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Half A Chance
By
Frederic Stewart Isham
Contents
CHAPTER
I - MR. GILLETT'S CHARGE
CHAPTER
II - A MESSAGE TO THE ADMIRALTY
CHAPTER
III - AN UNAPPRECIATED BOUNTY
CHAPTER
I - THE WHEELS OF JUSTICE
CHAPTER
III - A LESSON IN BOTANY
CHAPTER
VIII - A CHANGE OF FRONT
CHAPTER
IX - AWAY FROM THE TOWN
CHAPTER
XIII - THE PRINCESS SUITE
CHAPTER
XV - CURRENTS AND COUNTER CURRENTS.
CHAPTER
XVIII - THROUGH THE FOG
CHAPTER
XXIII - PAST AND PRESENT
=
"By
all means, m'deah, let's go down between decks and have a look at them.&quo=
t;
"Of course, if you wish, Sir Charles,
although--Do you think we shall be edified, Mr. Gillett?"
"That depends, m'lady,"--and the
speaker, a man with official manners and ferret-like eyes, shifted from one
foot to another,--"on what degree, or particular class of criminal your
ladyship would be interested in," he added. "If in the ordinary
category of skittle sharper or thimblerigger," with a suspicion of mild
scorn, "then I do not imagine your ladyship would find much attraction=
in
the present cargo. But, on the other hand," in a livelier tone, "=
if
your ladyship has any curiosity, or shall we say, a psychological bent,
regarding the real out-and-outer, the excursion should be to your liking.
For," rubbing his hands, "a properer lot of cutthroats and bad
magsmen, it has never been my privilege to escort across the equator; and t=
his
is my sixth trip to Australia!"
"How interesting! How very interesting!&q=
uot;
The lady's voice floated languidly. "Sir Charles is quite right. We mu=
st
really go down. At any rate, it will be a change, after having been shut up=
so
long in that terrible state-room."
"One moment, m'lady! There's a little
formality that must be observed first."
"Formality?" And the lady, who was of portly appearance and uncertain age, gazed from the speaker standing deferentially before her, to a man of size, weight and importance seated in= a comfortable chair at her side. "What does he mean, Sir Charles?"<= o:p>
"Regulations, m'lady--m'lord!" was t=
he
answer. "No one allowed on the prisoners' deck without the captain's
permission. There he is now."
"Then be good enough to beckon to him!&qu=
ot;
said the lady.
But this Mr. Gillett, agent of the police,
discreetly declined to do; Captain Macpherson was a man not to be beckoned =
to
by any one; much less by him. As he stood squarely in the center of the shi=
p,
he looked like a mariner capable of commanding his boat and all the people
aboard; indeed, some of the characteristics of his vessel seemed to have
entered into his own make-up; the man matched the craft. Broad-nosed, wide =
of beam,
big, massive, obstinate-looking, the _Lord Nelson_ plowed aggressively thro=
ugh
the seas. With every square sail tugging hard at her sturdy masts, she smote
and over-rode the waves, and, beating them down, maintained an unvarying,
stubborn poise. But although she refused to vacillate or shuffle to the woo=
ing
efforts of the uneasy waters, she progressed not without noise and pother;
foamed and fumed mightily at the bow and left behind her a wake, receding
almost as far as the eyes might reach. Captain Macpherson looked after the
bubbles, cast his glance aloft at the bulging patches of white, and then co=
ndescended
to observe the agent of the police who had silently approached.
"Sir Charles and lady, and Sir Charles' p=
arty
have expressed, Captain Macpherson, the desire to obtain permission to visit
the prisoners' deck."
Captain Macpherson looked toward Sir Charles a=
nd
his lady, the other passengers lounging around them, a little girl, at the
rail, her hair, blown windward, a splash of gold against the blue sky.
"What for?" said the skipper bruskly.
"To have a look at the convicts, I
suppose."
"What good'll that do them?" growled=
the
commander. "Idle curiosity, that's what I call it. Well, go along. Onl=
y,
I'll hold you accountable, and bear this in your mind, no tracts!"
"I don't think," replied Mr. Gillett
with some asperity, "you need be apprehensive on that score, Captain
Macpherson. Sir Charles and m'lady are not that sort."
"Well, keep them away from the bars. The
weather has nae improved the tempers of a few of the rapscallions, and they=
'd
like naught better than a chance for their claws."
"Thanks for the permission, and," a
little stiffly, "the admonition, which latter," turning away, &qu=
ot;a
man whose lifelong profession has been dealing with convicts is most likely=
to
stand in need of and heed."
Captain Macpherson frowned, stumped the other = way, then looked once more aloft, and, by the exercise of that ingenuity peculia= rly his own, found new tasks for the sailors. Aboard any ship, especially a shi= p of this character, it was his theory and practice that discipline could not be= too strictly maintained and the men on the _Lord Nelson_ knew no idle moments.<= o:p>
"May I go, too?"
The child with the golden hair desisted in her
occupation of watching the flying-fish and other _real_-winged creatures, a=
nd,
leaving the rail, walked toward the group that was about to follow Mr. Gill=
ett.
She was a very beautiful girl of ten or eleven; slim, delicately fashioned,=
of
a definite proud type. But although she held herself erect, in an unconscio=
us
patrician sort of way, there was, also, about her something wayward and dif=
ferent
from the conventional, aristocratic set. The disordered golden hair proclai=
med
it, while in the depths of the fine, blue eyes manifold changing lights tol=
d of
a capriciousness out of the pale of a stiffly decorous and well-contained
caste.
"May I go, too, aunt?" she repeated.=
"Why, of course!" interposed a
blasé, cynical-appearing young man who had just emerged from the cab=
in.
"Don't know where she wants to go, or what she wants to do; but don't =
say
she can't; really you mustn't, now."
"Well, since you insist on spoiling her, =
Lord
Ronsdale--"
He twisted a blond mustache which adorned a
handsome face that bore many marks of what is called experience of the worl=
d.
"Couldn't do that! Besides, Jocelyn and I are great chums, don't you k=
now.
We're going to be married some day when she grows up."
"_Are_ we?" said the child. "The
man _I_ marry must be very big and strong, and must _not_ have light
hair."
Lord Ronsdale laughed tolerantly.
"Plenty of time for you to change your mi=
nd,
don't you know. Meanwhile, I'll not despair. Faint heart, and so on. But,&q=
uot;
turning to Sir Charles, "where is it she 'wants to go?'"
"To see the convicts."
"Convicts? Ah!" He spoke rather more
quickly than usual, with accent sharper.
"You didn't know who your neighbors were =
going
to be when you decided so suddenly to accompany us?"
"No." His voice had a metallic sound=
.
Sir Charles addressed Mr. Gillett. "Tell =
us
something more definite about your charges whom we are going to inspect. Me=
ant
to have found out earlier in the voyage, but been so jolly seasick, what wi=
th
one gale after another, I for one, until now, haven't much cared whether we=
had
Claude Duval and Dick Turpin themselves for neighbors, or whether we all we=
nt
straight to Davy Jones' locker together. A bad lot, you have already inform=
ed
us! But how bad?"
"Well, we haven't exactly M. Duval or Mr.
Turpin in the pen, but we've one or two others almost as celebrated in their
way. There's Billy Burke, as desperate a cracksman as the country can produ=
ce,
with," complacently, "a record second to none in his class.
He"--and Mr. Gillett, with considerable zest entered into the details =
of
Mr. Burke's eventful and rapacious career. "Then there's the ''Frisco
Pet,' or the 'Pride of Golden Gate,' as some of the sporting papers call
him."
"The 'Frisco Pet!" Lord Ronsdale
started; his color slightly changed; his lashes drooped over his cold eyes.
"He is on board this vessel?"
"Yes; you remember him, my Lord, I dare
say?"
"In common with many others," shortl=
y.
"Many of the gentry and titled classes did
honor him with their attention, I believe."
"Why," asked Jocelyn, whose blue eyes
were fastened very intently on the face of the police agent, "did they
call him such a funny name, the 'Frisco Pet?"
"Because he's a yankee bruiser,
prize-fighter, or was, before the drink got him," explained Mr. Gillet=
t.
"And originally, I believe, he hailed from the land of the free. Some =
one
brought him to London, found out about his 'talents' and put him in trainin=
g.
He was a low, ignorant sailor; could scarcely write his own name; but he had
biceps and a thick head. Didn't know when he was whipped. I can see him yet=
, as
he used to look, with his giant shoulders and his swagger as he stepped into
the ring. There was no nonsense about him--or his fist; could break a board=
with
that. And how the shouts used to go up; 'the pet!' 'a quid on the pet!' 'ten
bob on the stars and stripes!' meaning the costume he wore. Oh, he was a
favorite in Camden Town! But one night he failed them; met some friends from
the forecastle of a Yankee trader that had dropped down the Thames. Went in=
to
the ring with a stagger added to the swagger. Well, they took him out
unconscious; never was a man worse punished. He never got back to the sawdu=
st,
and the sporting gentlemen lost a bright and shining light."
"Broke his heart, I suppose," observ=
ed
Sir Charles.
"How could that break his heart?" as=
ked
the child wonderingly. "I thought when people had their hearts
broken--"
"Jocelyn, don't interrupt!" said the
wife of Sir Charles. "Although," to her husband, in a lower tone,
"I must confess these details a little tiresome!"
"Not a bit!" Sir Charles' voice rose=
in
lively protest. "I remember out in Australia reading about the fellow =
in
the sporting papers from home, and wondering what had become of him. So that
was it? Go on, Mr. Gillett! With your permission, m'love!"
The police agent proceeded. "After that it
was a case of the rum and the toss-pots, and when he was three sheets in the
wind, look out for squalls! He got put in quad, broke out, overpowered and
nearly killed two guards. Took to various means of livelihood, until they g=
ot
him again. Trouble in prison; transferred to the solitary with a little pun=
ishment
thrown in for a reminder. When he got out of limbo again, he lived in bad
company, in one of the tunnels near the Adelphi; hard place for the police =
to
rout a cove from. Then followed a series of rough bungling jobs he was supp=
osed
to have been mixed up in. At any rate, he got the credit. More hazards than
loot! He had too heavy fingers for anything fine; but he made it quite
interesting for the police, quite interesting! So much so, he attracted _me=
_,
and I concluded to take a hand, to direct the campaign against him, as it
were."
Mr. Gillett paused; obviously in his case egot=
ism
allied to enthusiasm made his duties a pleasure; he seemed now briefly
commending himself in his own mind. "Up to this time," he resumed,
"our friend, the ex-pugilist, had never actually killed any one, but s=
oon
after I engaged myself to look after him, word was brought to the department
that a poor woman had been murdered, a cheap music-hall dancer. She had seen
better days, however."
Lord Ronsdale, who had been looking away, yawn=
ed,
as if finding the police agent "wordy," then strolled to the rail=
.
"Suspicion pointed strongly in his direct=
ion;
and we got him after a struggle. It was a hard fight, without a referee, and
maybe we used him a little rough, but we had to. Then Dandy Joe was brought=
in.
Joe's a plain, mean little gambler and race-track follower, with courage not
big enough for broad operations. But he had a wide knowledge of what we ter=
m the
thieves' catacombs, and, well, he 'peached' on the big fellow. Gave testimo=
ny
that was of great service to the prosecution. The case seemed clear enough;
there was some sort of contrary evidence put in, but it didn't amount to
anything. His record was against him and he got a heavy sentence, with deat=
h as
a penalty, if he ever sets foot in England again."
"What," asked Mr. Gillett's youngest=
listener,
"is 'peached'?"
"In school-girl parlance, it is, I believ=
e,
to 'tell on' some one."
"You mean a tattle-tale?" scornfully.
"I hate them."
"They have their uses," he answered
softly. "And I'm rather partial to them, myself. But if you are ready,
m'lord--m'lady--"
"Quite! Egad! I'm curious to have a look =
at
the fellow. Used to like to see a good honest set-to myself occasionally,
before I became--ahem!--governor!" And rising with alacrity, Sir Charl=
es
assisted his lady from her chair. "Coming, Ronsdale?"
"Believe I won't go down," drawled t=
he
nobleman at the rail. "Air better up here," he explained.
Sir Charles laughed, got together the other
members of his party and all followed Mr. Gillett to a narrow companion way.
There a strong iron door stopped their progress, but, taking a key from his
pocket the police agent thrust it into a great padlock, gave it a turn, and
swung back the barrier. Before them stretched a long aisle; at each end sto=
od a
soldier, with musket; on one side were the cells, small, heavily-barred. The
closeness of the air was particularly and disagreeably noticeable; here
sunlight never entered, and the sullen beating of the waves against the woo=
den
shell was the only sound that disturbed the tomb-like stillness of the plac=
e.
One or two of the party looked soberer; the
child's eyes were large with awe and wonder; she regarded, not without drea=
d,
something moving, a shape, a human form in each terrible little coop. But M=
r.
Gillett's face shone with livelier emotions; he peered into the cells at his
charges with a keen bright gaze that had in it something of the animal tame=
r's zest
for his part.
