he'd overheard at the club that afternoon -about him? Not knowing him, at the time it had made no impression; now -he recalled it hazily. Something to do with a woman. He frowned -slightly as he tried to remember; then he gave a short laugh. What on -earth did it matter? What did anything matter except that cursed cheque? - -"Well, I'll say good-night, Mr. Harker." He put down his empty glass. -"It would take a mighty big journalistic scoop to put me -straight--bigger even than your ideas on life." - -"Which way are you going?" - -"Half-Moon Street. I've got rooms there." - -"I'll stroll with you. The atmosphere of this place is fierce." - -In silence the two men got their coats and strolled into Bond Street. -The theatres were just over, and a stream of cars were pouring westward -with their loads of well-dressed, wealthy occupants. Life--life in -London--for people with money! With a cynical smile Billy Merton lit a -cigarette. It was what he had promised himself after years in the -wilds. - -He barely heard his companion's occasional remarks: it was just as they -turned into Half-Moon Street that it struck Billy that Paul Harker had -made some suggestion and was waiting for an answer. - -"I beg your pardon, Mr. Harker," he said, apologetically, "but I'm -afraid my mind was wandering. You were saying----" - -"I was suggesting that if you've got nothing better to do you should -come to my house in Curzon Street. My wife has a spiritualistic séance -on. Starts at midnight. Come in and see the fun." - -For a moment Billy hesitated. After all, why not? Anything was better -than a solitary contemplation of his own confounded foolishness. - -"It's very good of you----" he began, but the other cut him short. - -"Not at all. Only too pleased you can manage it." - -"But won't your wife---- I mean, I'm a complete stranger." He paused -doubtfully by the door of his rooms. - -"My wife won't mind," answered Paul Harker, taking him by the arm. "Do -you good, my dear fellow. Take your mind off." - -It was really deuced good of this fellow Harker. Sympathy of a gambler -for a gambler sort of idea. He could only hope that Mrs. Harker would -see eye to eye with her husband. - -"Here is the house, Mr. Merton. Come in." With a smile of welcome Paul -Harker stood aside to let the younger man pass. - -"I didn't know you knew my name, Mr. Harker," said Billy Merton, as a -footman relieved him of his coat. - -"I asked who you were at the Ultima Thule. Come on up and meet my wife." -Then, in a hoarse undertone just before they reached the room, he turned -to Merton. "I don't know whether you believe in this stuff; but, for -Heaven's sake, pretend to." - -He gave a heavy wink, and Billy smiled. Undoubtedly Paul Harker was -quite a pleasant fellow. - - - *II* - - -There were six women in the room when they entered and one somewhat -anæmic-looking man. - -"Hope I'm not late, my dear," said Paul Harker, breezily, to a pale, -delicate-looking woman who rose to meet them. "I've brought a friend -who is interested in these things. Mr. Merton--my wife." - -Billy Merton bowed, and took a chair beside her. - -"We hope for some very interesting results to-night, Mr. Merton," she -remarked. "Professor Granger feels confident of getting a tangible -materialization." - -"Indeed!" - -Mindful of his host's injunction, he nodded portentously. His ideas on -what a tangible materialization was were of the vaguest: if it was -anything like Professor Granger, he inwardly trusted the experiment -would fail. - -For a few minutes they continued to talk generalities: then Mrs. Harker -rose and crossed to the Professor, leaving Merton to his own devices. -With some interest he glanced round the room. Heavy black curtains hung -over the windows and the door. The furniture was reduced to a minimum, -the whole of the centre of the floor being empty. Around the walls were -ranged easy chairs draped in some dark material: the carpet, thick and -luxurious, was dark also. In fact, the whole room was sombre--sombre and -silent. - -Curiously he glanced at his companions. In one corner four of the women -were talking in low, restrained tones, evidently impressed with the -solemnity of the occasion, and involuntarily Merton smiled. They seemed -so very earnest--and so very dull. Then he looked at the other woman -who was standing by Paul Harker. She seemed of a different type--very -far from being dull. Tall and perfectly proportioned, she was dressed -in black, and as his eyes rested idly on the pair it struck him that his -host found her far from dull also. And at that moment they both turned -and looked at him. - -It was the first time he had seen the woman's face, and he found himself -staring foolishly at her. She was one of the most beautiful things he -had ever seen--beautiful in a sensuous Eastern fashion--and Billy Merton -suddenly realized that he was gaping at her like a callow schoolboy. -Abruptly he looked away, annoyed with himself at his gaucherie, to find -that he was not the only person who was interested in the lady. For his -hostess, though ostensibly speaking to the Professor, was watching her -husband's companion with a look on her face which left no doubt as to -her feelings on the subject. - -"So that's how the land lies, is it?" thought Merton; and the remark he -had overheard at the club came back to him. He knew there had been a -woman in it. - -"Iris, I want you to meet Mr. Merton." His host's voice made him look -up quickly. "Let me introduce you to Miss Sala." - -Merton rose and bowed: on the instant the remark had returned to his -memory. - -"There will be a crash soon," a man had said, "with Harker and that Sala -girl." - -And now he was talking to the Sala girl, and deciding that if she was -beautiful at a distance she was ten times more beautiful close to. - -"No," he found himself saying, "I've not done much of this sort of thing -in England, though I've seen a good deal of what the African native -calls _ju-ju_." - -"And it interests you?" Her voice was deep and very sweet. - -"Very much," said Merton. "I'm most curious to see what is going to -happen to-night." - -For a moment the smile seemed to ripple over the surface of her eyes: -then once more they were inscrutable. - -"It's rather exciting if it comes off," she remarked, thoughtfully. -"Everything is pitch-dark, of course, and then you hear signs and -groans, and sometimes a hand comes out and touches you." - -"But do you really believe----" began Merton, incredulously. - -"I don't believe--I know," said the girl, calmly. "Why, at one séance I -attended a jade necklace I was wearing was wrenched off my neck. The -fastening was broken, and all the beads rolled about the floor. And -everyone had been bound in their chairs, Mr. Merton, before we started." - -Billy nodded discreetly; it occurred to him that he had heard stories -like that before. - -"You hear something moving round the room," she continued, "something -you know was not there at the beginning--and won't be there at the end. -And sometimes it bumps against you, and then it goes on floundering and -moving about the room. It sounds like a sack of potatoes being dragged -about at times, and then it changes and you hear soft footfalls." - -Again Billy nodded: he was prepared to listen indefinitely to this sort -of stuff when the speaker was Iris Sala. - -"It sounds more than rather exciting," he said, with a grin. "Let's -hope we get the jolly old flounderer to-night." - -For the moment his own trouble was forgotten: he was only conscious of a -pleasurable sense of excitement. Not that he really believed in what -the girl had said, any more than the average normal person believes in a -haunted house. But even the most pronounced sceptic is conscious of a -little thrill when he turns out the light in the bedroom which is -popularly reputed to be the family ghost's special hunting-ground. - -"I think it's very foolish of Mrs. Harker to wear those lovely pearls of -hers." The girl was speaking again, and Merton glanced at his hostess. -He had not remarked them specially before, but now he noticed that Mrs. -Harker had three long ropes of large beautifully matched pearls round -her neck. "My jade beads didn't matter very much--though I lost half a -dozen at least. But with those pearls--why, she might mislay a dozen if -the rope was broken, and be none the wiser." - -A jovial chuckle made Merton look up. Paul Harker was standing behind -them, and he had evidently heard the girl's remark. - -"I'm a Philistine, Iris. Forgive me. I don't somehow anticipate much -danger to Rose's pearls." - -"You're wrong, Mr. Harker," she said, gravely. "You've never seen a -tangible materialization. I have--and I know." - -"Anyway," he laughed, "there's no use attempting to ask her to take them -off, because she won't. And incidentally it looks to me as if the -worthy Professor was going to get busy. There's a wild look in his eye." - -"Will you take your seats, please, ladies and gentlemen? The two -gentlemen on opposite sides of the room. I thank you." In a mournful -way he contemplated the circle from the centre of the floor. "I would -point out to all of you," he continued, "that our experiment to-night is -a difficult one, entailing the highest form of will-co-operation and -mental effort. If we are successful, I can tell no more than you what -form this materialization will take. But I must entreat of you to -concentrate with all your power on the one main salient fact of -producing a tangible thing: and I must beg you most earnestly not, under -any circumstances, to speak while the experiment is in progress. We -will now put out the lights." - -And the last thing Billy Merton was conscious of before the lights went -out were Iris Sala's grey-green eyes fixed on him with an inscrutable -baffling look in them. Even in the darkness he seemed to see them: -languorous, mocking, a little cynical. And there was something -else--some other emotion which eluded him for the moment. It wasn't -sorrow, though it seemed akin to sorrow; it was--yes, it was pity. He -moved slightly in his chair, and nodded his head in the darkness. -Pity--that was the other message in those wonderful eyes: and the -thought brought him back to the reality of his own position. - -Paul Harker must have told her, of course: told her that he'd been -losing heavily, and she was sorry for him. Even to a millionaire like -Harker five thousand pounds on a single hand of poker would seem fairly -heavy; and to him---- He gave a mirthless little laugh, which called -forth an instant rebuke from the Professor. - -"Perfect silence, please." - -Billy Merton lay back in his chair and closed his eyes. His brain was -racing with the feverish activity of a worried man. If it had been -anything else--anything but a gambling debt. Thank God! his father was -dead, and would never know the disgrace of it; but there were quite a -number of relations. They'd soon find out; things of that sort can't be -kept dark. What a fool, what a damnable fool he'd been! - -And it was at that moment that there came a soft bump on the floor, and -he heard the woman in the next chair to him draw in her breath sharply. - -For a while he stared rigidly into the darkness; then, with a slight -frown, he let his body relax. He was in no mood for entertainments of -this type: he wished now that he hadn't come. And yet it had been very -decent of Harker suggesting it--very decent. Was there a possibility, -he wondered--if he made a clean breast of the whole thing to his -host--was there a possibility of his lending four thousand? It seemed -the only hope, the bare chance of salvation. He'd ask him after this -cursed séance was over. The worst that could happen would be a refusal. -And supposing he didn't