"Well, how are we all to-day?" he
observed in his most animated manner to the guard. "All doing well?&qu=
ot;
"Number Six complained of being ill, but I
say it's only the dumps. Number Fourteen's been garrulous."
"Garrulous, eh? Not a little flighty?&quo=
t;
The guard nodded; Mr. Gillett whispered a few instructions, asked a number =
of
other questions. Meanwhile the child had paused before one of the cells and,
fascinated, was gazing within. What was it that held her? the pity of the
spectacle? the terror of it? Her blue eyes continued to rest on the convict=
, a young
fellow of no more than one-and-twenty, of magnificent proportions, but with
face sodden and brutish. For his part he looked at her, open-mouthed, with =
an
expression of stupid surprise at the sight of the figure so daintily and
slenderly fashioned, at the tangles of bright golden hair that seemed to ha=
ve
imprisoned some of the sunshine from above.
"Well, I'm blowed!" he muttered
hoarsely. "Where'd you come from? Looks like one o' them bally Christm=
as
dolls had dropped offen some counter in Fleet Street and got in here by
mistake!"
A mist sprang to the blue eyes; she held her
white, pretty fingers tight against her breast. "It must be
terrible--here"--she said falteringly.
The convict laughed harshly. "Hell!"=
he
said laconically.
The child trembled. "I'm sorry," she
managed to say.
The fierce dark eyes stared at her. "What
for?"
"Because--you have to stay here--"
"Well, I'm--" But this time he
apparently found no adequate adjective. "If this ain't the rummiest
Christmas doll!"
She put out her hand. "Here's something f=
or
you, poor man," she said, as steadily as she could. "It's my King=
George
gold piece, date 1762, and belonged to my father who wore it on his watch c=
hain
and who is dead. Perhaps they'll let you buy something with it."
He looked at the hand. "If she ain't stic=
kin'
out her duke to me, right through the bars. Blamed if she ain't! Looks like=
a
lily! A bally white lily!" he repeated wonderingly. "One of them =
kind
we wonst run acrost when the Cap. turned us adrift on an island, jest to wa=
ller
in green grass!"
"Don't you want it?" said the child.=
He extended a great, coarse hand hesitatingly,=
as
if half-minded to and half-minded not to touch the white finger-tips.
"You ain't afraid?"
The golden head shook ever so slightly; again =
the
big hand went toward the small one, then suddenly dropped.
"Right this way m'lord--m'lady!" The
face of the convict abruptly changed; fury, hatred, a blind instinct to kill
were unmistakably revealed in his countenance as he heard the bland voice of
the police agent. From the child's hand the gold disk fell and rolled under=
the
wooden slab that served as a couch in the cell.
"Jocelyn!" The expostulating tones of
the governor's wife preceded the approach of the party. "What are you
doing, child, so near the bars?"
"Good heavens!" Mr. Gillett seized t=
he
girl's arm and abruptly drew her away. "My dear little lady!" he
said. "Really you don't know the danger you run. And near that cell of=
all
of them!"
"That cell?" observed Sir Charles.
"Then that is--"
"The convict I was telling you about! The
'Pet of 'Frisco.' The 'Pride of Golden Gate.'"
* * *
=
=
The
following night, Captain Macpherson in his cabin, rolled up carefully the c=
hart
he had been scanning, deposited it in a copper cylinder and drew from his
pocket a small pipe. As he filled and lighted it, exhaling the smoke of the
black weed and leaning more comfortably back in his low, swinging chair, the
expression of his iron countenance exhibited, in the slightest degree, that
solace which comes from the nicotine. Occasionally, however, he would hold =
his
pipe away from his mouth, to pause and listen. The weather had turned nasty
again; above, the wind sounded loudly. Now it descended on the ship like a =
fierce-scolding
virago, then rushed on with wild, shrieking dissonance. The _Lord Nelson_
minded not, but continued steadily on her way.
Her captain emptied his pipe, glanced toward h=
is
bunk and started to take off his coat. Human nature has its limit; he had
passed many sleepless nights and now felt entitled to a brief respite,
especially as the chart showed neither reef nor rock anywhere in the
neighborhood. But he had only one arm out of the garment when something
happened that caused him to change his mind; abruptly hurled to the other e=
nd
of the cabin, he found himself lying, half-stunned, on the floor. A hubbub =
of noises
filled the air, snappings, crashings, the rending of woodwork.
Captain Macpherson staggered to his feet, and,
swaying like a drunken man, stood a few moments holding his hand to his bro=
w.
Then his fist clenched and he shook it at the cylinder that had fallen from=
the
table.
"Ye viperous, lying thing!" he cried,
and ran from the cabin to the deck.
A single glance told all: two of the ship's gi=
ant
spars had gone by the board; entangled in her own wreckage, the vessel thum=
ped
and pounded with ominous violence against some sunken reef. The full scope =
of
the plight of the once noble ship was plainly made manifest. Though thick s=
treams
of scud sped across the sky, the southern moon at the moment looked down be=
tween
two dark rivulets, and cast its silvery glow like a lime-light, over the
spectacle. Captain Macpherson groaned.
"Mr. O'Brien!" he called loudly.
"Aye, aye, sir."
"How long do you give her?"
"Half an hour, sir."
The master shook his head. "She'll nae la=
st
that long." And holding to a stanchion, he seemed like a man in a drea=
m.
"Any orders, sir?" asked the chief m=
ate.
Captain Macpherson recovered himself; his tone
became once more quick and incisive. "Ye're right; I'm gone daffy. We'=
ll
get this business over in a decorous and decent manner. And, Mr. O'Brien--l=
est
I have nae time to speak of it later--should ye get ashore, and ever find
yourself in the neighborhood o' Piccadilly, be so gude as to drop into the
admiralty office and say Captain Macpherson sends his compliments, and--to =
the diel
with their charts!"
"I'll not forget, sir!" A number of
orders followed.
As the chief mate disappeared to execute the
commands he had received, the harsh noises of the breaking ship, the seethi=
ng
of the sea about her, the flapping of canvas, like helpless broken wings, w=
as supplemented
by a babel of new and terrifying sounds, the screaming and cursing of the
convicts below, their blasphemous shrieking to be let out! To this turmoil =
and
uproar were added the frantic appeals and inquiries of the passengers who, =
more
or less dressed, had hurried to the deck and who were now speaking to the
master of the ill-starred vessel. He answered them briefly: what could be d=
one,
would be done.
"It's a question of the boats, I
suppose?" Sir Charles, one of the calmest of the ship's cabin party, a=
sked
quickly.
"In ten minutes they'll be ready for the
launching with nae lack of water and provision. Get plenty of wraps and
greatcoats. It'll be a bit disagreeable, nae doubt, out yon in the wee
craft!"
"Wee craft!" The voice of the govern=
or's
lady--she was clinging to her husband's arm--rose shrilly. "You surely=
are
not going to send us out there in one of these miserable cockleshells?"=
;
"M'love!" Sir Charles expostulated
mildly drawing her closer as he spoke, "it's the only chance, and--&qu=
ot;
Then to the captain half-apologetically--"She'll meet it with me, as s=
he
has met danger before, in the bush, like a true English-woman! But what,&qu=
ot;
indicating the convicts' deck, "what about them? It seems inhuman, yet=
if
they were let out--"
"They must not be!" Lord Ronsdale's
metallic voice interposed quickly. "I call upon you, Captain Macpherso=
n,
in the name of the women and children--"
"I've thought about that," said Capt=
ain
Macpherson shortly, and turned to his task.
The boat was soon overhauled, the lockers and
water-butt were filled, and the passengers, one by one, set into it. On the
whole, at that moment for leaving the ship, their conduct left little room =
for criticism;
one or two of the women who had appeared on the verge of hysterics now
restrained audible manifestation of emotion. Sir Charles proved a monument =
of
helpfulness; assisted in placing the women here and there, and extended a
helpful hand to Lord Ronsdale, who had become somewhat dazed and inert. Tot=
al
darkness added to the difficulties of their task, for the moon which until =
then
had shone with much luster now went behind a curtain of cloud. But Captain
Macpherson coolly called out by name the men to handle the life-boat, and, =
with
no evidence of disorder, they crowded in, none too soon! As the boat with i=
ts
human freight hung in readiness for the lowering, the remaining spar of the=
_Lord
Nelson_ fell with a mighty crash.
"Remember the name of your ship, lads!&qu=
ot;
Captain Macpherson's voice seemed to anticipate a movement of panic among t=
he
seamen on deck; if there had been any intention to "rush" the alr=
eady
well-loaded boat, it was stayed. "Mr. Gillett, I'll be troubling ye for
the keys to the convicts' deck. Mr. O'Brien, get in and take charge. Steer
southeast with a bit of rag; it's your best chance to get picked up. Hold n=
ear
the ship until the other boat with the crew can come alongside. It's as wel=
l to
keep company. Are the lines clear? Let her go."
The boat was lowered and at the right moment
touched a receding wave. Captain Macpherson waited until the chief officer
called out that they were safely away, then gave his last order:
"And now, lads, ye can be lookin' to
yourselves!"
They did; the master turned and with some diff=
iculty
made his way toward the convicts' cells. Her decks soon deserted, the ship,
like a living, writhing thing, seemed to struggle and groan, as if every ti=
mber
were crying out in vain protest against the tragic consummation. But only a=
n irrevocable
voice answered, that of the mocking sea beating harder, the cruel sea, spot=
ted
here and there with black patches between which splashes of light revealed =
the
wild waves throwing high their curd in the cold, argent glimmer. One of the=
se
illuminating dashes, as if in a spirit of irony, moved toward the ship, alm=
ost
enveloped it and showed suddenly a number of mad, leaping human figures iss=
uing
with horrible cries from one of the hatches.
"The life rafts! Old man said the boats w=
ere
gone."
"Rafts good enough for the likes of us, e=
h?
Well, he's paid for keeping us down so long. Blime if I don't think Slick S=
am
killed him."
"The rafts!" Shrieking, calling down
maledictions on the captain, they ran about, when suddenly an angry black w=
ave
swept the deck; a few went overboard with the hissing crest; several were
hurled against the bulwarks, limp, lifeless things, swirled back and forth.=
One
of their number, a big fellow of unusual strength, was shot toward the open=
companionway
leading to the main cabin; as he plunged down, he clutched at and caught the
railing. Considerably shaken, dripping with water, he pulled himself togeth=
er,
and, raising a face, sodden and fierce, like a beast brought to bay, he loo=
ked
around him. The light of one or two swinging lamps that had not yet been
shattered revealed dimly the surroundings, the dark leather upholstering, t=
he
little tables. Uncertainly the convict paused; then suddenly his eyes
brightened; the lustful anticipation of the drunkard who had long been deni=
ed
shone from his gaze as it rested on a sideboard across the cabin.
"Bottles!" he said, steadying himsel=
f.
"Rum! Well, I guess there ain't much chance for any of us, and a man's=
a
fool to go to hell thirsty!" He had started toward the sideboard with =
its
bright gleaming ware and its divers and sundry receptacles of spirits and
liqueurs, when suddenly his look changed, and his jaw fell.
"What the--" A flow of choice
Billingsgate, mingled with the sailor's equally eloquent Golden-Gate, compl=
eted
the sentence. The convict stood stock-still.
From the door of a state-room at the far end of
the cabin a figure appeared. A great shawl draped the small form; the golden
hair, a flurry of tangles, floated around it. Clinging to a brass rail that=
ran
along the side of the cabin, she approached, her eyes all alight as if well=
satisfied
with something. Amazed beyond power of action, the man continued to gaze at
her, at the tiny feet in the little pink slippers, at something she carried.
"By the great horn spoon, the Christmas doll!" he muttered hoarse=
ly.
Then forgetting his purpose, the bottles, he lurched quickly toward her.
"Wat you doin' here?" he demanded.
"I slipped out," said the child, hol=
ding
the rail tighter, as perforce she paused to answer. "I thought it would
take only a moment."
"Slipped out?" he repeated.
"Of the life-boat, I mean. It was dark and
they didn't see me. I just happened to think, and I had to do it. If I'd to=
ld
them, they mightn't have let me. It would have been very wicked if I'd gone
away and forgotten--don't you think so? And now I'm going back! Only I am
afraid I've been longer than I thought I would be. The door of my state-roo=
m seemed
to stick, and I was a few minutes getting it open."
Beneath disheveled masses of thick dark hair, =
the
brutish face continued to study the fairylike one; for the instant words se=
emed
to fail him. "Do ye mean," he observed, "you come back here =
for
that measly dicky-bird?"
"It isn't 'measly' and it isn't a
'dicky-bird!'" she answered indignantly. "And I'll thank you not =
to call
it that. It's a love-bird, and its name is Dearie!"
"'Dearie'! Ho! Ho!" The ship reeled =
at a
dangerous angle, but the convict appeared not to notice; his voice rose in
harsh, irresistible rough merriment. "'Dearie'! And she thanks me not =
to
call it names! It! No bigger'n my thumb! Ho! Ho!" His laughter, strang=
e at
such a moment, died abruptly. "Do you know what you've gone and done on
account of what's in that cage?" he demanded almost fiercely. "Yo=
u've
got left!"