refuse? Supposing---- Billy drew in a deep -breath at the mere thought. - -Thump! thump! Perfectly clear and audible the sounds came from the -centre of the room, bringing him back to the present, and he felt the -back of his scalp begin to tingle. Of course, it was a trick; and yet -he didn't somehow associate the Professor with a vulgar fraud. He had -struck him as a well-meaning, conscientious man, who was badly in need -of exercise and an outdoor life. Probably dyspeptic. - -And if so--if it wasn't a trick--what was it that was now dragging -itself about? - -"Like a sack of potatoes." Iris Sala's words came back to him as he sat -there motionless. - -Suddenly he heard the Professor's voice, trembling a little with -excitement: - -"Who are you! Speak!" - -The noise ceased at once; only a long-drawn shuddering sigh came out of -the darkness. Then after a minute or two the uncanny dragging noise -commenced again: bump--slither--bump. He tried to locate it, but it -seemed everywhere. At one moment it was close by, at another it sounded -as if it was at the other side of the room. - -It was devilish, it was horrible. He put a hand to his forehead; it was -wet with sweat. He felt an insane desire to get up from his chair and -rush from the room: the only trouble was that he had forgotten the exact -location of the door. Besides, he might bump into the Thing on the way. - -A frightened cry rang out, and Billy Merton half-rose in his chair. It -was a woman's cry: probably the Thing had touched her. The bumping had -ceased, he noticed: another noise had taken its place--a slight gurgling -sound, accompanied by a quick beating on the floor, as if someone was -drumming with their feet on the carpet. And after a while that ceased -also. Silence, absolute and complete, reigned in the room for ten -minutes or a quarter of an hour. The Thing had gone. - -At length the Professor spoke. - -"Are you still there?" There was no sound in answer. "Manifest -yourself now if you are; otherwise the light will be turned up." - -Still there was no sound, though the Professor waited a full minute -before speaking again. - -"Will you, please, turn up the light, Mr. Harker?" - -"Certainly." Paul Harker's cheerful voice came from the other side of -the room, as he rose to comply with the request. For a moment or two he -fumbled with the switch; then the room was once more flooded with light. - -"A most satisfactory manifestation," began the Professor, only to stop -with a look of dawning horror on his face. Scattered around Mrs. -Harker's chair were scores of wonderful pearls. Sprawling over the arm -of the chair was the unfortunate woman herself. - -For a moment there was a stunned silence in the room; then with a cry -Paul Harker sprang forward. - -"She's fainted. I'll get brandy." - -He dashed from the room, as two of the women, reassured by the words, -went over to Mrs. Harker. - -"I knew it was risky wearing those pearls," whispered Iris Sala in -Billy's ear, but he hardly heard what she said. He was staring at the -limp form of Iris hostess through narrowed lids, and suddenly he turned -to the girl beside him. - -"It's a doctor that's wanted, not brandy," he said, abruptly. "Where's -the telephone?" - -"In the hall," answered the girl. - -He ran downstairs, passing Paul Harker on the way. For what seemed an -eternity he stood by the instrument before he could get through. Then he -returned to the room above. - -"A doctor's coming at once," he announced breathlessly, and then he -stopped dead--just inside the door. - -Muddled together in a group at the end of the room were all the -women--all save Iris Sala. She was standing by Mrs. Harker's chair, -with Paul Harker on the other side. - -"There is no need for a doctor, Mr. Merton," said Harker, in a terrible -voice. "My wife is dead. And my wife has been murdered!" - -"Murdered!" gasped Billy, mechanically. - -"Murdered," repeated Harker. "Come and see." - -Dazedly Billy walked towards him, to stop and stare foolishly at the -woman in the chair. For they had propped her up and laid her head back, -and on her throat distinct and clear were the marks of a hand. The four -fingers on one side, the thumb on the other, showed up red and angry in -the bright light. - -"She had a weak heart, Mr. Merton," continued Paul Harker, slowly. "Any -sudden shock, such as a hand grasping her throat"--his voice shook a -little--"would have been liable to kill her. And a hand _did_ grasp her -throat: the hand that tore off her pearls." - -"My God!" muttered Billy. "It's ghastly--ghastly! Then that thing we -heard must have--must have----" - -"Must have murdered my wife, Mr. Merton. The question is--what was it we -heard? I fear we shall find it difficult to persuade the police on the -matter of a tangible materialization. They deal in more mundane -causes." - -And at that moment Billy Merton understood. The relentless voice of the -man, the strange look in the grey-green eyes of the girl--it seemed to -be triumph now--cleared away the fog from his brain, leaving it -ice-cold. He was a man who suddenly sees a flaring notice DANGER, and -realizes that there is peril ahead, though he knows not its exact form. -And with men of the Merton stamp it is best to be careful at such -moments. - -"I see," he answered, slowly. "You mean that, regarded from the police -point of view, the supposition will be that one of the people who were -present during the séance tore the pearls from your wife's neck, and in -doing so murdered her." - -"Regarded from every point of view," corrected Paul Harker, harshly. - -"Then under those circumstances," said Merton, grimly, "the police must -be sent for at once." - -With his hands in his pockets he was staring at Paul Harker, while from -the other end of the room came an occasional sob from some overwrought -woman. - -The whole thing was like some horrible nightmare--bizarre, unreal--and -the sudden arrival of the doctor came as a relief to everyone. - -Quickly he made his examination. Then he stood up. - -"How did that happen?" he asked, gravely, staring at the marks on the -dead woman's throat. - -"That man did it!" roared Harker, unable to contain himself longer and -pointing an accusing finger at Merton. "You vile scoundrel! you -blackguard! you--you----" - -"Steady, Mr. Harker!" cried the doctor, sharply. "Am I to understand, -sir, that you did this?" He turned in amazement to Merton. - -"You are not," said Billy, evenly. "It's a damnable lie." - -"I don't understand," remarked the doctor. "Will somebody kindly -explain?" - -It was Iris Sala who answered, and as she spoke the feeling that he was -dreaming grew stronger in Billy Merton. - -"We were having a séance, Doctor," she began, in her deep rich voice, -"trying to get a tangible materialization. The room, of course, was in -pitch-darkness, and after it was over and the lights were turned up we -found that Mrs. Harker was--dead!" - -Her voice faltered, and Harker lifted a grief-stricken face from beside -his wife's chair. - -"But what happened during the séance?" asked the doctor. - -"We heard something moving about. A thing that bumped and slithered -over the carpet." - -"Pshaw!" snapped the doctor. "What I don't understand is why this -gentleman should be accused of it." - -"Because," cried Harker, getting up, "he's in desperate want of money. -Look at this!" He fumbled in his pocket, and to Billy's amazement -produced the cheque for four thousand he had written at the Ultima -Thule. "I took this cheque to-night in exchange for one of my -own--because I liked the look of you. Yes--you wicked villain--I liked -the look of you; and I meant to do something for you. I brought him -here, never dreaming--never thinking----" His voice broke again. "He -saw my wife's pearls: was actually talking about them just before the -séance started--and then when the light went out he must have snatched -them off her neck. And in doing so you killed her. And to think I -actually heard you doing the vile deed!" - -"You deny this?" asked the doctor. - -"Absolutely," returned Billy, grimly. - -"I feel that it is partly my fault," said the girl, in a broken voice. -"I never dreamed, of course, that this man was in want of money. And I -told him a foolish story about how some jade beads I once had were -snatched from my neck during a séance like this--by the thing that came. -Of course--it wasn't true. It was a joke. But I told it just to -frighten him. And I suppose he believed it, and thought he would do the -same." She buried her face in her hands. - -"Well, are any of the pearls missing? If so, where are they?" The -doctor's question brought Paul Harker to his feet. - -"I don't even know how many my dear wife had!" he cried. - -"The point seems immaterial," said Billy, quietly. "Since I seem to be -the object of suspicion, I should be obliged if you would search me, -Doctor." - -With a shrug of his shoulders the doctor complied. Methodically he ran -through every pocket; than he turned to Paul Harker. - -"There are no pearls on this gentleman," he said, curtly. - -"Ah, but he left the room. He left the room to telephone for you. He -might have put them in his overcoat." - -"Then we'll send for the overcoat," remarked the doctor, ringing the -bell. "With your permission, that is, sir." He turned to Merton. - -"By all means," said Billy. "Only I would like to state, should they be -found there, that I am not the only person who has left the room since -the tragedy. Mr. Harker has also been downstairs." - -Paul Harker laughed wildly. - -"Yes, I know. To get brandy. Before I knew----" - -He paused as a footman opened the door. - -"Bring this gentleman's overcoat," ordered the doctor, "up to this room. -And be careful to see that nothing falls out of the pockets." - -With one horrified glance at the motionless figure in the chair, the -footman fled, returning almost immediately with the coat. - -"This is your coat?" asked the doctor. - -"It is," said Billy. - -And then in a tense silence the doctor extracted twenty large pearls -from different pockets. - -"You murderer!" Paul Harker's voice whispered words seemed to ring -through the room, and with a little strangled gasp a woman fainted. The -doctor's face, grim and accusing, was turned on Billy, as if demanding -some explanation which he knew full well could not be given. And of all -those present only Billy Merton himself seemed cool and calm, as, with -his hands still in his pockets, he faced the ring of his accusers. - -"What have you to say?" said the doctor, sternly. - -"One thing--and one thing only," answered Billy. "I have read in -fiction of diabolical plots: to-night I have met one in real life. But, -as so often happens in fiction, one mistake is made, which leads to the -undoing of the villain. And one mistake has been made to-night." - -And now his eyes, merciless and stern, were fixed on Paul Harker, and he -noticed with a certain grim amusement that a muscle in the millionaire's -face was beginning to twitch. - -"Mr. Harker is a man of nerve: he also believes in seizing the right -moment. And to-night struck him as being the right moment." - -"What are you talking about?" snarled Harker. - -"For reasons best known to yourself, Mr. Harker"--he glanced from him to -Iris Sala, from whose eyes the strange look of triumph had mysteriously -vanished, leaving only fear--deadly, gripping fear--"you wished to get -rid of your wife." - -"It's a lie!" Paul Harker sprang forward, his fist raised to strike. - -"You will doubtless have ample opportunity for proving it," continued -Billy, imperturbably. "By a happy combination of circumstances, a -suitable moment--the darkness of a séance--and a suitable -motive--robbery--presented themselves to your hand. Acting according to -your tradition, you took them. And as far as I can see, Mr. Harker, you -would have been successful had you also selected a suitable person. -Therein lay your one error." - -"Am I to understand," said Harker, in a grating voice, "that you are -accusing me--of murdering my wife? Why--you miserable cur----" He -stopped, choking with anger. - -"I make no such accusation," answered Billy. "All I state is that I -didn't." He turned gravely to the doctor. "What was the cause of Mrs. -Harker's death?" - -"Heart failure--caused by partial strangulation with the hand." - -"Which hand?" - -The doctor looked at him quickly; then glanced once more at the dead -woman. - -"The right hand." - -"You swear to that?" - -"Undoubtedly I swear to it," said the doctor. - -For the first time Billy Merton withdrew his right hand from his pocket, -and held it out in front of him. - -"The one mistake," he said, grimly. - -_The first, second, and third fingers were missing!