"Left?" said she blankly, shrinking =
from
him a little. "You don't mean--oh, I thought I would be only a minute!
They haven't really gone, and--"
The great fingers closed on her arm. "The=
y've
gone and the crew's gone! Both boats are gone!"
"Oh!" The big blue eyes widened on h=
im;
an inkling of her plight seemed to come over her; her lips trembled, but she
held herself bravely. "You mean--we must drown?"
The thunder of seas breaking on the deck answe=
red;
a cascade of water dashed down the companionway and swept round them. The m=
an
bent toward the child. "Look a' that! Now ain't ye sorry ye come
back?"
"I couldn't leave it to drown!"
passionately--"couldn't!--couldn't!"
"Blow me, she's game!" With difficul=
ty
he maintained his equilibrium. "See here: maybe there's a chance, if a=
ny
of them's left to help with the raft. But we've got to git out o' this!&quo=
t;
He passed his hand through her arm, awaited a
favorable moment, and then, making a dash for the stairs, drew her, as best=
he
might, to the deck. At the head of the companionway, the wind smote them
fiercely with sheets of foam, but his strength stood him in good stead, and
bracing himself hard, the man managed to maintain his stand; holding the ch=
ild close
to him, he sheltered her somewhat from the full force of the storm. As he c=
ast
his glance over the deck, an oath burst from his lips; the convicts had
succeeded in launching one of the rafts and leaving the ship by means of it=
, or
else had been carried away by the seas. Of living man, he caught no sight; =
only
a single one of the dead yet remained, sliding about on the slippery planks
with the movement of the ship; now to leeward, now rushing in a contrary
direction, as if some grotesque spirit of life yet animated the dark, shape=
less
form.
From wave-washed decks the man's glance turned=
to
the sea; suddenly he started; his eyes straining, he stared hard. "May=
be
they've missed you. One of the ship's boats seems headin' this way!"
Her gaze followed his; at intervals through
driving spray a small craft could be discerned, not far distant, now riding
high on a crest, now vanishing in a black furrow.
"Are they coming back to save us?" a=
sked
the child.
The convict did not answer. Could the boat make
the ship, could it hope to, in that sea? It was easier getting away than
getting back. Besides, the opportunity for a desperate, heroic attempt to c=
ome
alongside was not to be given her, for scarcely had they caught sight of he=
r,
when the stern of the _Lord Nelson_, now filled with water from the inflow =
at
the bow, began to settle more rapidly. Then came a frightful wrenching and =
the
vessel seemed to break in two.
"Put yer arms round my neck," said t=
he
man, stooping.
She put one of them around; with the other hel=
d up
the cage. He opened the door of the wickerwork prison and a tiny thing flew
out. Then he straightened. Both arms were around him now.
"'Fraid?" he whispered hoarsely.
The child shook her head.
An instant he waited, then launched himself
forward. Buffeted hither and thither, he made a fierce fight for the rail,
reached it, and leaped far out into the seething waters.
*
=
=
In the
prime of his belligerent career the Pet of 'Frisco had undergone many fierce
contests and withstood some terrible punishments, but never had he undertak=
en a
task calling for greater courage and power of endurance than the one he had
this night voluntarily assumed. Dashed about by the seas, he yet managed to
keep to the surface; minutes seemed to lengthen into eternity; many times he
called out loudly. The arms about his neck relaxed, but he held the child to
him. Not for an instant did the temptation come to him to release her that =
he
might the more surely save himself. Overwhelmed again and again by the wave=
s,
each time he emerged with her tight against his breast; half-strangled, he =
continued
to fight on. But at length even his dogged obstinacy and determination bega=
n to
flag; he felt his strength going, when raising his eyes he saw one of the s=
mall
craft from the lost vessel bearing directly down upon him.
The sight inspired new energy and effort; near=
er,
nearer, she drew; now she was but a few yards away. Then suddenly the sheet=
of
the life-boat went out and the little sail fluttered like a mad thing, while
the men bent with might and main over their ash handles in the endeavor to =
obey
the commands of the chief mate in the stern. But despite skill and strength=
she
was not easy to steer; once she nearly capsized; then eager hands reached o=
ver
the side. The convict held up the child; a voice--the police agent's--called
out that they "had her"; and then the mate broke in with harsh,
warning yells.
"Pull port!--quick!--or we're over!"=
And
at once the outreaching arms returned quickly to their task; as the child w=
as
drawn in, oars dragged and tugged; the life-boat came slowly about, shipping
several barrels of water. At the same time some one made the loosened sheet
taut, the canvas caught the gust and the craft gained sufficient headway to
enable her to run over, and not be run down by the seas. As she careened an=
d plunged,
racing down a frothing dark billow, the convict, relieved of his burden, cl=
ung
to the lower gunwale. By a desperate effort he drew himself up, when a face
vaguely remembered--as part of a bad dream--looked into his, with a dash of
surprise.
"Eh?--Gimme a hand--"
The asked-for hand swept suddenly under the one
grasping the side of the boat, and shot up sharply. In the darkness and
confusion no one saw the act. The convict disappeared, but his half-articul=
ate
curses followed.
"The fellow's let go," muttered Lord
Ronsdale with a shiver.
At the steering oar the chief mate, hearing the
cries of the man, cast a swift glance over his shoulder and hesitated. To b=
ring
the boat, half-filled with water, around now, meant inevitable disaster; on=
e experiment
of the sort had well-nigh ended in their all being drowned. He knew he was
personally responsible for the lives in his charge; and with but an instant=
in
which to decide, he declined to repeat the risk.
"He's probably gone by this time,
anyhow," he told himself, and drove on.
The convict, however, was not yet quite
"gone"; as the boat receded rapidly from view, becoming smaller a=
nd
smaller, he continued mechanically to use his arms. But he had as little he=
art
as little strength to go on with the uneven contest.
"He's done me! done me!" he repeated=
to
himself. "And I ain't never goin' to git a chance to fix him," he
thought, and looked despairingly at the sky. The dark rushing clouds looked
like black demons; the stars they uncovered were bright gleaming dagger poi=
nts.
"Ain't never!--the slob!" And with a flood of almost sobbing
invective he let himself go.
But as the waters closed over him and he sank,=
his
hand, reaching blindly out to grip in imagination the foe, touched somethin=
g round--like
a serpent, or an eel. His fingers closed about it--it proved to be a line; =
he
drew himself along, and to his surprise found himself again on the surface,=
and
near a great fragment of wreckage. This he might have discovered earlier, b=
ut
for the anger and hatred that had blinded him to all save the realization of
his inability to wreak vengeance. Now, though he managed to reach the edge =
of
the swaying mass from which the line dangled, he was too weak to draw himse=
lf
up on the floating timbers. But he did pass a loop beneath his arms, and, t=
hus sustained,
he waited for his strength to return. Finally, his mind in a daze, the conv=
ict
clambered, after repeated efforts, upon the wreckage, fastened the line abo=
ut
him again, and, falling into a saucer-like hollow, he sank into
unconsciousness.
The night wore on; he did not move. The sea be=
gan
to subside; still he lay as if dead. Dawn's rosy lips kissed away the black
shadows, touched tenderly the waves' tops, and at length the man stirred. He
tried to sit up, but at first could not. Finally he raised himself and look=
ed
about him.
No other sign of the vessel than that part of =
it
which had served him so well could he see; this fragment seemed rent from t=
he
bow; yes, there was the yellow wooden mermaid bobbing to the waves; but not=
as
of old! Poor cast-out trollop,--now the seas made sport of her who once had
held her head so high!
The convict continued to gaze out over the oce=
an.
Far away, a dark fringe broke the sea-line--a suggestion of foliage--an isl=
and,
or a mirage? Tantalizing, it lay like a shadow, illusive, unattainable as t=
he "forgotten
isles." The man staggered to his feet; his garments were torn; his hair
hung over his brow. He shook his arms at the island;--this phantasy, this v=
ain,
empty vision, he regarded it now as some savage creature might a bone just =
out
of its reach; from his lips vile words fell--to be suddenly hushed. Between=
him
and what he gazed at, along the range of vision, an object on one of the
projecting timbers caught his eye. It was very small, but it gleamed like a
spark sprung from the embers of the dawn.
"The dicky-bird!" His dried lips tri=
ed
to laugh. "Ef it ain't the dicky-bird!" The bird looked at him.
"Ef that doesn't beat--" but he could not think what it
"beat." The bird cocked its head. "Ain't ye afeard o' me?&qu=
ot;
It gave a feeble chirp. "Well, I'm damned!" said the man, and aft=
er
this mild expression of his feelings, forgot to curse again. He even began =
to
eye the island with a vague questioning wonder, as if asking himself what m=
eans
might be thought of that would enable him to reach it; but the problem seem=
ed
to be beyond solution. The wreckage, like a great lump, lay supinely on the
surface of the water; he could not hope to move it.
The day slowly passed; the sun dried his cloth=
es;
once or twice the bird made a sound--a plaintive little tone--and involunta=
rily
the man moved with care, thinking not to frighten it. But caution in that
regard seemed unnecessary, for the bird appeared very tame and not at all a=
verse
to company.
Toward noon the man began to suffer more acute=
ly
from thirst, and drawing out a sailors' oilskin pouch, one of the few
possessions he had been allowed by the police to retain, he took from it a
piece of tobacco which he began to chew. At the same time he eyed the rest =
of
the contents--half a ship's biscuit, some matches and a mariner's thimble. =
The
biscuit he broke, and threw a few crumbs, where the timbers were dry, near =
the
bird. For a long time it looked at the tiny white morsels; but finally, con=
quering
shyness, hopped from its perch and tentatively approached the banquet. Hours
went by; the man chewed; the bird pecked.
That night it rained in real, tropical earnest,
and he made a water vessel of his shoe, drank many times, ate a few mouthfu=
ls
of biscuit, and then placed the filled receptacle where he had thrown the
crumbs. As he did so he found himself wondering if the dawn would reveal his
little feathered shipmate or whether it had been swept away by the violence=
of the
rain. The early shafts of day showed him the bird on its perch; it had
apparently found shelter from the heavy down-pour beneath some out-jutting
timber and seemed no worse for the experience. The man's second glance was =
in
the direction of the island; what he saw brought a sudden exclamation to his
lips. The land certainly seemed much nearer; some current was sweeping them
toward it slowly, but irresistibly. The 'Frisco Pet swore joyfully; his eyes
shone. "I may do him yet!" he muttered. The bird chirped; he look=
ed
at it. "Breakfast, eh?" he said and tossed a few more crumbs near=
the
shoe.
The second day on the floating bow, he brooded=
a
great deal; the sharper pangs of hunger assailed him; he grew desperately
impatient, the distance to the island decreased so gradually. A breeze from=
the
coveted shore fanned his cheek; he fancied it held them back, and fulminate=
d against
it,--the beneficent current,--the providential timbers! A feeling of blind
helplessness followed; the sun, beating down fiercely, made him light-heade=
d.
Hardly knowing what he did, he drew forth the last little bit of the biscui=
t,
ground it between his teeth and greedily swallowed it. The act seemed to so=
ber
him; he raised his big hand to his brow and looked at "Dearie";
through the confusion of his thoughts he felt he had done some despicable
thing.
"That weren't fair play, were it now?&quo=
t;
he said, looking at the bird. "That ain't like a pal," he repeate=
d.
The bird remained silent; he fancied reproach in its bead-like eyes, they
seemed to bore into him. "And you such a small chap, too!" he
muttered; then he turned his back on the island, and, with head resting on =
his
elbow, uttered no further complaint.
That second day on the raft seemed much longer
than the first; the second night of infinitely greater duration than the
preceding one; but dawn revealed the island very near, so near, indeed, the
bird made up its mind to try to reach it. It looked at the man for a moment=
and
then flew away. Long he watched it, a little dark spot--now that he could n=
o longer
see the ruby on its breast! At length it was lost to sight; swallowed up by=
the
green blur.
The small winged creature gone, the man missed=
it.
"'Peared like 'twas glad to leave such a pal!" he thought
regretfully. The floating timbers became well-nigh intolerable; he kept ask=
ing
himself if he could swim to land, but, knowing his weakness from long fasti=
ng,
he curbed his impatience. His eyes grew tired with staring at the longed-for
spot; he suffered the torments of Tantalus, and finally could endure them n=
o longer.
So making his clothes into a bundle, he tied them around his neck and slipp=
ed
into the water.