_ - -For a moment there was a deathly silence; then the doctor suddenly -sprang forward. - -"Stop him!" he roared. - -But Paul Harker had already joined the woman he had foully killed, and -in the air there hung the faint smell of burnt almonds. Prussia acid is -quick. - -An hour later Billy Merton walked slowly along the deserted streets -towards his rooms. The police had come and gone; everything in the room -where the tragedy had taken place had duly passed before the searching -eye of officialdom. Everything, that is, save one exhibit, and that -reposed in Billy's pocket. And when a man has signed a cheque for four -thousand pounds on a total bank balance of as many pence, his pocket is -the best place for it. - - - - - _*X -- A Payment on Account*_ - - - *I* - - -"Excuse me, but could you give me some idea as to where I am? I have a -shrewd notion that it's Devonshire, but----" - -The speaker, holding a dilapidated cap in his hand, broke off as the -girl sat up and looked at him. He was a dishevelled-looking object, -covered with dust, and--romance may be great, but truth is greater--it -was only too obvious to the girl that he was very hot. Perspiration ran -in trickles down his face, ploughing dark furrows through the thick -stratum of road dust which otherwise obscured his features. His collar -was open, his sleeves rolled back from his wrists, and on his back was -strapped a small knapsack. An unlit pipe, which he had removed from his -mouth on speaking to her, in one hand, and a long walking-stick in the -other, completed the picture. - -"You don't look as if you'd been flying," she remarked, dispassionately. -"It's Devonshire all right." - -"That's a relief." She had a fleeting glimpse of a flash of white teeth -as he smiled. "I had an idea it might be Kent. Or even farther. Have -you ever been on a walking tour?" - -"That's what you're doing, is it?" - -"You know," remarked the man, "I think even Watson would regard you with -scorn. And our one and only Sherlock would burst into tears." He -leaned over the railings and commenced to fill his pipe. The little -garden in which the girl was sitting seemed delightfully cool and shady; -the girl herself, in her muslin frock, looking at him with an amused -twinkle in her eyes seemed almost too good to be true. After that -interminable road, with the sun beating down from a cloudless sky. With -a sigh of relief he passed the back of his hand across his forehead, and -the girl laughed. - -"I wouldn't do it by bits if I were you. It makes you look rather like -a zebra." - -"Don't mock at me," he implored, "or I shall burst into tears. It's the -very first time I've ever done anything of this sort, I promise you. I -will go farther. It's the very last as well." - -"But if you don't like walking--why walk?" - -"How like a woman!" He fumbled in his pocket for a box of matches and -lit his pipe. "How exactly like! Have you never felt an irresistible -temptation to do something wild and desperate? Something which is -painted in glowing colours by some scoundrel, who revenges himself on -humanity by foully inducing innocent people to follow his advice?" - -"I once tried keeping bees," she murmured, thoughtfully. - -"There you are!" exclaimed the man, triumphantly. "You see you are in no -position to point the finger of scorn at me. You were led away by -fictitious rubbish on the bee as a household pet. You expected honey: -you obtained stings. I was likewise led away, by a scoundrel who wrote -on the delights of walking. He especially roused my expectation by the -number of times he threw himself down on the soft, sweet-smelling turf -while the gentle wind played round his temples and the lazy beat of the -breakers came from the distant Atlantic. I tried that exercise the very -first day. Net result. I landed on a thistle and winded myself." - -She gurgled gently. "At any rate, I'll bet he told you that you ought -to come with a map." - -"Wrong again. He especially stipulated that you should have no set -route. Just walk and walk; and then, I suppose, when a kindly death -intervenes, your relatives can't find you, and your funeral expenses -fall on the parish in which you expire." - -He straightened up as the door of the house opened and a charming, -grey-haired woman came slowly down the path. She glanced at him -quickly--a courteous but shrewd look; then she looked at the girl. - -"Sheila, dear, who----?" - -"A gentleman on a walking tour, mother, who has lost his way." - -"You're not far from Umberleigh," said the elder woman. "Where are you -making for?" - -"Nowhere in particular, as I've been explaining to your daughter, -madam," smiled the man. "Finally, however, I shall take the train and -arrive in London and slaughter the man who wrote the article which -appeared in the paper." - -"Sounds like the house that Jack built," laughed the girl. "Anyway, -you'd better stop to lunch." - -The man glanced at her mother, who seconded the invitation with a -gracious smile. - -"My name is Hewson," he remarked. "Charles Hewson." He glanced at them -as he spoke, and gave a little sigh of relief: evidently the name meant -nothing to them. "And I don't always look like a zebra." - -He followed them slowly up the shady path, and the girl laughed again. - -"Doesn't matter what you look like," she cried, "as long as you know -something about postage-stamps." - -"Do you collect?" he asked. - -"No--but daddy does. He's partially insane on the subject." - -"Sheila!" reproved her mother. - -"Well, he is, darling, you know. You always say so yourself." - -For a moment the elder woman's eyes met the man's over the girl's head. -And in that momentary glance the whole story of the house and its -inmates seemed to stand revealed. The perfect love and happiness that -breathed through the place; the certainty that it was the girl who was -really the head of the little kingdom, with a sweet mother and an -unpractical father as her adoring subjects; the glorious unworldliness -of his surroundings struck the man like a blow. The contrast was so -wonderful--the contrast to his own life. If only---- Unconsciously his -glance rested on the slim figure in the muslin frock. If only---- Why -not? - -"I beg your pardon." He turned apologetically to the mother. - -"I only said that our name was Crossley, Mr. Hewson. And I wondered if -you would care to have a bath." - -Charles Hewson looked at her gravely. "Are you always so charming, Mrs. -Crossley, to the stranger within your gates? Especially when he's a -dirty-looking tramp like me." Then he smiled quickly; it was a trick of -his, that sudden, fleeting smile. "I can think of nothing I'd like more -than a bath, if I might so far trespass on your hospitality." - - - *II* - - -Lunch confirmed his diagnosis of the Crossley household. The girl's -father fitted in exactly with his mental picture; an utterly lovable, -white-haired man of about sixty, and as unsophisticated as a child. -Time, and the stress of things worldly, seemed to have passed over the -little house near Umberleigh, leaving it untouched and scathless. And -once again the contrast struck him, and he wondered, just a little -bitterly, whether after all it was worth it. The instant decisions, the -constant struggle, the ceaseless strain of his life--and then, this. -Country cousins, vegetating in obscurity. It struck Charles Hewson that -he wouldn't object to being a vegetable for a while. He was tired, and -he realized it for the first time. The last year had tried even him. - -It was a sudden impulse that made him suggest it, just as luncheon was -over. - -"Is there a decent inn here, Mrs. Crossley, where I could put up for a -bit? I've fallen in love with this place, and I want a rest." - -"You look tired," she answered, kindly. "And this is a wonderful place -for a rest cure. But I'm afraid the inn is a long way off. If you care -to"--she paused for a moment--"we could put you up for a few days." - -"I think you're the kindest people I've ever met," said Hewson, and for -a moment his eyes ceased to look tired. "And I warn you I'm not going -to give you the chance of reconsidering your offer." - -"You'll find it very dull," warned the girl. - -He laughed as he rose from the table. "I'm open to a small bet that -you'll have to drive me away. I shall become a fixture about the -house." - -He followed them into the low, old-fashioned hall, and stood for a while -drinking in the homeliness of it all. That was what it was--homely; and -in London Charles Hewson lived in rooms and fed at his club or a -restaurant. - -"I don't know if you're any judge of pewter, Mr. Hewson," said his host, -"but we've got some nice bits here and in my study." - -"One step from that to postage-stamps," laughed the girl. "You've got -to come and do a job of work in the garden later, Mr. Hewson, don't -forget. I'll come and rescue you in half an hour or so." - -He watched her go upstairs, then with a little sigh of pure joy he -followed the old man into his study. - -"Are you interested in philately, by any chance?" inquired Mr. Crossley, -eagerly. - -Hewson shook his head. "I'm afraid I know nothing about it," he -answered. "I was once commissioned by a young nephew to send him all -the stamps I could find which had pretty pictures on them. You know, -harbours, and mountains, and elephants. I found them in all sorts of -outlandish places when I was going round the world." He gave one of his -quick smiles. "But I'm afraid that is the extent of my knowledge." - -"The schoolboy collection." The other waved a tolerant hand. "Now I'm -sure that that would have bored him." - -With reverent hands he lifted a card and handed it to Hewson. "Look at -that, sir; look at that. The complete set of New Brunswick--the first -issue, unused." - -Hewson gazed dispassionately at ten somewhat blotchy pieces of paper, -and refrained from heretical utterance. To his Philistine eye the set -he had bought in Samoa or elsewhere depicting jaguars and toucans were -infinitely more pleasing. - -"Valuable, I suppose?" he hazarded. - -The other waved a deprecating hand. "Several hundred--if I chose to -sell. Mercifully," he went on after a little pause, "it wasn't -necessary." - -For a second Hewson's shrewd eyes were fixed on him; then he resumed his -study of the rarities. Money trouble, was there? - -"Now this was unique--this set." His host was looking regretfully at -another card. "Mauritius. And then I had to dispose of the penny -orange-red. Worth the better part of a thousand pounds alone." He laid -down the card. "Oh! I do hope I shall be able to get it back. I sold -it to a dealer in the Strand, and I told him at the time that I should -want to buy it back again. That was a month ago, and I thought I should -have been able to by now." - -Once again Hewson's keen eyes were fixed