Half an hour later found him, prone and exhaus=
ted,
on the yellow sands. Near-by, tall and stately trees nodded at him; close at
hand a great crab regarded him with reflective interest, hesitating between
prudence and carnivorous desire. Gluttonous inclination to sample the goods=
the
gods had provided prevailed over caution; it moved quickly forward, when wh=
at
it had considered only an unexpected and welcome _pièce de ré=
sistance_
abruptly got up. The tables were turned; that which came to dine was dined
upon; a crushing blow demonstrated the law of the survival of the fittest; =
the
weaker adorned the board. The man tore it to bits, ate it like the famished
animal he was. More freely his blood coursed; he looked around; saw other
creatures and laughed. There seemed little occasion for any one to starve h=
ere;
the isle, a beautiful emerald on the breast of the sea, became a fair
battle-ground; all he needed was a club and he soon found that.
For a week nothing of moment interrupted the e=
ven
tenor of his existence; he led the life of a savage and found it to his lik=
ing,
pounced upon turtles and cooked them, kept his fire going because he had but
few matches. Lying before the blaze at night, near a little spring, he told
himself that this was better than being behind prison bars; true, he lacked
company, but he had known worse solitude--the "solitary." In it, =
he
had lain on the hard stones; here he had soft moss. If only he could reach =
out
and touch those he hated--the unknown enemy whose face had bent over him a
fleeting instant ere he had struck his hand from the gunwale; Dandy Joe and=
the
police agent--if only they, too, were here, the place would have been world
enough for him. But then, he felt, the time for the reckoning must come,--it
lay somewhere in the certain future. Unconscious fatalist, he nourished the
conviction as he nourished the coals of his fire.
Other means to enhance his physical comfort ch=
ance
afforded him; the fleshpots were supplemented with a beverage, stronger and
more welcome than that which bubbled and trickled so musically at his feet.=
One
day a box was washed ashore; a message from the civilized centers to the fi=
eld of
primitive man! On its cover were the words, "Via sailing vessel, _Lord
Nelson_" followed by the address. The convict pried the boards apart a=
nd
gave a shout. Rum!--and plenty of it!--bottle after bottle, in an overcoat =
of
straw, nestling lovingly one upon another. The man licked his lips; knocked=
off
a neck, drank deep, and then, stopping many times, carried his treasure to =
his
bower.
Day after day turned its page, merged into the
past; sometimes, perforce, he got up, and, not a pleasant thing to look at,
staggered to the beach with his club. There he would slay some crawling thi=
ng
from the sea, return with his prize to mingle eating with drinking, until s=
ated
with both, he would fall back unconscious among the flowers. But the prolon=
ged
indulgence began to have a marked effect on his store; bottle after bottle =
was
tossed off; the empty shells flung aside to the daisies. At length the day =
came
when only two bottles remained in the case, one full pair, sole survivors of
the lot. The man took them out, set them up and regarded them; a sense of
impending disaster, of imminent tragedy, shivered through his dulled
consciousness. He reached for the bottles and fondled them, started to knock
the head from one and put it down. Resisting desire, he told himself he wou=
ld
have a look at the beach; the ocean had generously cast one box of well-pri=
med
bottles at his feet; perhaps it would repeat its hospitable action and make=
him
once more the recipient of its bounty. The thought buoyed him to the shore;=
the
sea lapped the sand with Lydian whispers, and there, beyond the edge of the
soft singing ripples, he saw something that made him rub his dazed eyes.
A box!--a big box!--a box as tall as he was! No
paltry dozen or two this time! Perhaps there was whisky, too; and the bubbl=
ing
stuff the long-necked lords had sometimes pressed upon him in the past, whe=
n he
had "ousted" his man and put quids in their pockets; or some of t=
hat fiery
_vin_--something he had once indulged in with a Johnny Frenchman before he =
took
to the tunnel, when he had been free to swagger through old Leicester Squar=
e.
Anyhow, he would soon find out, and, rushing through the water, he laid a
proprietary hand on the box. But to his disappointment, he could not move i=
t;
strong though he was, its great weight defied him. Ingenuity came to his ai=
d,
for, after a moment's pondering, he left the box to the sea and made his way
back to the forest. When he returned he bore on his shoulder a straight, st=
out
limb which he had wrenched from a tree, and in his hand he carried a great =
stone.
The former became a lever, the latter, a fulcrum; and, by patient exercise =
of
one of the simple principles of physics, he managed, at length, to transfer=
the
large box from ocean to land.
To break it open was his next problem, and no =
easy
one, for the boards were thick, the nails many and formidable. A long time =
he
battered and battered in vain with his rocks, but, after an hour or so, he
succeeded in splintering his way through the tough pine. His exertions did =
not
end here; an inner sheeting of tin caused him to frown; more furiously he a=
ttacked
this with sharp bits of coral, cutting and bruising his hands. Unmindful of
pain, he was enabled at length to pull back a portion of the protecting met=
al
and reveal the contents of the packing-case. In his befuddled, half-crazed
condition, he had thought only of bottles; what he found proved a different
sort of merchandise.
Maddened, he tossed and scattered the contents=
of
the box on the beach. The ocean had deceived him, laughed at him, cheated h=
im.
He turned from the shore unsteadily, walked back to his camp and knocked the
neck from one of the two remaining bottles. A few hours later, sodden, sott=
ish,
he lay without motion, face to the sky. And as he breathed thickly, one ble=
eding
hand still holding the empty bottle, a bird from an overhanging branch look=
ed
down upon him: a tiny bird, little bigger than his thumb, that carried a
bright, beautiful spot of red on its breast, cocked its head questioningly.=
*
=
=
London,
in the spring! Sunshine; the Thames agleam with silver ripples, singing as =
it
flows; red sails! Joyous London that has emerged from fogs and basks beneath
blue skies! Thoroughfares that give forth a glad hum; wheels singing, too;
whips that crack in sprightly arpeggios. On the streets, people, not shadow=
s,
who walk with a swing; who really seem to breathe and not slink uncannily b=
y!
Eyes that regard you with human expression; faces that seem capable of emot=
ion;
figures adorned in keeping with the bright realities of the moment. London;=
old
London young again; grimy, repulsive London now bright, shimmering, beautif=
ul!
In such a London, on such a day, about ten o'c=
lock
in the morning, three persons whose appearance distinguished them from the
ordinary passers-by, turned into a narrow thoroughfare not far from the Str=
and.
"Quite worth while going to hear John Ste=
ele
conduct for his client, I assure you!" observed one, a tall,
military-looking man, who walked with a slight limp and carried a cane.
"He's a new man, but he's making his mark. When he asked to be admitte=
d to
the English bar, he surprised even his examiners. His summing-up in the
Doughertie murder case was, I heard his lordship remark, one of the most
masterly efforts he ever listened to. Just tore the circumstantial evidence=
to
pieces and freed his man! Besides his profession at the bar, he is an unusu=
ally
gifted criminologist; takes a strong personal interest in the lowest riffra=
ff; is
writing a book, I understand--one of the kind that will throw a new light on
the subject."
"Just what is a criminologist?" The
speaker, a girl of about eighteen, turned as she lightly asked the question=
, to
glance over her shoulder toward several persons who followed them.
"One who seeks to apply to the criminal t=
he
methods of psychology, psychiatry and anthropology," he answered with
jesting impressiveness.
She laughed. "But you said this Mr. Steele
comes from our part of the world, did you not, Captain Forsythe?"
"So I understand, Miss Jocelyn. Not much =
of a
person to talk about himself, don't you know,"--tentatively stroking an
imposing pair of mustaches, tinged with gray,--"but he has mentioned, I
believe, living in New Zealand; or was it Australia?"
"Australia?" the cold, metallic tone=
s of
the third person, a man of about three-and-thirty, inquired. "Most lik=
ely
the other place, or we should have heard--"
"True, Lord Ronsdale!" said the other
man, pausing before a great door. "But here we are."
"'All ye who enter, etc'" laughed the
girl.
"Not if one comes just to 'do' it, you
know," was the protesting answer. "Quite the thing to take in the
criminal courts!"
"When one is only a sort of country cousi=
n, a
colonial, just come to town!" she added, waving a small, daintily-glov=
ed hand
to the little group of friends who now approached and joined them.
"Captain Forsythe is trying to persuade me it is a legitimate part of =
our
slumming plan to take in murder trials, uncle," she said lightly,
addressing the foremost of the new-comers. "Just because it's a fad of
his! Speaking of this acquaintance or friend of yours, Mr. Steele,--you are
something of a criminologist, too, are you not, Captain Forsythe?"
"Well, every man should have a hobby,&quo=
t;
returned that individual, "and, although I don't aspire to the long na=
me
you call me, I confess to a slight amateur interest."
Lord Ronsdale shrugged his shoulders, as to sa=
y,
every one to his taste; but the girl laughed.
"Slight?" she repeated. "Would =
you
believe it, aunt"--to a portly lady among those who had
approached--"he never misses a murder trial! I believe he likes to wat=
ch
the poor fellows fighting for their lives, to study their faces, their
expressions when they're being sentenced, perhaps, to one of those horrible
convict ships!"
"Don't speak of them, my dear Jocelyn!&qu=
ot;
returned that worthy person, with a shudder. "When I think of the _Lord
Nelson_, and that awful night--"
"You were three days in an open boat befo=
re
being sighted and picked up, I believe, Lady Wray?" observed Captain F=
orsythe.
"Three days? Years!" returned the
governor's wife. "At least, they seemed so to me! I thought every mome=
nt
would be our last and goodness knows why it wasn't! How we managed to survi=
ve
it--"
"Narrow squeak, certainly!" said Lord
Ronsdale, his lids lowering slightly. "But all's well that ends well,
and--"
"Every one behaved splendidly,"
interposed Sir Charles. "You," gazing contemplatively at the girl,
"were but a child then, Jocelyn."
She did not answer; the beautiful face had
abruptly changed; all laughter had gone from the clear blue eyes.
"She is thinking of the convict who saved
her!" observed Sir Charles in an explanatory tone to Captain Forsythe.
"Quite an interesting episode, 'pon honor! Tell you about it later. Ne=
ver
saw anything finer, or better. And the amazing part of it is, the fellow lo=
oked
like a brute, had the low, ignorant face of an ex-bruiser. He'd gone to the
bad, taken to drink, and committed I don't know how many crimes! Yet that m=
an,
the lowest of the low--"
"You must not speak of him that way!"
The girl's hands were clasped; the slender, shapely figure was very straigh=
t.
Her beautiful blue eyes, full of varying lights, flashed, then became dimme=
d; a
suspicion of mist blurred the long, sweeping lashes. "He had a big, no=
ble
spark in his soul. And I think of him many, many times!" she repeated,=
the
sweet, gay lips trembling sensitively. "Brave fellow! Brave fellow!&qu=
ot;
The words fell in a whisper.
"Fortunate fellow, I should say, to be so
remembered by you, Miss Jocelyn!" interposed Captain Forsythe. "E=
h,
Ronsdale?"
"Fortunate, indeed!" the thin lips
replied stiffly.
"Pity he should have been drowned
though!" Captain Forsythe went on. "He would, I am sure, have mad=
e a
most interesting study in contrasts!"
She, however, seemed not to hear either
compliment--or comment, but stood for a moment as in a reverie. "I am
almost sorry I was persuaded to come here to-day," she said at length,
thoughtfully. "I don't believe I shall like courts, or," she adde=
d,
"find them amusing!"
"Nonsense!" Sir Charles laughed. &qu=
ot;I
have heard his lordship has a pretty sense of humor, and never fails, when
opportunity offers, to indulge it."
"Even when sentencing people?"
"Well; there is no need of turning the
proceedings into a funeral."
"I don't believe I should laugh at his
wit," said the girl. "And is this Mr. John Steele witty, too?&quo=
t;
"Oh, no! Anything irrelevant from any one
else wouldn't be allowed by his lordship."
Here Ronsdale lifted his hat. "May happen
back this way," he observed. "That is," looking at Jocelyn W=
ray,
"if you don't object?"
"I? Not at all! Of course, it would bore
you--a trial! You are so easily bored. Is it the club?"
"No; another engagement. Thank you so much
for permission to return for you--very kind. Hope you will find it amusing.
Good morning!" And Lord Ronsdale vanished down the narrow way.
The others of the party entered the court room=
and
were shown to the seats that Captain Forsythe had taken particular pains to
reserve for them. The case, evidently an interesting one to judge from the
number of people present, was in progress as they quietly settled down in t=
heir
chairs at the back. From the vantage point of a slight eminence they found
themselves afforded an excellent and unimpaired view of his lordship, the j=
ury,
prisoner, witness and barristers. Presumably the case had reached an acute
stage, for even the judge appeared slightly mindful of what was going on, a=
nd
allowed his glance to stray toward the witness. The latter, a little man, in
cheap attire flashily debonnaire if the worse for long service, seemed to
experience difficulty in speaking, to hesitate before his words, and, when =
he
did answer, to betray in his tone no great amount of confidence. He looked
weary and somewhat crestfallen, as if his will were being broken down, or s=
ubjected
to a severe strain, the truth being ground out of him by some irresistible
process.
"That's John Steele cross-examining
now!" Captain Forsythe whispered to the girl. "And that's Dandy J=
oe,
as he's called, one of the police spies, cheap race-track man and so on, in=
the
box. He came to the front in a murder trial quite celebrated in its day, and
one I always had my own little theory about. Not that it matters now!"=
he
added with a sigh.
But the girl was listening to another voice, a
clear voice, a quiet voice, a voice capable of the strongest varying accent=
s.
She looked at the speaker; he held himself with the assurance of one certai=
n of
his ground. His shoulders were straight and broad; he stood like an athlete=
, and,
when he moved, it was impossible to be unconscious of a certain physical gr=
ace
that came from well-trained muscles. He carried his head high, as if from a
habit of thought, of looking up, not down, when he turned from the pages of=
the
heavy tomes in his study; his face conveyed an impression of intelligence a=
nd
intensity; his eyes, dark, deep, searched fully those they rested on.
He had reached a point in his cross-examination
where he had almost thoroughly discredited this witness for the prosecution,
when turning toward a table to take up a paper, his glance, casually liftin=
g,
rested on the distinguished party in the rear of the room, or rather it res=
ted on
one of them. Against the dark background, the girl's golden hair was well-c=
alculated
to catch the wandering gaze; the flowers in her hat, the great bunch of vio=
lets
in her dress added insistent alluring bits of color in the dim spot where s=
he
sat. Erect as a lily stem, she looked oddly out of place in that large, som=
ber
room; there, where the harsh requiem of bruised and broken lives unceasingly
sounded, she seemed like some presence typical of spring, wafted thither by
mistake. The man continued to regard her. Suddenly he started, and his eyes
almost eagerly searched the lovely, proud face.
His back was turned to the judge, who stirred
nervously, but waited a fraction of a second before he spoke.
"If the cross-examination is finished--&q=
uot;
he began.
John Steele wheeled; his face changed; a smile=
of
singular charm accompanied his answer.
"Your lordship will pardon me; the human =
mind
has its aberrations. At the moment, by a curious psychological turn, a feat=
ure
of another problem seized me; it was like playing two games of chess at onc=
e. Perhaps
your honor has experienced the sensation?"
His lordship beamed. "Quite so," he
observed unctuously. "I have to confess that once in a great while,
although following a case very closely, I have found it possible to conside=
r at
the same time whether I would later have port or sherry with my
canvasback."
Of course every one smiled; the business of the
morning ran on, and John Steele, at length, concluded his cross-examination.
"I think, your Lordship, the question of the reliability of this man, =
as a
witness, in this, or--any other case--fully established."
"Any other case?" said his lordship.
"We are not trying any other case."
"Not now, your Lordship." John Steele
bowed. "I ask your lordship's indulgence for the"--an instant's
ironical light gleamed from the dark eyes--"superfluity."
"Witness may go," said his lordship
bruskly.
Dandy Joe, a good deal damaged in the world's
estimation, stepped down; his erstwhile well-curled mustache of brick-dust =
hue
seemed to droop as he slunk out of the box; he appeared subdued, almost
frightened,--quite unlike the jaunty little cockney that had stepped so
blithely forth to give his testimony.
The witnesses all heard, John Steele, for the
defense, spoke briefly; but his words were well-chosen, his sentences of
classic purity. As the girl listened, it seemed to her not strange that Cap=
tain
Forsythe, as well as others, perhaps, should be drawn hither on occasions w=
hen
this man appeared. Straight, direct logic characterized the speech from beg=
inning
to end; only once did a suggestion of sentiment--curt pity for that
gin-besotted thing, the prisoner!--obtrude itself; then it passed so quickly
his lordship forgot to intervene, and the effect remained, a flash,
illuminating, Rembrandt-like!
Time slipped by; the judge looked at his watch,
bethought him of a big silver dish filled with an amber-hued specialty of t=
he
Ship and Turtle, and adjourned court. His address interrupted by the exigen=
cies
of the moment, John Steele began mechanically to gather up his books; his f=
ace that
had been marked by the set look of one determined to drive on at his best w=
ith
a task, now wore a preoccupied expression. The prisoner whined a question;
Steele did not answer, and some one bustled the man out. Having brought his
volumes together in a little pile, Steele absently separated them again; at=
the
same time Sir Charles and his party walked toward the bench. They were met =
by
his lordship and cordially greeted.
"A privilege, Sir Charles, to meet one we
have heard of so often, in the antipodes."
"Thank you. His lordship, Judge Beeson,
m'dear, whose decisions--"
"Allow me to congratulate you, sir!"=
The
enthusiastic voice was that of Captain Forsythe, addressing John Steele.
"Your cross-examination was masterly; had you been in a certain other
case, years ago, when the evidence of that very person on the stand to-day-=
-in the
main--convicted a man of murder, I fancy the result then would have been
different!"
John Steele seemed not to hear; his eyes were
turned toward the beautiful girl. She was standing quite close to him now; =
he
could detect the fragrance of the violets she wore, a fresh sweet smell so
welcome in that close, musty atmosphere.
"My niece, your Lordship, Miss Wray."=
;
Steele saw her bow and heard her speak to that
august court personage; then as the latter, after further brief talk, hurri=
ed
away--
"Sir Charles, let me present to you Mr.
Steele," said Captain Forsythe. "Lady Wray--"
"Happy to know you, sir," said the
governor heartily.
"Miss Jocelyn Wray," added the milit=
ary
man, "who," with a laugh, "experienced some doubts about a v=
isit
of this kind being conducive to pleasure!"
John Steele took the small gloved hand she gave
him; her eyes were very bright.
"I enjoyed--I don't mean that--I am so gl=
ad I
came," said the girl. "And heard you!" she added.
He thanked her in a low tone, looking at her h=
and
as he dropped it. "You,--you are making England your home?" His v=
oice
was singularly hesitating!
"Yes." She looked at him a little
surprised. "At least, for the present! But how--" she broke off.
"I suppose, though, you could tell by my accent. I've lived nearly all=
my
life in Australia, and--"
Sir Charles, interrupting, reminded them of an
appointment; the party turned. A slender figure inclined itself very slight=
ly
toward John Steele; a voice wished him good morning. The man stood with his
hands on his books; it did not occur to him to accompany her to the door. S=
uddenly
he looked over his shoulder; at the threshold, she, too, had turned her hea=
d.
An instant their glances met; the next, she was gone.
*
=
=
When
John Steele left the court toward the end of the day, he held his head as a=
man
who thinks deeply. From the door he directed his steps toward Charing Cross.
But only to wheel abruptly, and retrace his way. He was not an absent-minde=
d man,
yet he had been striding unconsciously not toward his customary destination=
at
that hour, the several chambers at once his office and his home. For a mome=
nt
the strong face of the man relaxed, as if in amusement at his own remissnes=
s;
gradually however, it once more resumed its expression of musing
thoughtfulness. The stream of human beings, in the main, flowed toward him;=
he
breasted the current as he had for many evenings, only this night he did not
look into the faces of these, his neighbors; the great city's concourse of
atoms swept unmeaningly by.
Turning into a narrow way, not far from the
embankment, he stopped before the door of a solid-looking brick building, l=
et
himself in, and made his way up-stairs. On the third floor he applied anoth=
er
and smaller key to another lock and, from a hall, entered a large apartment=
, noteworthy
for its handsome array of books that reached from floor to ceiling wherever
there was shelf space. Most of these volumes were soberly bound in conventi=
onal
legal garb but others in elegant, more gracious array, congregated, a little
cosmopolitan community, in a section by themselves.
Passing through this apartment, John Steele
stepped into that adjoining, the sitting-and dining-room. The small table h=
ad
already been set; the sun's dying rays that shot through the window revealed
snowy linen, brightly gleaming silver and a number of papers and letters. T=
hey showed,
also, a large cage with a small bird that chirped as the man came in; John
Steele looked at it a moment, walked to a mirror and looked at himself. Long
the deep eyes studied the firm resolute face; they seemed endeavoring to ga=
ze
beyond it; but the present visage, like a shadow, waved before him. The man=
's
expression became inscrutable; stepping to the window, he gazed out on the
Thames. A purplish glimmer lent enchantment to the noble stream; it may be =
as
he looked upon it, his thoughts flowed with the river, past dilapidated
structures, between whispering reeds on green banks, to the sea!
A discreet rapping at the door, followed by the
appearance of a round-faced little man, with a tray, interrupted further
contemplation or reverie on John Steele's part. Seating himself at the tabl=
e,
he responded negatively to the servant's inquiry if "anythink" el=
se
would be required, and when the man had withdrawn, mechanically turned to h=
is letters
and to his simple evening repast. He ate with no great evidence of appetite,
soon brushed the missives, half-read, aside, and pushed back his chair.
Lighting a pipe he picked up one of the papers,
and for some moments his attention seemed fairly divided between a casual
inspection of the light arabesques that ascended in clouds from his lips and
the heavy-looking columns of the morning sheet. Suddenly, however, the latt=
er
dissipated his further concern in his pipe; he put it down and spread out t=
he
big paper in both hands. Amid voluminous wastes of type an item, in the cou=
rt
and society column, had caught his eye:
"Sir Charle=
s and
Lady Wray, who are intending henceforth =
to reside
in England, have returned to=
the
stately Wray mansion in Piccadilly, where they =
will
be for the season. Our well-known
Governor and his Lady are accompanied by their ni=
ece,
the beautiful and accomplished Miss Jocelyn
Wray, only child of Sir Charles' yo=
unger
brother, the late Honorable Mr. Richard=
Wray,
whose estate included enormous holdings in
Australia as well as several thousand ac=
res in
Devonshire. This charming young colon=
ial
has already captivated London society.&qu=
ot;
John Steele read carefully this bit of news, a=
nd
then re-read it; he even found himself guilty of perusing all the other
paragraphs; the comings and goings, the fine doings! They related to a worl=
d he
had thought little about; a world within the world; just as the people who =
lived
in tunnels and dark passages constituted another world within the world. Her
name danced in illustrious company; here were dukes and earls and viscounts=
; a
sprinkling of the foreign element: begums, emirs, the nation's guests. He s=
aw,
also, "Sir Charles, Lady Wray and Miss Wray" among the long list =
of
box-holders for that night at the opera, a gala occasion, commanded by roya=
lty
for the entertainment of royalty, and, incidentally, of certain barbarian p=
ersonages
who had come across the seas to be diplomatically coddled and fed.
Folding his newspaper, John Steele turned to h=
is
legal papers; strove to replace idleness by industry; but the spirit of work
failed to respond. He looked at his watch, rang sharply a bell.
"Put out my clothes," he said to the
servant who appeared with a lamp, "and have a cab at the door."
The opera had already begun, but pandemonium s=
till
reigned about the box-office, and it was half an hour before John Steele
succeeded in reaching the little aperture, with a request for anything that
chanced to be left down-stairs. Armed with a bit of pasteboard, Steele was =
stopped
as he was about to enter. A thunder of applause from within, indicating that
the first act had come to an end, was followed by the usual egress of black=
and
white figures, impatient for cigarettes and light lobby gossip.
"Divine, eh? The opera, I mean!" A v=
oice
accosted John Steele, and, turning, he beheld a familiar face with black
whiskers, that of Captain Forsythe. "This is somewhat different from t=
he
morning's environment?"
"Yes," said the other. "But your
first question," with a smile, "I'm afraid I can't answer. I've j=
ust
come; and, if I hadn't--well, I'm no judge of music."
"Then you must look as if you were!"=
laughed
the captain frankly. "Don't know one jolly note from another, but, for
goodness' sake, don't betray me. Just been discussing trills and pizzicatos
with Lady Wray."
For a few moments they continued their talk;
chance had made them known to each other some time before, and Captain Fors=
ythe
had improved every opportunity to become better acquainted with one for who=
m he
entertained a frank admiration. Steele's reserve, however, was not easily p=
enetrated;
he accepted and repaid the other's advances with uniform courtesy but Forsy=
the
could not flatter himself the acquaintance had progressed greatly since the=
ir
first meeting.
A bell sounded; John Steele, excusing himself,
entered the auditorium and was shown to his seat. It proved excellently
located, and, looking around, he found himself afforded a comprehensive vie=
w of
a spectacle brilliant and dazzling. Boxes shone with brave hues; gems gleam=
ed over-plentifully;
here and there, accentuating the picture, the gorgeous colors of some easte=
rn
prince stood out like the brighter bits in a kaleidoscope. Steele's glance
swept over royalty, rank and condition. It took in persons who were more th=
an
persons--personages; it passed over the impassive face of a dark ameer who
looked as if he might have stepped from one of the pages of _The Arabian
Nights_, and lingered on a box a little farther to one side. Here were seat=
ed
Sir Charles and his wife and party; and among them he could discern the
features of Jocelyn Wray--not plainly, she was so far away! Only her golden=
hair
appeared distinct amid many tints.
The curtain went up at last; the music began;
melodies that seemed born in the springtime succeeded one another. Perennia=
l in
freshness, theme followed theme; what joy, what gladness; what merriment, w=
hat
madness! John Steele, in the main, kept his attention directed toward the
stage; once or twice he glanced quickly aside and upward; now in the dimnes=
s, however,
the people in the boxes conveyed only a vague shadowy impression. How long =
was
the act; how short? It came to a sudden end; after applause and bravos, men
again got up and walked out; he, too, left his seat and strolled toward the
back.