on the other. - -"Expecting a legacy?" he remarked, casually. - -"A legacy! Oh! no!" The old man smiled. "But I had a very wonderful -chance, given me by an acquaintance, of doubling my small capital." For -a moment Hewson stopped smoking: chances of doubling capital are not -handed round as a rule by acquaintances. "And I seem to have done it," -continued Mr. Crossley, rubbing his hands together. "I seem to have -turned my five thousand pounds into ten. In a month. Isn't it -wonderful?" - -"Very," commented the other. "Have you got the money?" - -"No: that's what I can't understand. I suppose it must be something to -do with settling day--or whatever they call it." He beamed at his -listener. "I'm afraid I'm very ignorant on these matters, Mr. Hewson, -but it seems almost too good to be true. I wanted the extra money so -much--to give my little girl a better time. It's dull for her here, -though she never complains. And if only I could get it now, I could buy -back that penny Mauritius, and invest the other nine thousand." In his -excitement he walked up and down the room, while his listener stared -fixedly at a number of blotchy pieces of paper on a card. "Do you know -anything about stocks and shares, Mr. Hewson?" - -"Quite a lot," said Hewson. "In my er--small way, I dabble in them." - -"Ah! then perhaps you can tell me when I can expect the money." Mr. -Crossley sat down at his desk, and opened a drawer. "It was a month ago -that I paid five thousand pounds for shares in the Rio Lopez Mine." - -"In the what?" Hewson almost shouted. - -"The Rio Lopez Mine," repeated the other. "You've heard of it, of -course. The shares were standing, so my friend told me, at two pounds, -so I got two thousand five hundred shares. Now, yesterday I happened to -buy the _Times_, and I looked up the Stock Exchange quotations. You can -judge of my delight, Mr. Hewson, when I actually saw that the shares -were standing at four pounds three shillings." - -"Rio Lopez four pounds!" said Hewson, dazedly. "May I see the paper?" - -He took it and glanced at the Supplementary List. - - "MINES--MISCELLANEOUS. - "Rio Lopez Deep--4/3." - - -The old man was still talking gaily on, but Hewson hardly heard what he -said. From outside the lazy hum of a summer afternoon came softly -through the open window, and after a while he laid down the paper and -commenced to refill his pipe. Such colossal innocence almost staggered -him. That there could be anybody in the world who did not know that the -figures meant four shillings and threepence, left him bereft of speech. -And then his feeling of amazement gave way to one of bitter anger -against the scoundrel who had unloaded a block of shares in a wild-cat -mine, at the top of an extremely shady boom, on such a man as Mr. -Crossley. - -"Well, when do you think I may expect the money?" The question roused -him from his reverie. - -"It's hard to say, Mr. Crossley," remarked Hewson, deliberately. -"Different firms have different arrangements, you know." - -"Of course--of course. I'm such a baby in these things. But I do want -to get my penny Mauritius back before it's sold." - -Hewson bent forward suddenly, ostensibly to examine his pipe. For the -first time for many years he found a difficulty in speaking; there had -been no room for sentiment in his career. Then he straightened up. - -"I quite understand, Mr. Crossley," he said, slowly. "And perhaps the -best thing to do would be to put the matter in my hands. It has -occurred to me since lunch that I've really got no clothes at all here. -And so I thought I'd run up to Town and get a few and then return. -While I'm up there I could look into things for you." - -"But I really couldn't worry you, Mr. Hewson," protested the other. - -"No worry at all. It's my work. I shall charge you commission." -Hewson was lighting his pipe. "You have the certificate, I suppose." - -"I've this paper," answered Mr. Crossley. "Is that what you mean?" - -"That's it. Will you trust it to me? I can give you any reference you -like, if you care to come with me as far as Barnstaple. They know me at -the bank. I shall have to join the main line there." - -"Well, perhaps----" The old man paused doubtfully. "You see, Mr. -Ferguson told me to keep this most carefully." - -"Was Mr. Ferguson the man who sold you the shares?" - -"Yes. Mr. Arthur Ferguson, of 20, Plumpton Street, in the City. He was -stopping down here for a few days, and he dined with us once or twice." - -Hewson rose abruptly and went to the window. He had not the pleasure of -Mr. Arthur Ferguson's acquaintance, but he was already tasting die -pleasures of his first--and last--interview with that engaging -gentleman. Dined--had he? - -"Will you come over with me to Barnstaple this afternoon?" - -"Good heavens, daddy!" came a voice from outside. "What are you going -to Barnstaple for? You know this heat will upset you." - -Hewson swung round as the girl came in from the garden. She was wearing -a floppy sun-bonnet, and it suddenly struck him that she was one of the -loveliest things he had ever seen. No wonder the old chap had tried to -get a bit more money with the idea of giving her a good time. - -"I've got to go up to London, Miss Crossley----" was it his imagination, -or did her face fall a little?--"to get some more clothes. And there's -a little matter of business I'm going to attend to for your father. The -point is that he doesn't know me--none of you know me. And in the -hard-headed, suspicious world in which I live, before you entrust a -valuable document to another man you want to know something about him. -Now, the bank manager at Barnstaple does know me, and I suggested that -your father should come over and see him." - -"It sounds very mysterious," laughed the girl. "But all I know is that -if daddy goes to Barnstaple in this heat, he'll have the most awful -head. Suppose--" she paused doubtfully--"suppose I came? Daddy could -give me the document, and then when I'd seen the bank manager I could -give it to you." - -Hewson turned away to hide the too obvious delight he felt at the -suggestion, and glanced inquiringly at his host. - -"Perhaps that would be the best solution, Mr. Crossley," he murmured. -"If it isn't troubling your daughter too much." - -The old man chuckled. "If she only knew what it was for, she wouldn't -mind the trouble. It's a secret, don't forget, Mr. Hewson. Now, -girlie, take that envelope, and when the bank manager has told you that -our kind friend here isn't a burglar, or an escaped convict"--he -chuckled again--"give it to him to take to London. But you're not to -look inside." - -She kissed him lightly, and turned to Hewson. - -"We can just catch the local train," she said, a trifle abruptly. -"We'll go through the short cut." - -She was silent during the walk to the station, and it was not until they -were in the train that she looked at him steadily and spoke. - -"What is this mystery, Mr. Hewson?" - -"I think your father said it was a secret, didn't he?" he answered, -lightly. - -"Is it something to do with money?" - -"It is." - -She stared out of the window: then impulsively she laid a hand on his -arm. - -"He's such a darling," she burst out, "but he's so innocent. He doesn't -know anything about money or the world." - -"Do you?" asked Hewson, gently. - -"That doesn't matter. A girl needn't. But I know he's just mad to get -more money--not for himself--but for me. He wants to give me a good -time--like other girls, he says." She paused a moment, and frowned. -"There was a man here--a few weeks ago--and daddy met him. He came to -dinner. I didn't trust him, Mr. Hewson; there was something--oh! I -don't know. I suppose I'm very ignorant myself. But I'm certain that -he persuaded daddy to do something with his money. He was always going -to the bank, and sending registered letters, after the man left. And -he's been worried ever since--until yesterday--when he recovered all his -old spirits." - -The train was already running into Barnstaple--the quickest journey that -Charles Hewson had ever made in his life. - -"I don't think," he said, gravely, "that I shall be letting out the -secret if I tell you that my visit to London concerns that man, and some -money he invested for your father. There's a little delay in the -business--and I'm going to see about it." - -They walked out of the station towards the bank, the girl clasping the -precious envelope tightly. - -"I want to see the manager," said Hewson to the cashier. "Hewson is my -name." - -With astonishing alacrity the manager appeared from his office. - -"Come in, Mr. Hewson--come in." He stepped aside as the girl, followed -by Hewson, entered his sanctum. - -"I am doing some business for Mr. Crossley, of Umberleigh," said Hewson, -quietly. "This is his daughter, Miss Crossley. It concerns some -shares--the certificate of which I propose to take to London with me. -Would you be good enough to assure Miss Crossley that I am a fit and -proper person to be entrusted with such a matter? I happen to be a -stranger to them." - -The manager's face had changed through various stages of bewilderment -while Hewson was speaking, but he was saved the necessity of an -immediate answer by the girl. Charles Hewson--_the_ Charles -Hewson--coming to him to be vouched for! - -"This is the paper." The girl handed it over to him, and a little -dazedly he took the certificate from the envelope. - -"A very admirable security," said Hewson, deliberately, "bought by Mr. -Crossley a month ago." - -"Very admirable!" spluttered the manager, only to relapse into silence -under the penetrating stare of Hewson's eye. - -"And if you will just vouch for me to Miss Crossley, I don't think we -need detain you further." - -"With pleasure." Matters were completely beyond him: but, at any rate, -he could do that. "You can place things in Mr. Hewson's hands with -absolute confidence, Miss Crossley." - -"Thank you," said the girl, and they all rose. He opened the door and -she passed into the bank. For one moment the two men were alone, and -Hewson seized the manager by the arm. - -"Not a word," he whispered. "They don't know who I am. Father been -swindled by some swine in London." - -Nodding portentously, the worthy manager followed them to the door. -Assuredly one of the most remarkable episodes that had come his way, -during thirty years' experience. Rio Lopez! Two thousand five hundred -of them! And he was still staring dazedly at a placard extolling -Exchequer Bonds, which adorned his office wall, when the London train -steamed slowly out of the station. Its departure had been to the casual -eye quite normal: but the casual eye is, as its name implies, casual. -The departure had been far from normal. - -It was just as the guard was waving his flag that a man, leaning our of -the window of a first-class carriage, spoke to a girl standing on the -platform. - -"You say you didn't trust the man, Miss Crossley. Do you--trust me?" - -"Naturally," she answered demurely, "after what the bank manager said." - -"It rests on the bank manager, does it?" - -She blushed faintly. "No, Mr. Hewson, it doesn't. One doesn't need a -bank manager to confirm--a certainty." - -And then the fool engine-driver had started his beastly machine. But to -call it a normal departure is obviously absurd. - - - *III* - - -"Good-morning. Mr. Ferguson, I believe?". - -Hewson entered the office at 20, Plumpton Street, and bowed slightly to -the man at the desk. As he had expected, the type was a common one--one, -incidentally, with which he had had a good deal to do himself. Mr. -Arthur Ferguson could be placed at once in the category of men who -consider that in business everything is fair, and that if they can get -the better of another man the funeral is his. And as an outlook on life -there is nothing much to be said against it, provided the other man is -of the same kidney. - -"Yes." Ferguson indicated a chair. "What can I do for you, Mr.----" -He paused, interrogatively. - -"I have come to have a short talk with you on a little matter of -business." Hewson took the proffered chair, while Ferguson glanced at -him covertly. Who the deuce was the fellow? His face seemed vaguely -familiar. - -"Delighted!" he murmured. "Have a cigar?" - -"Thank you--no. I have just come from Umberleigh, in Devonshire, Mr. -Ferguson." - -A barely perceptible change passed over the other's face. - -"Indeed," he said, easily. "I was there myself a little while ago." - -"So I understood," remarked Hewson. "A Mr. Crossley told me that you -had been good enough to sell him some shares while you were there--a -packet of Rio Lopez, to be exact." - -"I did," answered Ferguson. "Though I hardly see what concern it is of -yours." - -"All in good time," said Hewson, taking the certificate from his pocket. -"Two thousand five hundred, I see, when they were standing at two -pounds. And to-day they're a shade over four shillings--to-morrow, -quite possibly, sixpence." - -"Everything is down," remarked Ferguson with a wave of his hand. "Sorry -for Mr. Crossley." - -"So am I," said the other. "It seems hard luck on an innocent old man -like that to be left to carry the baby. He apparently placed such -reliance on your judgment, Mr. Ferguson. Moreover, I gather you dined -with him two or three times." - -"Well, what if I did?" He leaned back in his chair impatiently. "Might -I suggest that time is money to some of us, and that I'm rather busy -this morning? I'd be obliged if you'd get to the point." - -"Certainly," said Hewson, quietly. "I have a nice little bunch of two -thousand five hundred Rio Lopez which I shall be delighted to sell you, -on behalf of Mr. Crossley--at two pounds a share." - -For a moment or two Mr. Ferguson seemed to have difficulty in breathing. - -"Buy Rio Lopez at two!" he gasped. "Are you insane?" - -"Not at all," murmured Hewson, lighting a cigarette. "That is my -offer." - -"Good-morning," laughed the other. "You know the way out, don't you? -And another time, my dear sir, you'd better learn a little more about -the ways of finance before you waste your own and other people's time -coming up from the wilds of Devon." He pulled a paper towards him and -picked up his pen. It struck him as one of the richest things he'd ever -heard--a jest altogether after his own heart. And it was just as the -full beauty of it was sinking in, that his eye caught the card which his -visitor had pushed along the writing-desk. - -"Mr. Charles Hewson." Blinking slightly he stared at it, then he put -down his pen. "Mr. Charles Hewson." - -"You may know the name, Mr. Ferguson," remarked the other, quietly. -"And I can assure you that your solicitude for my knowledge of finance -touches me deeply." - -"But, I don't understand, Mr. Hewson. I had no idea who you were, but -now that I do know it makes your suggestion even more amazing." - -"In an ordinary way of business, certainly," agreed Hewson. "This is -not quite ordinary. Without mincing words, I consider that you played -Mr. Crossley an extremely dirty trick--considering that he'd opened his -house to you, and was quite obviously as ignorant of business as a -child. Why--the poor old chap saw the price in the paper the other day -and thought they were standing at four pounds three shillings." He was -staring at Ferguson with level eyes as he spoke. "I give you the chance -of returning him the money he gave to you. If you do--the matter is -ended. If you don't--I shall pay it myself. But--and this is the point, -Mr. Ferguson, which you had better consider--if I pay that money, I -shall recover it from you. Is it worth your while to have me for an -enemy? As surely as I'm sitting here, by the time I've finished with -you, you'll not have lost five thousand--you'll have lost fifty." - -"It wouldn't be worth your while," blustered Ferguson, though the hand -which held his cigar shook a little. - -"Worth is a comparative term," said Hewson, calmly. "Financially, I -agree: you're not big enough to worry over. But it will afford me great -pleasure and amusement, Mr. Ferguson--and from that point of view it -_will_ be worth while." He took out his watch. "I'll give you two -minutes to decide." - -He got up and strolled round the room, glancing every now and then at -the man sitting at the desk. In advance, he knew the answer: any man in -Ferguson's place would think twice and then again before he deliberately -took up such a challenge. And quite accurately he read the thoughts that -were passing in the other's mind. Dare he gamble on the possibility of -Hewson--as time went by--forgetting his threat, and letting the thing -drop? That was the crux. It was an insignificant amount to a man like -Hewson, but--was it the money that was at the bottom of it? While a man -in Hewson's position might well forget five thousand pounds, there might -be some other factor which would not slip his mind. It suddenly -occurred to Mr. Arthur Ferguson that there was a singularly attractive -girl in the Crossley household. And if she was the driving factor ... -One thing was perfectly certain; he would willingly pay five thousand to -escape a relentless vendetta with Charles Hewson as his enemy. It was -no idle threat on the latter's part: if he chose to he could ruin him. - -"Well?" With a snap Hewson closed his watch. "What is it to be?" - -By way of answer Ferguson took out his cheque-book. - -"Good. Make your cheque payable to Mr. Crossley, and make it for ten -thousand. I will give you a cheque for five. You can notify the -company as to the transfer." - -He drew his own cheque-book from his pocket. - -"And another time, Mr. Ferguson, leave the Crossleys of this world -alone. Good-morning." - -Mr. Arthur Ferguson was still staring dully out of the window when -Charles Hewson entered a stamp shop in the Strand in search of a penny -Mauritius. - - - *IV* - - -"I can hardly believe it. In just over a month. And the stamp as well. -Mr. Hewson--I can never thank you sufficiently." - -Back in the sunny study at Umberleigh, Mr. Crossley stared -dazedly--first at his precious stamp, then at the cheque. - -"Ten thousand pounds! I must write him a letter and thank him." - -"I'm sure Mr. Ferguson would like that," murmured Hewson. "But if I may -give you a word of advice, Mr. Crossley, I wouldn't try a gamble like -that again. Mines are precarious things--very precarious." - -"You mean, I might have lost my money?" said the old man, nervously. - -"Such things have been known to happen," said Hewson, gravely. "By the -way, is your daughter not at home?" - -"She has gone over to Barnstaple with her mother. I'm expecting them -back at any moment. Won't they be delighted?" He chuckled gleefully, -and produced the precious card containing the Mauritius set. And with a -quiet smile on his face Charles Hewson watched him from the depths of an -arm-chair. What a child he was: what a charming, lovable child! - -"There: the complete set again." In triumph he held up the card for -Hewson's inspection, and at that moment Mrs. Crossley and the girl came -through the window. - -The good news poured out in a torrent, while Hewson stood almost -forgotten in the background. - -Ten thousand pounds--two thousand five hundred shares--capital doubled -in a month--and the stamp. The old man brandished the cheque in his -excitement, and, at length, Mrs. Crossley turned to Hewson with a smile. - -"We seem to have entertained an angel unawares," and her eyes were a -little misty. "Thank you, Mr. Hewson." - -"No need to thank me, Mrs. Crossley," he laughed. "These things just -happen." - -He glanced at the girl, who had so far said nothing. She was staring at -him steadily, and there was no answering smile on her face. - -"Did you say two thousand five hundred shares, daddy?" Her voice was -quite expressionless, as she turned to her father. - -"That's it, little girl," he cried. "Sold at over four pounds a share. -Now you'll be able to have some more frocks!" - -He kissed her lovingly, and followed his wife from the room, still -chuckling and rubbing his hands together. - -"Would you explain, please, Mr. Hewson?" said the girl, in a flat, dead -voice as the door closed. - -"Explain, Miss Crossley! How do you mean? Your father acquired some -shares a little while ago--two thousand five hundred, as he told -you--which have just been sold at rather over four pounds a share. -Hence the stamp--and a cheque for ten thousand." - -"I went into the bank at Barnstaple this afternoon," said the girl, -dully, "and I happened to speak to the cashier. He told me who you -were. You're a multi-millionaire, aren't you?" - -Charles Hewson shrugged his shoulders. "I'm afraid I am," he laughed. -"Is that what you want me to explain?" - -"Don't laugh, please," said the girl, quietly. "I said that you'd been -good enough to do some business for us--something to do with Rio Lopez -shares. He said, 'Good heavens! Miss Crossley, surely Mr. Hewson -hasn't put you into Rio Lopez?' I said, 'Why not--aren't they good -shares?' You see, I didn't know what the business was you were doing. -He said, 'Good! Why the blessed things aren't worth much more than the -paper they're written on. Standing about four shillings, I think.' And -now you tell me you've sold two thousand five hundred of them at over -four pounds." Slim and erect she stood there facing him. "I don't know -anything about business: but I'm not a fool. So will you please -explain?" - -If there was anything really in the absent-treatment business, an -unsuspecting and well-meaning cashier would have fallen dead in the bank -at that moment. - -"Will you come into the garden, Miss Crossley?" said Hewson, gravely. -"I could explain better out-of-doors." - -In silence she followed him, and they found two chairs under a shady -tree. - -"Ferguson," he began, quietly, "the man who was down here a month ago, -was a pretty smart gentleman. He did a business deal with your father -which, legally speaking, was quite in order. He possessed two thousand -five hundred Rio Lopez, which, at that time, were standing at two -pounds. He sold these shares to your father knowing perfectly well that -they were only standing at such a figure because of a distinctly shady -artificial boom which had been given them. He knew they were bound to -slump--that is, fall in price. So he--finding your father supremely -ignorant of finance--unloaded those shares on to him, and left him--as -the saying goes--to carry the baby. In other words, shares that your -father paid two pounds each for, he would only get four shillings for -to-day. This morning I interviewed Mr. Ferguson in his office. And I -persuaded him--how, is immaterial--to refund your father the money. -That's all there is to it." - -"I see," said the girl. "It was very good of you. But if my father -only paid two pounds for each share--that makes five thousand. The -cheque he's got is for ten. How did he double his capital?" - -Hewson bit his lip: how indeed? - -"Oh! please be frank, Mr. Hewson. Have you given my father five -thousand pounds?" - -His fingers beat a tattoo on the arm of his chair. - -"Yes," he said at length. "I have. The dear old man thought the shares -were standing at four pounds: he read the four and threepence in the -paper as four pounds three shillings. And," he turned appealingly to -the girl, "if you could only dimly guess what pleasure it's given me, -Miss Crossley." - -"Oh! stop, please." With a little cry that was half a sob she rose. "I -suppose you meant it for the best: thought you were being kind. I don't -suppose