"Mr. Steele! One moment!" He found
himself once more addressed by the good-humored Captain Forsythe. "Beh=
old
in me a Mercury, committed to an imperative mission. You are commanded to
appear--not in the royal box--but in Sir Charles'."
"Sir Charles Wray's?" John Steele
regarded the speaker quickly.
"Yes," laughed the other. "You =
see
I happened to mention I had seen you. 'Why didn't you bring him with you to=
the
box?' queried Sir Charles. He, by the by, went in for law himself, before he
became governor. 'Only had time to shake hands this morning!' 'Yes, why did=
n't
you?' spoke up Miss Jocelyn. 'You _command_ me to bring him?' I inquired. '=
By
all means!' she laughed, 'I command.' So here I am."
John Steele did not answer, but Captain Forsyt=
he,
without waiting for a reply, turned and started up the broad stairway. The
other, after a moment's hesitation, followed, duly entered one of the larger
boxes, spoke to Sir Charles and his wife and returned the bow of their niec=
e. Amid
varied platitudes Steele's glance turned oftenest to the girl. She was dres=
sed
in white; a snowy boa drooped from the slender bare shoulders as if it might
any moment slip off; a string of pearls, each one with a pearl of pure ligh=
t in
the center, clasped her throat. In her eyes the brightness seemed to sing of
dancing cadenzas; her lips, slightly parted, wore the faint suggestion of a
smile, as if some canticle or clear cadence had just trembled from them. The
small shoe that peeped from beneath silken folds tapped softly to rhythms y=
et lingering;
on her cheeks two small roses unfolded their glad petals.
"I trust Captain Forsythe did not repeat =
that
absurd remark of mine?" she observed lightly, when John Steele, after a
few moments' general talk, found himself somehow by her side.
"About 'commanding'?"
"So he did?" she answered gaily.
"He told me he was going to. It is like him; he poses as a _bel esprit=
_.
Stupid, was it not?"
He answered a word in the negative; the girl
smiled; where other men would press the opportunity for a compliment he
apparently found no opening.
She waved her hand to the seat next to her, an=
d as
he sat down--"Isn't it splendid!" irrelevantly.
"The spectacle, or the opera?" he as=
ked
slowly, looking into blue eyes.
"It was the opera I meant. I suppose the
spectacle is very grand; but," enthusiastically, "it was the musi=
c I
was thinking of--how it grips one! Tell me what you think of _The Barber_, =
Mr.
Steele."
"I'm afraid my views wouldn't be very
interesting," he answered. "I know nothing whatever about
music."
"Nothing?" Her eyes widened a little=
; in
her accent was mild wonder.
He looked down at the shimmering white folds n=
ear
his feet. "In earlier days my environment was not exactly a musical
one."
"No? I suppose you were engaged in more
practical concerns?"
He did not answer directly. "Perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me something about Rossini's music, Miss Wray?"<= o:p>
"I tell you?" Her light silvery laugh
rang out. "And Captain Forsythe has only been telling me--all of us--t=
hat
you were one of the best informed men he had ever met."
"You see how wrong he was!"
"Quite!" The blue eyes regarded him sidewise. He, the keen, strong man, so assured, so invincible in the court room, sat most humbly by her side, confessing his ignorance, want of knowle= dge about something every school-girl is mistress of! "Or, perhaps, it is because your world is so different from mine! Music, laughter, the traditio= ns of Italian _bel canto_, you have no room for them, they are too light, too trifling. You are above them," poising her fair head a little higher.<= o:p>
"Perhaps they have been above me," he
answered, his tone unconsciously taking an accent of gaiety from the lightn=
ess
of hers.
The abrupt appearance of the musicians and the
dissonances attendant on tuning, interrupted her response; Steele rose and =
was
about to take his departure, when Sir Charles intervened.
"Why don't you stay?" he asked, with
true colonial heartiness. "Plenty of room! Unless you've a better plac=
e!
Two vacant chairs!"
John Steele looked around; he saw three vacant
chairs and took one, a little aside and slightly behind the young girl, whi=
le
the governor's wife, who had moved from the front at the conclusion of the
previous act, now returned to her place, next her niece. During the act, so=
me
one came in and took a seat in the background; if Steele heard, he did not =
look
around. His gaze remained fastened on the stage; between him and it--or the=
m,
art's gaily attired illusions!--a tress of golden hair sometimes intervened,
but he did not move. Through threads like woven flashes of light he regarded
the scene of the poet's fantasy. Did they make her a part of it,--did they =
seem
to the man the fantasy's intangible medium, its imagery? Threads of gold,
threads of melody! He saw the former, heard the latter. They rose and fell
wilfully, capriciously, with many an airy and fanciful turn. The man leaned=
his
head on his hand; a clear strain died like a filament of purest metal gently
broken. She breathed a little quicker; leaned farther forward; now her slen=
der
figure obtruded slightly between him and the performers. He seemed content =
with
a partial view of the stage, and so remained until the curtain went down. T=
he
girl turned; in her eyes was a question.
"Beautiful!" said the man, looking at
her.
"Charming! What colorature! And the
bravura!" Captain Forsythe applauded vigorously.
"You've never met Lord Ronsdale, I believ=
e,
Mr. Steele?" Sir Charles' voice, close to his ear, inquired.
"Lord Ronsdale!" John Steele looked
perfunctorily around toward the back of the box and saw there a face faintly
illumined in the light from the stage: a cynical face, white, mask-like. Had
his own features not been set from the partial glow that sifted upward, the
sudden emotion that swept Steele's countenance would have been observed. A
sound escaped his lips; was drowned, however, in a renewed outbreak of
applause. The diva came tripping out once more, the others, too--bowing, sm=
iling--recipients
of flowers. John Steele's hand had gripped his knee tightly; he was no long=
er
aware of the stage, the people, even Jocelyn Wray. The girl's attention had
again centered on the actors; she with the others had been oblivious to the
glint of his eyes, the hard, set expression of his features.
"Old friend, don't you know," went on
the voice of Sir Charles when this second tumult of applause had subsided.
"Had one rare adventure together. One of the kind that cements a man to
you."
As he spoke, the light in the theater flared u=
p;
John Steele, no longer hesitating, uncertain, rose; his face had regained i=
ts
composure. He regarded the slender, aristocratic figure of the nobleman in =
the background;
faultlessly dressed, Lord Ronsdale carried himself with his habitual languid
air of assurance. The two bowed; the stony glance of the lord met the impas=
sive
one of the man. Then a puzzled look came into the nobleman's eyes; he gazed=
at
Steele more closely; his glance cleared.
"Thought for an instant I'd seen you
somewhere before, b'Jove!" he drawled in his metallic tone. "But,=
of
course, I haven't. Never forget a face, don't you know."
"I may not say so much, may not have the diplomat's gift of always remembering people to the extent your lordship possesses it, but I am equally certain I have never before enjoyed the hono= r of being presented to your lordship!" said John Steele. The words were punctiliously spoken, his accents as cold as the other's. An infinitesimal trace of constraint seemed to have crept into the box; Steele turned and holding out his hand, thanked Sir Charles and his wife for their courtesy.<= o:p>
Jocelyn Wray gazed around. "You are leavi=
ng
before the last act?" she said with an accent of surprise.
He looked down at her. "Not through
preference!"
"Ah!" she laughed. "Business
before--music, of course!"
"Our day at home, Mr. Steele, is
Thursday," put in the governor's lady, majestically gracious.
"And you'll meet a lot of learned people =
only
too glad to talk about music," added the young girl in a light tone.
"That is, if you were sincere in your request for knowledge, and care =
to
profit by the opportunity?"
His face, which had been contained, impassive,=
now
betrayed in the slightest degree an expression of irresolution. Her quick l=
ook
caught it, became more whimsical; he seemed actually, for an instant, askin=
g himself
if he should come. She laughed ever so slightly; the experience was novel; =
who
before had ever weighed the pros and cons when extended this privilege? The=
n,
the next moment, the blue eyes lost some of their mirth; perhaps his manner
made her feel the frank informality she had unconsciously been guilty of; s=
he
regarded him more coldly.
"Thank you," he said. "You are =
very
good. I shall be most glad."
And bowing to her and to the others he once mo=
re
turned; as he passed Lord Ronadsle, the eyes of the two men again met; thos=
e of
the nobleman suddenly dilated and he started.
"B'Jove!" he exclaimed, his gaze
following the retreating figure.
"What is it?" Sir Charles looked aro=
und.
"Recall where you thought you saw him?"
Lord Ronsdale did not at once answer and Sir
Charles repeated his question; the nobleman mechanically raised his hand to=
his
face. "Yes; a mere fugitive resemblance," he answered rather hurr=
iedly.
"Some one--you--you never met. Altogether quite a different sort of
person, don't you know!" regaining his drawl.
"Well," observed Sir Charles,
"fugitive resemblances will happen!"
*
=
=
John
Steele was rather late in arriving at the house of Sir Charles Wray in
Piccadilly the following Thursday. But nearly every one else was late, and,
perhaps knowing the fashionable foible, he had purposely held back to avoid
making himself conspicuous by being prompt. The house, his destination, was=
not
unlike other dwellings on that historic thoroughfare; externally it was as
monotonous as the average London mansion. The architect had disdained any
attempt at ornamentation. As if fearful of being accused of emulating his
brother-in-art across the channel, he had put up four walls and laid on a r=
oof;
he had given the front wall a slightly outward curve. In so doing, he did n=
ot
reason why; he was merely following precedent that had created this incompr=
ehensible
convexity.
But within, the mansion made a dignified and at
the same time a pleasant impression. John Steele, seated at the rear of a
spacious room, where he a few moments later found himself among a numerous
company, looked around on the old solid furnishings, the heavy rich curtains
and those other substantial appurtenances to a fine and stately town house.
That funereal atmosphere common to many homes of an ancient period was, how=
ever,
lacking. The observer felt as if some recent hand, the hand of youth, had b=
een
busy hereabouts indulging in light touches that relieved and gladdened the =
big
room. Hues, soft and delicate, met the eye here and there; rugs of fine pat=
tern
favored the glance, while tapestries of French workmanship bade it wander a=
mid
scenes suggestive of Arcadia. Many found these innovations to their liking;
others frowned upon them; but everybody flocked to the house.
The program on the present occasion included a
poet and a woman novelist. The former, a Preraphaelite, led his hearers thr=
ough
dim mazes, Hyrcanian wilds. The novelist on the other hand was direct; in f=
ollowing
her there seemed no danger of losing the way. At the conclusion of the prog=
ram
proper, an admirer of the poet asked if their young hostess would not play a
certain musical something, the theme of one of the bard's effusions, and at
once Jocelyn Wray complied. Lord Ronsdale stood sedulously near, turning the
leaves; Steele watched the deft hand; it was slim, aristocratic and suggest=
ed
possibilities in legerdemain.
"An attractive-looking pair!" whispe=
red
a woman near John Steele to another of her sex, during a louder passage in =
the
number. "Are they--"
"I don't know; my dear. Perhaps. She's
extremely well-off in this world's goods, and he has large properties, but-=
-a
diminishing income." She lowered her voice rather abruptly as the cade=
nce
came to a pause. The music went on again to its appointed and spirited clim=
ax.
"Was formerly in the diplomatic service, I
believe;"--the voice also went on--"has strong political aspirati=
ons,
and, with a wealthy and clever wife--"
"A girl might do worse. He is both cold a=
nd
capable--an ideal combination for a political career--might become prime
minister--with the prestige of his family and hers to--"
John Steele stirred; the whispering ceased. My
lord turned the last page; the girl rose and bent for an instant her fair h=
ead.
And as Steele looked at her, again there came over him--this time, it may b=
e,
not without a certain bitterness!--an impression of life and its joys--spri=
ng-tide
and sunshine, bright, remote!--so remote--for him--
A babel of voices replaced melody; the people =
got
up. A number lingered; many went, after speaking to their hostesses and Sir
Charles. John Steele, at the rear, looked at the door leading into the main
hall toward the young girl, then stepped across the soft rugs and spoke to =
her.
She answered in the customary manner and others approached. He was about to
draw back to leave, when--
"Oh, Mr. Steele," she said, "my
uncle wishes to see you before you go. He was saying he had some--"
"Quite right, my dear!" And Sir Char=
les,
who had approached, took John Steele's arm. "Some curious old law book=
s I
picked up to-day at a bargain and want your opinion of!" he went on,
leading the other into a lofty and restful apartment adjoining, the library.
Steele looked around him; his gaze brightened as it rested on the imposing =
and
finely bound volumes.
"You have a superb collection of books,&q=
uot;
he observed with a sudden quick look at his host.
"Yes; I rather pride myself on my
library," said Sir Charles complacently. "Lost a good many of the
choicest though," he went on in regretful tones, "some years ago,=
as
I was returning to Australia. A rare lot of law books, a library in themsel=
ves,
as well as a large collection of the classics, the world's poets and
historians, went down with the ill-fated _Lord Nelson_."