you realized your--your impertinence. Because we offer you -lunch, Mr. Hewson, it gives you no right to dare to give my father -money. And now it's going to be doubly hard for him--when I tell him. -He'll be so--so ashamed." - -She turned away, hiding her face in her hands, and for a while there was -silence in the sunny garden. And in that moment the man knew that the -quest was over, the quest--conscious or unconscious, it matters -not--that has been man's through the ages. But no hint of it sounded in -his level voice as he spoke: the time for that was not yet. - -"And so, Miss Crossley, you propose to tell your father?" - -"What else can I possibly do?" She turned on him indignantly. - -"Of course you must decide," he continued, quietly. "I quite see how -the matter looks to you: I wonder if you are being equally fair to me. -I come here: I meet your father. I find that he has been swindled by a -man in London--a moral swindle only possible because of your father's -charming innocence. I wonder if you can realize what the atmosphere of -this place means to me--an atmosphere which must depend, to a large -extent, on the happiness and joy of you three." - -She was watching him now, and suddenly his swift smile flashed out. -"Don't you understand, Miss Crossley, that all money is relative? I'm -going to allude purposely to my disgusting wealth. You wouldn't think -much of paying five shillings for pleasure, would you? Well, five -thousand pounds means no more to me. And I've bought myself pleasure -with that money such as I don't think you can begin to conceive of." -Again he smiled: then before she could reply he went on. "So I want you -to remember, when you make your decision, what you are going to -sacrifice on the altar of pride. My feelings don't matter: but are you -going to deliberately prick the bubble of your father's happiness and -change him in a moment from a delighted child into a broken and worried -old man?" - -The girl bit her lip and stared over the rambling garden with troubled -eyes. How could she let her father take the money: how could she? And -then she heard his voice again from close behind her. - -"I'm going back to London," he said, deliberately, "and I would ask you -to keep this as our secret. I hadn't intended to go back yet: but now -that you have found out--perhaps it's better. I'll leave you free to -puzzle the thing out by yourself: only I want to make one condition." - -"What's that?" whispered the girl. - -"I want to come back for my promised visit later." Gently he swung her -round and his eyes--tender and quizzical--rested on the lovely face so -close to his. "And when I come back, I'm going to ask you a question, -which, if you can see your way to answering with a yes, will make me -your father's debtor for life. And then we could consider the five -thousand as a payment on account, which would completely and finally -settle the matter." - -Almost against her will, a faint smile began to twitch round the girl's -lips. - -"Of course I'm not much good at business, as I said, but I didn't know -that anybody ever paid on account until he had, at any rate, the promise -of the goods." - -"In these days of competition," murmured Hewson, "one sometimes has to -pay for the right of the first refusal." - -The smile was twitching again. "That right is yours without payment." - -"Then I'd better get it over quickly. Sheila--will you marry me?" - -"Mr. Hewson--I will not. Where are you going?" - -Charles Hewson turned half-way across the lawn. "Up to London. I want -to find a man there, and give him the best dinner he's ever had in his -life." - -"What man?" - -"The sportsman who wrote that article about walking tours." It was then -the smile broke bounds. - -"We've got some topping peaches in the garden. Couldn't you send him -some of those as--a payment on account?" - - - - - _*XI -- The Poser*_ - - -No one could call Portsdown-on-Sea a fashionable place. To the chosen -few it constituted the most delightful seaside resort in the south of -England. But very few did know, and they guarded their secret jealously. -They formed a clique--the Portsdown clique--and the stranger within -their gates was not welcomed. - -The Grand was their stronghold, and during the winter the hotel relapsed -into sleep, wrapped in a drab garment of dust sheets and chair covers. - -A few of the rooms were kept open all the year round for anyone who -might have business in the town; or for stray, foolhardy golfers who -found the grey scudding mist which whipped over the salt marshes a cure -for the cobwebs of an office life. But their stay was never a long one. -Three or four days, a week-end perhaps--and then once again the -melancholy waiter would preside over an empty dining-room. He formed -the nucleus of the staff--did John. Each spring he blossomed forth into -a crowd of young and more or less disreputable minions; each autumn he -shrank back again to his solitary grandeur. And Martha, the female -representative of the establishment, did likewise amongst the -chambermaid portion of the servants. - -During the war, business, even in the height of the season, had not been -good. The Get-Rich-Quick brigade, whose horizon was bounded by -half-crown cigars and champagne at any and every hour of the day, found -Portsdown slow. There was no band and there was no theatre, and there is -but little use in drinking champagne at eleven in the morning unless -less fortunate beings--professional men with a small income, or wounded -officers--can see the deed and gnash their teeth with envy. And the -cigar with the band round it quite failed to impress Peter Gurney, the -professional at the club-house. He eyed it with disfavour, and -ostentatiously stood up-wind if compelled to give a lesson to its proud -owner. - -"These 'ere links are for gowf," he remarked once in a burst of -confidence to Sawyer, his one-legged assistant, "not for the decimation -of them stinking poison-gases." - -And Sawyer, though he had an idea that something was wrong with the -phraseology of the latter part of the remark, grunted an assent. - -But, with the signing of the Armistice, visions of better days ahead -loomed up in the minds of all who were interested in the welfare of -Portsdown. Peter Gurney laid in an increased stock of hickory wood, to -make clubs for "them as can use 'em." The secretary of the golf club -turned his mind more resolutely to questions of greens and labour, and -rent his clothes and tore his hair on the matter of the unemployment -bonus. - -Up at the hotel the manager considered the advisability of hiring a -string quartette for August and September; and rumour has it that old -John so far forgot himself as to purchase two new dickies. - -"We'll be getting the old lot back," he said to Martha one day. "Men as -is men, and can bathe and play tennis and golf--not them diseases in -fancy dress, as we've had the last year or two." - -It was towards the end of March that four or five of the old habitués -arrived. They selected the chairs they had used of old: they all but -labelled them with their names. They were the forerunners of the elder -generation who remained there throughout the summer and approved or -disapproved as the case might be of the children who came later. And by -children, anything up to thirty is implied. - -It was Mrs. Garrett, the wife of the retired judge, that the manager -first told of Ruth Seaton's impending arrival. - -"Miss Bannister that was," he murmured to her one evening. "Married -poor young Mr. Seaton who came here for two or three years." - -"Why poor?" boomed his august listener. - -"He was killed in the war," he returned. "She is a widow." - -"So one would be led to assume." Mrs. Garrett regarded him judicially. -"Unless she has married again." - -The manager shrugged deprecating shoulders and passed on. The idea as -mentioned by Mrs. Garrett seemed almost indecent. - -"We must be very good to her," ordered that lady after dinner in the -lounge. "She is, after all, one of us." - -Ruth Bannister had married Jimmy Seaton the summer before the war. -There had been the time when he was training, and then those wonderful -snatched interludes of leave, when nothing mattered save the present. -And then had come the news. For a week she heard nothing--no letter, no -field service postcard. On the eighth day there came a telegram from -the War Office, and the suspense was over. - -It seemed impossible. Other men might be killed: other names might -appear in the casualty lists--but not Jimmy. Oh! no, not Jimmy--her -Jimmy. There never had been such a marriage as theirs: not a quarrel, -not a cross word the whole time. And now Jimmy was gone. Somewhere out -in that filthy field of mud he was lying, and the eyes that had smiled -at her were staring and sightless. Dear God! but it was too cruel.... - -Never again could she look at another man. Her body was still -alive--but her soul, her spirit were dead. They were buried with Jimmy. - -"You'll find me just the same, old man," she used to say out loud -sometimes--"just the same. There'll never be anyone else, Jimmy--never, -never." - -Once a well-meaning but stupid friend had suggested the possibility of -marrying again, and Ruth had smiled--a sad little smile. Also perhaps -it was just a little tolerant: the smile of a parent whose child had -asked some particularly foolish question. - -"My dear," said Ruth, "I don't think you quite understand. There'll -never be anybody in my life but Jimmy. How could there be?" - -It was her brother who first dragged her out to a theatre. - -"My dear girl," he said, "you can't go on burying yourself like this. -Come to a show; it'll do you all the good in the world." - -And Ruth, because he was home on leave, just thought it was a shame not -to give him as good a time as possible; and so, just to please him, she -went. - -She looked her best in black--and her brother's "By Jove, old bean--you -look topping!" as she came into the room before starting, sounded very -pleasantly in her ears. Of course it didn't much matter what she looked -like--now: except that Jimmy had always been very particular. He -wouldn't like her not to look smart. - -It was the second act that made her roar with laughter, and she was so -engrossed in the play that she failed to notice her brother glancing at -her once or twice with a quiet smile of satisfaction. In fact, during -the second act she quite forgot, and it was only as she stood up to go -that it all came back to her mind. - -"Good show, wasn't it?" said her brother. - -She smiled a little sadly. "I suppose so," she answered. "Somehow one -doesn't care very much in these days...." She sighed. "But anyway, you -liked it, old man, and that's all that matters." - -And her brother, who seemed on the point of saying something, changed -his mind and remained silent. - -It was natural that Ruth should go to Portsdown. It was there she had -met Jimmy: it was there they had become engaged. It would be very -painful, and in a way she dreaded the tender, intimate, associations -that all the well-known haunts would call up to her mind. Portsdown was -so woven up round Jimmy--it would seem almost part of him. That sandy -hillock, for instance, just beyond the third tee, where they had lazed -away so many afternoons together. - -The people in the hotel when she arrived were just those she would have -liked. A little elderly, perhaps, but that was in their favour. And -she knew them all so intimately. She wondered why she had ever regarded -Mrs. Garrett as a consequential old cat. Nothing could have been more -charming than her sympathy and consideration, and the others took their -tone from her. In fact, the subject of her loss seemed quite -inexhaustible. - -There were one or two mistakes made, but that was only to be expected. - -"Maybe your husband will be being demobilized soon, miss," said Peter -Gurney to her a couple of days after her arrival, as she stood on the -first tee. To him she would always be miss, and with a faint smile Ruth -Seaton turned towards him with her ball in her hand. - -"He was killed, Peter," she said--"killed on the Somme." Then she drove -a low, clean-hit shot straight up the centre of the course. For a few -moments he watched her slim figure as she walked after her ball, and -then he went into his shop. - -"Hit me over the head with yon niblick, Bob," he remarked, in a voice -which was not quite steady. "I surely am a damned, dunderheaded old -fool." - -She seemed so wonderfully plucky, and even the secretary of the golf -club descended from his exalted position temporarily and discussed the -matter with Peter Gurney. - -He disguised it well--interpolated it in between an argument on the -rival merits of two top dressings for the greens: and it was only when -he retired again to his sanctum that it struck him that any decision on -those rival merits was as unsettled as ever. But then Gurney was such -an old fool at times--quite unable to concentrate his attention on the -point at issue. - -It was on the third day after her arrival that the man came. Hugh -Ralton was not a Portsdown habitué, but he had once spent a week-end -there, and he remembered the links as being exactly what he -wanted--first-class, without being championship. He had come down to -practise for the Active Service Championship, and he had hoped to find -the Grand empty. An Eveless Eden was what he wanted--golf without -distraction. - -It was old John who told him Ruth Seaton's story, told it as if it was a -personal insult to himself, an effort perpetrated by "them 'Uns" on -Portsdown. And at dinner that evening Ralton looked at her curiously. - -He noticed the sweet resigned expression on her face, the air of quiet -sadness, and then, suddenly, their eyes met. - -She turned away at once and spoke to Mrs. Garrett. - -"No, I didn't play to-day," he heard her say. "I just walked round -the--round the old places." - -And Mrs. Garrett nodded understandingly at her pudding. She would have -nodded just as understandingly if she had known that Ruth, having made a -special pilgrimage to the hummock by the third tee, had fallen asleep in -the sun. But then, Mrs. Garrett understood nothing. And Ruth herself -was feeling a little puzzled. - -"When was Mrs. Seaton's husband killed?" said Ralton to John that night -just before he went to bed. - -"The Somme, sir," answered the old man, shaking his head. "Pore young -thing." - -But Hugh Ralton only grunted noncommittally and went upstairs. - -The next day he played his first round. He was plus one at St. Andrews, -but, despite that high qualification, one of the curses of the lesser -golfer had him in its clutches. - -He was slicing abominably, and lunatic asylums are very largely kept -going by golfers who fail to stop themselves slicing. - -At the tenth he pulled himself together. Through set teeth he spoke -words of contumely to his ball, and then he smote it. There was no -doubt about the result: it was not a slice. The ball travelled at right -angles to the line of the hole in the direction of square leg--to apply -a cricketing metaphor--and it travelled fast. And as he watched it go, -with somewhat the expression of a man who contemplates a bad oyster, his -eyes suddenly narrowed. Why the devil couldn't women take their walks -on the sea-shore or along the road, or something? - -"Fore!" With the full force of his distinctly powerful lungs, Hugh -Ralton's shout of warning echoed over the golf links, and Ruth Seaton, -who was walking slowly over the seventh green, looked up quickly. The -next moment a ball whizzed past her, and disappeared into a big -sand-bunker guarding the hole. - -Approaching her rapidly was a man, and she frowned slightly. He was -evidently going to speak to her, and apologize, and she didn't want to -speak to anybody. Certainly not a man.... Moreover, the best people do -not play the seventh hole from the tenth tee on well-regulated links, -and the girl's frown deepened. Incidentally the ball had passed her -rather too closely and rather too rapidly for her to see any vast amount -of humour in the performance. - -The man was still some fifty yards away when she recognized him as being -at the hotel. - -"I am so sorry." His voice came to her through the still air, and the -frown relaxed somewhat--Hugh Ralton's voice was a very pleasant one. -"I'd no idea there was anyone about." - -With his cap in his hand he came up to her. - -"Do you generally play a course of your own?" she demanded. "Most of us -find the proper one good enough." - -Ralton laughed, displaying two rows of white even teeth. "I abase -myself," he murmured. "The shot that caused me such a heart spasm, and -missed you by----" - -"About the distance of a putt you'd have to give even to your most hated -rival," interrupted the girl. - -"That shot," he continued, firmly, "was intended for the tenth green." - -The girl's lips began to twitch. "I was under the impression," she -remarked, meditatively, "that the tenth green lay over there." She -waved a vague hand. "About a mile away.... I don't think you can be -playing very well, somehow." - -Ralton affected to consider the point. "I must confess," he remarked, -after a while, "that there would seem to be some grounds for your -thoughts. But you must admit," he added, hopefully, "that the ball was -going very fast anyway. The direction, I grant you, was faulty, but the -velocity left nothing to be desired." - -"What you lose on the swings you make up on the roundabouts sort of -idea," she said. "Very nice, indeed, but you won't be popular if you -make a speciality of that type of shot. Incidentally your ball is in -there." She pointed to the bunker beside the green, and prepared to -continue her interrupted walk. - -"You haven't told me if I'm forgiven yet," cried Ralton. "I really am -most frightfully sorry." - -The girl paused for a moment, and her blue eyes were faintly mocking. -"You see," he plunged on, "I've been slicing abominably from the tee the -whole afternoon, and then suddenly at the tenth, for no reason that can -possibly be accounted for, save the latent devilry in every golf bail, I -got the most appalling hook on the beastly thing...." - -She started to laugh, and in a moment he was laughing too. - -"Just this once I think I can stretch a point and pardon you," she said. -"But in future you must be provided with a man carrying a red flag." - -"It shall be done," he answered. "Only for absolute safety, I suggest -the tee beside me." He looked at her tentatively. "Do you play the -noble game yourself?" - -The mocking look returned to her eyes. "I don't think that we have been -introduced, have we?" she murmured. - -"An attempt at murder is not a bad introduction," he returned, with -becoming gravity. "And, in addition, I can assure you that I know some -very nice people. Two war knights--pickles and artificial -legs--frequently ask me to dinner...." - -For a moment he was amazed at the look of weary contempt that flamed in -her eyes. "They're the only sort of people who can these days, aren't -they?" she said. "The rest of us just pick up the crumbs that fall from -the rich man's table and wonder why. You're a soldier, of course?" - -Hugh Ralton nodded gravely, and his eyes suddenly rested on the -wedding-ring she wore. - -"And you?" he asked. "Are you one too?" - -"I don't quite follow," she said, slowly. "My husband was killed on the -Somme, as a matter of fact." - -"Ah!" The man's voice seemed studiously non-committal. "That makes it -all the more important, doesn't it, that you should keep the flag flying -... and fight?" - -"What makes you think I'm not?" she demanded, staring at him defiantly. -"And anyway, it's no..." - -"Business of mine." He concluded the half-finished sentence with a -slight smile. "I know it isn't. Will you forgive me? Somehow I -thought that you would understand." He took two or three steps towards -her. "Somehow I think you do understand.... Don't you?" - -The girl made no answer, but only stared with troubled eyes over the sea -to where the low-lying spit of land which flanked Portsdown on the south -merged into the grey mist. It all seemed so grey ... grey and lifeless. - -Then she heard him speaking again. "Which bunker did you say the ball -was in?" - -"That one." Without turning her head, she pointed it out, and with a -quick sideways look at her averted face, Hugh Ralton walked past her and -retrieved his ball. - -"Would you care for a game to-morrow?" He was standing close behind -her, and after a short pause she swung round and looked at him. - -"What did you mean," she asked, quietly, "about it being all the more -important to go on fighting?" - -"One doesn't want two people killed with the same bullet, that's all," -he answered. "It makes the damned Boche so pleased." - -"Is that the only reason?" She was looking at him anxiously, her hands -thrust in the pockets of her jersey. - -"Why, no," Ralton said, gravely. "One always starts off with the lesser -reason. The real, important thing is that you shouldn't hurt the first -casualty." - -"And you think he would know?" - -"Wouldn't you hate it if he didn't?" - -The girl moved a little restlessly. "I don't know," she said at length. -"I can't make up my mind. Sometimes I think it would be hell if he -didn't: more often I think it would be hell if he did." - -Almost unconsciously they had commenced to stroll back side by side -towards the tenth tee. - -"Do you think it's been worth while?" she asked him, suddenly. - -Ralton carefully teed up his ball, and with a full clean swing drove it -over the sandy hummock in front of him. - -"Depends how you look at it, doesn't it?" he answered, shouldering his -clubs, and stuffing an empty pipe into his mouth. "We've beaten the -swine." - -"I suppose that's the only thing that matters to a man," she returned. - -"It's the only thing that matters to you." Ralton inspected the lie of -his ball carefully, and then looked at his clubs. "I think I ought to -get up with a heavy niblick," he remarked, thoughtfully. "What say you, -my lady of the links?" - -"Not if you play as you were playing when you nearly killed me," she -retorted. "The ball will go into the sea." - -Ralton smiled. "It wasn't me playing then; it was a kindly spirit that -possessed me." - -The ball rose towering into the air, and fell dead close to the -pin--that perfect shot which marks the true golfer. - -"You seem to have played this game before, remarked the girl. - -"Once, when I was very young," answered Ralton, glancing at her with a -twinkle in his eyes. "I'm a bright young lad, ain't I?" - -"What is your handicap?" she demanded. - -"It used to be plus one," he murmured, examining the line of his putt. - -"Then you had no business to try to murder me. It wasn't at all funny." - -The ball lipped the hole, and Ralton looked at her accusingly. - -"That was you," he remarked. "You've got no business to talk to the man -at the putter." - -"It was nothing of the sort," jeered the girl. "Merely a rotten bad -putt." She kicked his ball towards him, and replaced the pin in the -hole. "What are you supposed to be doing," she said, suddenly, "playing -about here by yourself?" - -"Trying to loosen some very stiff muscles for the Active Service -Championship," he answered. "Which accounts for me, my lady. Have you -got as satisfactory an explanation for yourself?" - -She frowned slightly, but Ralton was apparently engrossed in making his -tee. She waited until he had driven, and the frown disappeared. - -"What