"Ah?" John Steele looked away. "=
;A
great mart, London, for fine editions!" he said absently after a pause=
.
"It is. But here are those I spoke of.&qu=
ot;
And Sir Charles indicated a number of volumes on a large center table. John
Steele handled them thoughtfully and for some time his host ran on about th=
em.
A choice copy of one of the Elizabethan poets, intruding itself in that aug=
ust company,
then attracted Steele's attention; he picked it up, weighed and caressed it
with gentle fingers.
"Who shall measure the influence of--a li=
ttle
parcel like this?" he said at length lightly.
"True." Sir Charles' eye caught the
title. "As Portia says: 'It blesseth him that gives and him that takes=
.'
Excellent bit of binding that, too! But," with new zest, "take any
interest in rare books of the ring, full of eighteenth century colored prin=
ts,
and so on?"
"I can't say, at present, that the doings=
of
the ring or the history of pugilists attract me."
"That's because you've never seen an hone=
st,
hard-fought battle, perhaps?"
"A flattering designation, I should say, =
of
the spectacle of two brutes disfiguring their already repulsive visages!&qu=
ot;
"Two brutes?--disfiguring?"--the dra=
wling
voice of Lord Ronsdale who had at that moment stepped in, inquired. "M=
ay I
ask what the--talk is about?"
Sir Charles turned. "Steele was differing
from me about a good, old, honest English sport."
"Sport?" Lord Ronsdale dropped into a
chair and helped himself to whisky and soda conveniently near.
"I refer to the ring--its traditions--its
chronicles--"
"Ah!" The speaker raised his glass a=
nd
looked at John Steele. The latter was nonchalantly regarding the pages of a
book he yet held; his face was half-turned from the nobleman. The clear-cut,
bold profile, the easy, assured carriage, so suggestive of strength, seemed=
to
attract, to compel Lord Ronsdale's attention.
"For my part," went on Sir Charles i=
n a
somewhat disappointed tone, "I am one who views with regret the decade=
nce
of a great national pastime."
He regarded Ronsdale; the latter set down his
glass untasted. "My own opinion," he said crisply; then his face
changed; he looked toward the door.
"Well, it's over!" the light tones of
Jocelyn Wray interrupted; the girl stood on the threshold, glancing gaily f=
rom
one to the other. "Did you tell my uncle, Mr. Steele, what you thought=
of
his purchase? I see, while on his favorite subject, he has forgotten to off=
er
you a cigar."
Sir Charles hastened to repair his remissness.=
"But how," she went on, "did it=
go?
The program, I mean. Have you forgiven me yet for asking you to come, Mr.
Steele?"
"Forgiven?" he repeated. Lord Ronsda=
le's
eyes narrowed on them.
"Confess," she continued, sinking to=
the
arm of a great chair, "you had your misgivings?"
He regarded the supple, slender figure, so air=
ily
poised. As she bent forward, he noticed in her hair several flowers shaped =
like
primroses, but light crimson in hue. "What misgivings was it possible =
to
have?" he replied.
"Oh," she replied, "the usual
masculine ones! Misgivings, for example, about stepping out of the routine.
Routine that makes slaves of men!" with an accent slightly mocking.
"And stepping into what? Society! The bugbear of so many men! Poor Soc=
iety!
What flings it has to endure! By the way, did your convict get off?"
"Get off? What--"
"The one you represented--is that the
word?--when we were in court."
"Yes; he was acquitted."
"I am glad; somehow you made me feel he w=
as
innocent."
"I believed in him," said John Steel=
e.
"And yet the evidence was very strong aga=
inst
him! If some one else had appeared for him--Do you think many innocent peop=
le
have been--hanged, or sent out of the country, Mr. Steele?" Her eyes
looked brighter, her face more earnest now.
"Evidence can play odd caprices."
"Still, your average English juryman is t=
o be
depended on!" put in Lord Ronsdale quickly.
"Do you think so?" An instant Steele=
's
eyes rested on the speaker. "No doubt you are right." A sardonic
flash seemed to play on the nobleman. "At all events you voice the
accepted belief."
"I'm glad you defend, don't prosecute peo=
ple,
Mr. Steele," said the girl irrelevantly.
"A pleasanter task, perhaps!"
"Speaking of sending prisoners out of the
country," broke in Sir Charles, "I am not in favor of the penal
system myself."
"Rather a simple way of getting rid of
undesirables--transportation--it has always seemed to me," dissented L=
ord
Ronsdale.
"Don't they sometimes escape and come bac=
k to
England?" asked the girl.
"Not apt to, when death for returning sta=
res
them in the face," remarked the nobleman.
"Death!" The girl shivered slightly.=
John Steele smiled. "The penalty should
certainly prove efficacious," he observed lightly.
"Is not such a penalty--for returning, I
mean--very severe, Mr. Steele?" asked Jocelyn Wray.
"That," he laughed, "depends
somewhat on the point of view, the criminal's, or society's!" His gaze
returned to her; the bright bit of color in her hair again seemed to catch =
and
hold his glance. "But," with a sudden change of tone, "will =
you
explain something to me, Miss Wray? Those flowers you wear--surely they are
primroses, and yet--"
"Crimson," said the girl. "You =
find
that strange. It is very simple. If you will come with me a moment." S=
he
rose, quickly crossed the room to a door at the back, and Steele, following,
found himself in a large conservatory that looked out upon an agreeable, if
rather restricted, prospect of green garden. Several of the windows of the
glass addition were open and the warm sunshine and air entered. A butterfly=
was
fluttering within; in a corner, a bee busied himself buzzing loudly between
flowers and sips of saccharine sweetness. Jocelyn Wray stepped in its
direction, stooped. The sunlight touched the white neck, where spirals of g=
old
nestled, and fell over her gown in soft, shifting waves.
"You see?" She threw over her should=
er a
glance at him; he looked down at primroses, pale yellow; a few near-by were
half-red, or spotted with crimson; others, still, were the color of those t=
hat
nodded in her hair. "You can imagine how it has come about?"
He regarded a great bunch of clustering red
roses--the winged marauder hovering noisily over. "I think I can guess.
The bees have carried the hue of the roses to them."
"Hue!" cried the girl, with light sc=
orn.
"What a prosaic way to express it! Say the soul, the heart's blood. So=
me
of the primroses have yielded only a little; others have been
transformed."
"You think, then, some flowers may be much
influenced by others?"
"They can't help it," she answered
confidently.
"Just as some people," he said in a =
low
tone, "can't help taking into their lives some beautiful hue born of m=
ere
casual contact with some one, some time."
"What a poetical sentiment!" she
laughed. "Really, it deserves a reward." As he spoke, she plucked=
a
few flowers and held them out in her palm to him; he regarded her merry eye=
s,
the bright tints.
Erect, with well-assured poise, she looked at =
him;
he took one of the flowers, gazed at it, a tiny thing in his own great palm=
, a
tiny, red thing, like a jewel in hue--that reminded him of--what? As throug=
h a mist
he saw a spark--where?
"Only one?" she said in the same ton=
e.
"You are modest. And you don't even condescend to put it in your
coat?"
He did so; in his gaze was a sudden new expression, something so compelling, so different, it held her, almost agai= nst her will. He seemed to see her and yet not fully to be aware of her presenc= e; she drew back slightly. The girl's crimson lips parted as with a suspicion = of faint wonder; the blue eyes, just a little soberer, were, also, in the least degree, perplexed. The man's breast suddenly stirred; a breath--or was it t= he merest suggestion of a sigh?--escaped the firm lips. He looked out of the window at the garden, conventional, the arrangement of lines one expected.<= o:p>
When his look returned to her it was the same =
he
had worn when he had first stepped forward to speak with her that afternoon=
.
"Thank you for the lesson in botany, Miss
Wray!" he said easily. "I shall not forget it."
The other primroses fell from her fingers; wit=
h a
response equally careless if somewhat reserved, she turned and reënter=
ed
the library. Lord Ronsdale regarded both quickly; then started, as he caught
sight of the flower in John Steele's coat. A frown crossed his face and he
looked away to conceal the singularly cold and vindictive gleam that sprang=
to his
eyes.
*
=
=
One
evening about a fortnight later Lord Ronsdale, in a dissatisfied frame of m=
ind,
strolled along Piccadilly. His face wore a dark look, the expression of one
ill-pleased with fortune's late attitude toward him. Plans that he had long
cherished seemed to be in some jeopardy; he had begun to flatter himself th=
at
the flowery way to all he desired lay before him and that he had but to tre=
ad
it, when another, as the soothsayers put it, had crossed his path.
A plain man, a man without title! Lord Ronsdale
told himself Miss Jocelyn Wray was no better than an arrant coquette, but t=
he
next moment questioned this conclusion. Had she not really been a little ta=
ken
by the fellow? Certainly she seemed not averse to his company; when she wil=
led,
and she willed often, she summoned him to her aide. Nor did he now appear
reluctant to come at her bidding; self-assertive though he had shown himsel=
f to
be he obeyed, _sans_ demur, the wave of my lady's little hand. Was it a cer=
tain
largeness and reserve about him that had awakened her curiosity? From her h=
igh
social position had she wished merely to test her own power and amuse herse=
lf
after a light fashion, surely youth's and beauty's privilege?
But whatever the girl's motive, her conduct in=
the
matter reacted on my lord; the fellow was in the way, very much so. How cou=
ld
he himself pay court to her when she frivolously, if only for the moment,
preferred this commoner's company? That very afternoon my lord, entering th=
e music-room
of the great mansion, had found her at the piano playing for him, her slim
fingers moving over the keys to the tune of one of Chopin's nocturnes. He h=
ad
surprised a steady, eloquent look in the fellow's eye turned on her when she
was unconscious of his gaze, a glance the ardency of which there was no
mistaking. It had altered at my lord's rather quiet and abrupt appearance,
crystallized into an impersonal icy light, colder even than the nobleman's =
own
stony stare. He had, perforce, to endure the other's presence and conversat=
ion,
an undercurrent to the light talk of the girl who seemed, Lord Ronsdale tho=
ught,
a little maliciously aware of the constraint between the two men, and not at
all put out by it.
What made the situation even more anomalous to
Ronsdale and the less patiently to be borne, was that Sir Charles understood
and sympathized with his desires and position in the matter. And why not?
Ronsdale's father and Sir Charles had been old and close friends; there wer=
e reasons
that pointed to the match as a suitable one, and Sir Charles, by his general
manner and attitude, had long shown he would put no obstacle in the way of =
the
nobleman's suit for the hand of his fair niece. As for Lady Wray, Lord Rons=
dale
knew that he had in that practical and worldly person a stanch ally of his
wishes; these had not become less ardent since he had witnessed the unquali=
fied
success of the beautiful colonial girl in London; noted how men, illustriou=
s in
various walks of life, grave diplomats, stately ambassadors, were swayed by=
her
light charm and impulsive frankness of youth. And to have her who could have
all London at her feet, including his distinguished self, show a predilecti=
on, however
short-lived and capricious, for--
"Confound the cad! Where did he come from?
Who are his family--if he has one!"
Thus ruminating he had drawn near his club, a
square, imposing edifice, when a voice out of the darkness caused him abrup=
tly
to pause:
"If it isn't 'is lordship!"
The tones expressed surprise, satisfaction; the
nobleman looked down; gave a slight start; then his face became once more c=
old,
apathetic.
"Who are you? What do you want?" he =
said
roughly.
The countenance of the fellow who had ventured=
to
accost the nobleman fell; a vindictive light shone from his eyes.
"It's like a drama at old Drury," he
observed, with a slight sneer. "Only your lordship should have said: '=
Who
the devil are you?'"
Lord Ronsdale looked before him to where, in t=
he
distance, near a street lamp, the figure of a policeman might be dimly
discerned; then, with obvious intention, he started toward the officer; but=
the
man stepped in front of him. "No, you don't," he said.
The impassive, steel-like glance of Ronsdale
played on the man; a white, shapely hand began to reach out. "One mome=
nt,
and I'll give you in charge as--"
The fellow saw that Ronsdale meant it; he had =
but
an instant to decide; a certain air of cheap, jaunty assurance he had begun=
to
assume vanished. "All right," he said quickly, but with a ring of
suppressed venom in his voice. "I'll be off. Your lordship has it all =
your
own way since the _Lord Nelson_ went down." There was a note of bitter=
ness
in his tones. "Besides, Dandy Joe's not exactly a favorite at headquar=
ters
just now, after the drubbing John Steele gave him."
"John Steele!" Lord Ronsdale looked
abruptly round.
The fellow regarded him and ventured to go on:
"I was witness for the police and Mr. Gillett, and he--Steele," w=
ith
a curse, "had me on the stand. He knows every rook and welsher and eve=
ry
swell magsman, and all their haunts and habits. And he knows me--blame--&qu=
ot;
he made use of another expression more forcible--"if he don't know me =
as
well as if he'd once been a pal. And now," in an injured tone, "M=
r.