a beauty!" she cried, enthusiastically. Then she recollected his -remark, and frowned again. "But the fact that you happen to be able to -play golf is no excuse for your being rude." - -He turned and faced her with a whimsical smile on his lips. "Was I -rude?" he said. "Ah! no--I think not. Because somehow I've got an idea -that you haven't at all a satisfactory explanation to give of yourself. -I think--I may be wrong--but, I think, you're posing." - -"Posing! What do you mean?" The girl's voice was indignant. - -"Not intentionally," he went on calmly, "but unconsciously. Only you're -posing just the same." He picked up his clubs and stood for a while -looking at her thoughtfully. "I am going to play this hole," he -announced at length, "and then I am going to tell you a story.... We'll -go and sit on top of that sand dune by the next green, and look out to -sea, and listen to the oyster-catchers.... Poor little devils--those -oyster-catchers! Have you ever noticed how they do all the work, and the -gulls get all the oysters?" He came to his ball, and once again -appealed to her for advice. - -"An iron or a baffy?" he queried. - -The girl took no notice, but stood with her back towards him. She heard -the clear, sharp click of the club, and involuntarily she looked towards -the green. - -"I wonder, my friend," she remarked, "if you're as good at stories as -you are at golf. You're lying dead again." - -"I'm better," he returned confidently. "At least I shall be to-day. -Will you smoke?" - -Ralton held out his cigarette case, and after a momentary hesitation she -took one. - -"Come and let's find a good spot," he said. "You'll only put me off my -putt again if we go to the green...." - -In silence they sought a sheltered hollow on the side of the dune, and -it was not till Ruth Seaton had settled herself comfortably that she -broke the silence. - -"I don't often do this sort of thing, you know," she said, a trifle -defiantly. - -"Nor do I," answered the man. "Let us regard the occasion as -privileged." - -"Why do you think I'm posing?" she demanded. - -"Once upon a time," he began, ignoring her question, "there was a war -on, up the road. A large number of people, to their great annoyance, -got roped into the performance--amongst them a certain man, whom we will -call Jones.... Good old British name, Jones. And Jones had taken unto -himself a wife just before the war broke out." - -Ralton was staring at some gulls which circled and screamed over the -shingly beach. - -"It seemed to Jones that nothing in the whole wide world could be quite -as wonderful as the girl he had married. She was such a dear--such a -pal; and sometimes he used to look ahead into the future, and just thank -heaven for his marvellous luck. Then, as I said, came the war.... And -Jones went. - -"Naturally he had no hesitation--no more had she. It was the only -conceivable thing that any man could do. He trained along with the rest -of the New Army, and he went to France." Ralton smiled. "You will -notice that Jones and Mrs. Jones were very, very ordinary beings--like, -shall we say, you and I." - -"Stories about ordinary beings are the only ones that really matter," -said the girl. "What did Jones do in France?" - -"What thousands of other Joneses have done," answered Ralton. "He -wasn't particularly brave, and he wasn't particularly cowardly; he was -just an ordinary man who carried on because he couldn't do anything -else, and thought in his spare time quite a lot about--the one at home. -You see--it was shortly going to be two: and that makes a man -think--quite a deal, especially when he's away at a war.... Have you -got any children?" he asked, abruptly. - -The girl shook her head, and after a while he went on. - -"It was just before a battle that he got the wire he had been expecting, -and after he'd read it he sat staring at it dazedly. It just couldn't -be; of course there was a mistake. There must be. He knew that -sometimes women did die at such times; but ... but not his woman. It -couldn't be his wife that was dead--the thing was preposterous. Such a -thing couldn't happen, any more than the one man's name can ever appear -in the casualty list. Other names perhaps--but not his." - -He hit at a tuft of grass with the club in his hand. "At last it -penetrated into his brain, and by that time the battle was over. He -gathered that he had done rather well--been recommended for a decoration -of sorts, and he laughed like hell at the folly of it all. He felt he -only wanted one thing, and that was to go after his girl. He didn't -care a rap about the son he'd never seen; he knew it was being well -looked after, and he wouldn't even go on leave to see it. It was only -the girl he thought about, and she--well, she was unattainable except by -one method. So he deliberately set to work to secure that method." - -Ralton's eyes were fixed on the girl now, and her cigarette had dropped -unheeded on the grass. - -"He ran the most unheard-of risks; he volunteered for any and every -stunt that came along--but the Boche seemed to miss him on purpose. For -weeks and months it continued--but it was no good: he bore a charmed -life. - -"And now, my lady of the links, comes the point. There came a time--one -night, to be exact--when in the silence of his dugout a thought crept -into his mind, a nasty, persistent thought. He was furious at the -thought; he argued with it fiercely--but the thought remained. And so, -in order to prove that the thought was wrong, he redoubled his efforts -to secure the end which he assured himself he wanted. Before he had -been foolish, now he became damned foolish. He did the most utterly -stupid things, just to prove to himself that he intended to die; and -Fate decreed otherwise. He didn't die--but one evening the other man -did----" - -"I don't quite follow," said the girl. "What other man?" - -"His orderly," said Ralton, briefly. "Quite unnecessarily he was -walking up a road in full sight of the Boches. They were some distance -away--true; but a rifle-bullet carries some distance. Behind him was -his orderly." With a frown he looked at the girl beside him. "You've -never heard a rifle-bullet probably," he continued, after a moment. -"Never heard that sudden ping past your head which sounds like a huge -mosquito. He heard it that evening--twice; and the first time he took -no notice. You understand, don't you, that there was no necessity for -him to have been on the road?" - -She nodded. - -"The second bullet did not miss. It hit the orderly, and Jones just got -him into the ditch beside the road before he died...." - -Ralton was examining his niblick with unusual care. "This old club -seems to have suffered some." - -"Is that your story?" demanded the girl. - -"Yes, that is the story. The story of a man who posed." - -"You mean..." began Ruth Seaton, tentatively. - -"I mean that the thought which had come to him in his dugout, the -thought which he had striven so hard against, was that he didn't really -want to die. He was young, and his wife's death was beginning to lose -its sting. He wanted to live; to see his son; and he posed because he -thought it was disloyal to her memory. He posed even to himself. And -it was only as he knelt over the man in the ditch that he realized -it...." Ralton turned to the girl impulsively. "My dear," he cried, -"he learned his lesson at a great price--the price of a man's life. -There is no call for you to do that. But you're young, and life, and -all that it means, is crying out to you. And you're posing. The -sympathy of all those people at the hotel isn't real sympathy; and you -know it isn't. They're posing, too. When things are really cutting -one, when one's really up against it, one's just got to go away and -hide. The crowd is no use then." He stood up and looked at her with a -grave smile. "He won't think it disloyal, believe me. You see--he -understands." - -She watched the tall, straight figure striding away towards the green -where his ball lay, and then for a long while she sat motionless staring -out to sea. Once or twice she saw him in the distance, as he continued -on his solitary round, until a sudden shiver of cold warned her that -March at Portsdown was not the ideal month for sitting out-of-doors. - -She rose, and started to walk towards the club-house. In her path lay -the seventeenth green, and as she reached the pin she paused. Not a soul -was in sight: save for the screaming gulls the girl was alone in the -falling dusk. - -"Jimmy," she said aloud, "it was here you holed that fifteen-yard putt. -Do you remember, old man? It was behind that mound you kissed me for -the first time. D'you remember, old man? I shan't forget--ever. But -it's just a dream, Jimmy, a beautiful dream; and one mustn't pay too -much attention to dreams, must one--not after they've gone? You won't -think I'm a blighter, boy, will you? _but_ it has lost its sting. You -know what it was--at first. But now--oh! my dear--he's right, that -stranger. I've been posing. And, Jimmy, I'm going to stop. You'll -understand, lad ... and you'll be glad too, won't you--for my sake?" - -She glanced from one well-remembered spot to another; then, -deliberately, she looked up into the grey sky. - -"_Au revoir_, old chap.... God bless you." - - -It all depended on a four-foot putt. If Ralton holed out, the match -would be all square, and they would have to play the nineteenth. By -faultless golf he had pulled his opponent down from dormy three at the -sixteenth, and now at the last hole he was left with what seemed a -certainty, judging by his form up to date. And, as so often happens -with certainties, it failed to come off. - -The ball lipped the hole--hesitated, and stopped a bare inch from the -edge. For a moment Ralton looked at it, and then, with a grin, -congratulated the victor and strode through the crowd around the green. - -"Bad luck, sir--bad luck." Complete strangers condoled with him as he -passed them, and Ralton smiled his thanks. The game had been a good -one, which was all that mattered; and now that it was over, there was no -reason why he shouldn't return at once to Portsdown-on-Sea. It was a -nice place, he told himself--good golf--and... - -"Well played, my friend--well played." He stopped abruptly, and stared -at the speaker. - -"You! But what are you doing here?" - -"I understood it was a public place," she murmured. - -"I thought you were at Portsdown," he said, slowly. - -"I was until last night," she answered. "I'm going back to-morrow." - -"So am I." Ralton smiled. "I wonder if you'd help me on the journey." - -"Help you?" The girl seemed a little surprised. - -"I'm taking down my small son," he explained, "and I feel certain I -shall lose the nurse." - -She looked at him in silence for a while. "Why, yes, Mr. ... er ... -Jones," and her voice was very low, "I think I might be able to manage -it--now." - - - - THE END - - - - Made and Printed in Great Britain. - Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury. - - - - * * * * * * * * - - - - *BOOKS BY "SAPPER"* - - The Final Count - Out of the Blue - The Third Round - Jim Maitland - 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 - Shorty Bill - - HODDER AND STOUGHTON Ltd., London - - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAN IN RATCATCHER AND OTHER -STORIES *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/49590 - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so -the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. -Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this -license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg(tm) -electronic works to protect the Project Gutenberg(tm) concept and -trademark. 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