Gillett calls me hard names for bringing discredit, as he terms it, on the
force."
"What's this to me?"
The fellow stopped short in what he was saying;
his small eyes glistened and he took a step forward. "Your lordship
remembers the 'Frisco Pet? Your lordship remembers him?" he repeated,
thrusting an alert face closer.
"I believe there was a prize-fighter of t=
hat
name," was the calm reply.
"I say!" The fellow let his jaw fall
slightly; he gazed at the nobleman with mingled shrewdness and admiration.
"Your lordship remembers him _only_," with an accent, "as a
patron of sport. Tossed a quid on him"--with a look of full
meaning--"as your lordship would a bone to a dog. Perhaps," gaini=
ng
in audacity, "your lordship would be so generous as to throw one or two
now at one he once favored with his bounty."
"I--favored you? You lie!" The answer
was concise; it cut like a lash; it robbed the man once more of all his
hardihood. He slunk back.
"Very good," he muttered.
Lord Ronsdale turned and with a sharp swish of=
his
cane walked on. The other, his eyes resentfully bright, looked after the ta=
ll,
aristocratic, slowly departing figure.
As the nobleman ascended the steps of his club=
he
seemed again to be thinking deeply; within, his preoccupation did not
altogether desert him. In a corner, with the big pages of the _Times_ before
him, he read with scant interest the doings of the day; even a perennial
telegram concerning a threatened invasion of England did not awaken momenta=
ry interest.
He passed it over as casually as he did the markets, or a grudging,
conservative item from the police courts, all that the blue pencil had left=
of
the hopeful efforts of some poor penny-a-liner. From the daily fulminator he
had turned to the weekly medium of fun and fooling, when, from behind anoth=
er
paper, the face of a gray-haired, good-natured appearing person, quite
different off the bench, chanced to look out at him.
"Eh? That you, Ronsdale?" he said, r=
eaching
for a steaming glass of hot beverage at his elbow. "What do you think =
of
it, this talk of an invasion by the Monseers?"
"Don't think anything of it."
"Answered in the true spirit of a
Briton!" laughed the other. "I fancy, too, it'll be a long time
before John Bull ceases to stamp around, master of his own shores, or Brita=
nnia
no longer rules the deep. But how is your friend, Sir Charles Wray? I had t=
he
pleasure of meeting him the other morning in the court room."
"Same as usual, I imagine, Judge
Beeson."
"And his fair niece, she takes kindly to =
the
town and its gaieties?"
"Very kindly," dryly.
"A beautiful girl, our young
Australian!" The elder man toyed with his glass, stirred the contents =
and
sipped. "By the way, didn't I see John Steele in their box at the opera
the other night?"
"It is possible," shortly.
"Rising man, that!" observed the oth=
er
lightly. "Combination of brains and force! Did you ever notice his fis=
t?
It might belong to a prize-fighter, except that the hands are perfectly kep=
t!
You'd know at once he was a man accustomed to fighting, who would sweep asi=
de obstacles,
get what he wanted!"
"Think so?" Lord Ronsdale smoked
steadily. "You, as a magistrate, I suppose, know him well?"
"Should hardly go that far; taciturn chap,
don't you know! I don't believe any one really knows him."
"Or about him?" suggested the other,
crossing his legs nonchalantly.
"Not much; only that he is an alien."=
;
"An alien?" quickly. "Not a
colonial?"
"No; he has lived in the colonies--Tasman=
ia,
and so on. But by birth he's an American."
"An American, eh? And practising at the
British bar?"
"Not the first case of the kind; exceptio=
ns
have been made before, and aliens 'called,' as we express it. Steele's hobb=
y of
criminology brought him to London, and his earnestness and ability in that =
line
procured for him the privilege he sought. As member of the incorporated soc=
iety
that passes upon the qualifications of candidates it was my pleasure to sit=
in
judgment on him; we raked him fore and aft but, bless you, he stood squarel=
y on
his feet and refused to be tripped."
"So he came to England to pursue a certain
line?" said Lord Ronsdale half to himself.
"A man with a partiality for criminal work
would naturally look to the modern Babylon. Steele apparently works more to
gratify that predilection than for any reward in pounds and pence. Must have
private means; have known him to spend a deal of time and money on cases th=
ere couldn't
have been a sixpence in."
"How'd he happen to get down in Tasmania?=
Odd
place for a Yankee!"
"That's one of the questions he wasn't
asked," laughingly. "Perhaps what our Teutonic friends would call=
the
_Wander-lust_ took him there." Rising, "My compliments to Sir Cha=
rles
when you see him."
Lord Ronsdale remained long at the club and the
card-table that night; over the bits of pasteboard, however, his zest faile=
d to
flare high, although instinctively he played with a discernment that came f=
rom
long practice. But the sight of a handful of gold pieces here, of a little =
pile
there, the varying shiftings of the bright disks, as the vagaries of chance
sent them this way or that, seemed to move him in no great degree,--perhaps
because the winning or losing of a few hundred pounds, more or less, would =
have
small effect on his fortunes or misfortunes. At a late, or rather, early, h=
our
he pushed back his chair, richer by a few coins that jingled in his pocket,
and, yawning, walked out. Summoning a cab, he got in, but as he found himse=
lf
rattling homeward to the chambers he had taken in a fashionable part of tow=
n,
he was aware that any emotions of annoyance and discontent experienced earl=
ier
that night, had suffered no abatement.
"Tasmania!" The horse's hoofs beat t=
ime
to vague desultory thoughts; he stared out, perhaps, in fancy, at southern =
seas,
looked up at stars more lustrous than those that hung over him now. Then the
divers clusters of points, glowing, insistent, swam around, and he fell int=
o a
half doze, from which he was awakened by the abrupt stopping of the cab. Ha=
ving
paid the man he went up to his rooms. On the table in an inner apartment, h=
is
study, something bright, white, met his gaze: a note in Jocelyn Wray's
handwriting! Quickly he reached for it and tore it open.
"A party of us ride in the park to-morrow
morning. Will you join us?"
That was all; brief and to the point; Lord
Ronsdale frowned.
"A party!" That would include John
Steele perhaps. Once before on a morning, the girl's fair face and dancing =
eyes
had wooed Steele away from his desk, or the court, to the park.
Should he go? The note slipped from his finger=
s to
the carpet; he permitted it to lie there; the importance to himself and oth=
ers
of his decision he little realized. Could he have foreseen all that was inv=
olved
by his going, or staying away, he would not so carelessly have thrown off h=
is
clothes and retired, dismissing the matter until the morrow, or rather, unt=
il
he should chance to waken.
*
=
Close
at hand, the trees in Hyde Park seemed to droop their branches, as if in
sympathy with the gray aspect of the day, while afar, across the green, the
sylvan guardians of the place had either receded altogether in the gray haz=
e or
stood forth like shadowy ghosts. In the foreground, not far from the main e=
ntrance,
a number of sheep and their young nibbled contentedly the wet and delectable
grass, and as some bright gown paused or whisked past, the juxtaposition of
fine raiment and young lamb suggested soft, shifting Bouchers or other dain=
ty
French pastorals in paint. The air had a tang; the dampness enhanced the
perfumes, made them fuller and sweeter, and a joyous sort of melancholy see=
med
to hold a springtime world in its grasp.
Into this scene of rural tranquillity rode bri=
skly
about the middle of the morning Jocelyn Wray and others. The glow on the gi=
rl's
cheeks harmonized with the redness of her lips; the sparkling blue eyes moc=
ked at
all neutral hues; her gown and an odd ribbon or two waved, as it were, light
defiance to motionless things--still leaves and branches, flowers and buds,
drowsy and sleeping. Her mount was deep black, with fine arching neck and
spirited head; on either side of the head, beneath ears sensitive, delicate=
ly
pointed, had been fastened a rose, badge of favor from a bunch nestling at =
the
white throat of the young girl. She rode with a grace and rhythmical ease
suggestive of large experience in the pastime; the slender, supple figure
swayed as if welcoming gladly the swing and the quick rush of air. Sometime=
s at
her side, again just behind, galloped the horse bearing John Steele, and, as
they went at a fair pace, preceded and followed by others of a gay party, t=
he
eyes of many passers-by turned to regard them.
"By Jove, they're stunning! It isn't often
you see a man put up like that."
"Or a girl more the picture of health!&qu=
ot;
"And beauty!"
Unconscious of these and other comments from t=
he
usual curious contingent of idlers filling the benches or strolling along t=
he
paths, the girl now set a yet swifter gait, glancing quickly over her shoul=
der at
her companion: "Do you like a hard gallop? Shall we let them out?"=
;
His brightening gaze answered; they touched th=
eir
horses and for some distance raced madly on, passed those in front and left
them far behind. Now Steele's eyes rested on the playing muscles of her sup=
erb
horse, then lifted to the lithe form of Jocelyn Wray, the straight shoulder=
s, a
bit of a tress, disordered, floating rebelliously to the wind.
As abruptly as she had pressed her horse to th=
at
inspiring speed, she drew him in to a walk. "Wasn't that worth coming =
to
the park for?" she said gaily.
He looked at her, at the flowers she readjuste=
d,
at the lips, half-parted to her quick breath.
"More than worth it."
"You see what you missed in the past,&quo=
t;
she observed in a tone slightly mocking.
"You were not here to suggest it," he
returned quietly, with gaze only for blue eyes.
She suffered them to linger. "I suppose I
should feel nattered that a suggestion from little me--"
"A suggestion from little you would, I fa=
ncy,
go a long ways with many people." A spark shone now in the man's steady
look; the girl seemed not afraid of it.
"I am fortunate," she laughed. "=
;A
compliment from Mr. John Steele!"
"Why not say--the truth?" he observe=
d.
She stroked her horse's glossy neck and smiled
furtively at the soft, velvet surface. "The truth?" she replied.
"What is it? Where shall we find it? Isn't it something the old
philosophers were always searching for? Plato, and--some of the others we w=
ere
taught of in school."
He started as if to speak, but his answer rema=
ined
unuttered; the man's lips closed tighter; a moment he watched the small glo=
ved
hand, then his gaze turned to the gray sky.
"So you see, I call compliments,
compliments," she ended lightly.
He offered no comment; the horses moved on;
suddenly she looked at him. One of those odd changes she had once or twice
noticed before had come over John Steele; his face appeared too grave, too
reserved; she might almost fancy a stormy play of emotion behind that mask =
of
immobility. The girl's long lashes lowered; a slightly puzzled expression s=
hone
from her eyes. It may be she had but the natural curiosity of her sex, that=
her
interest was compelled, because, although she had studied this man from var=
ious
standpoints, his personality, strong, direct in some ways, she seemed unabl=
e to
fathom. The golden head tilted; she allowed an impression of his profile to
grow upon her.
"Do you know," she laughingly remark=
ed,
"you are not very interesting?"
He started. "Interesting!"
"A penny for your thoughts!" ironica=
lly.
"They're not worth it."
"No?"
He bent a little nearer; she swept back the
disordered lock; an instant the man seemed to lose his self-possession.
"Ah," he began, as if the words forced themselves from his lips,
"if only I might--"
What he had been on the point of saying was ne=
ver
finished; the girl's quick glance, sweeping an instant ahead, had lingered =
on
some one approaching from the opposite direction, and catching sight of him,
she had just missed noting that swift alteration in John Steele's tones, th=
e brief
abandonment of studied control, a flare of irresistible feeling.
"Isn't that Lord Ronsdale?" asked the
girl, continuing to gaze before her.
A black look replaced the sudden flame in Stee=
le's
gaze; the hand holding the reins closed on them tightly.
"Rather early for him, I fancy," she
said, regarding the slim figure of the approaching rider. "With his
devotion to clubs and late hours, you know! Do you, Mr. Steele, happen to
belong to any of his clubs?"
"No." He spoke in a low voice, almost
harshly.
Her brow lifted; his face was turned from her.=
Had
he been mindful he might have noted a touch of displeasure on the proud fac=
e,
that she regarded him as from a vague, indefinite distance.
"Lord Ronsdale is a very old friend of my
uncle's," she observed severely, "and--mine!"
Was it that she had divined a deep-seated
prejudice or hostility toward the nobleman hidden in John Steele's breast, =
that
she took this occasion to let him know definitely that her friends were her
friends? "Even when I was only a child he was very nice to me," s=
he
went on.
He remained silent; she frowned, then turned to
the nobleman with a smile. Lord Ronsdale found that her greeting left nothi=
ng
to be desired; she who had been somewhat unmindful of him lately on a sudden
seemed really glad to see him. His slightly tired, aristocratic face lighte=
ned;
the sunshine of Jocelyn Wray's eyes, the tonic of youth radiating from her,
were sufficient to alleviate, if not dispel, ennui or lassitude.
"So good of you!" she murmured
conventionally, as Steele dropped slightly back among the others who had by
this time drawn near. "To arrive at such an unfashionable hour, I
mean!"
His pleased but rather suspicious eyes studied
her; he answered lightly; behind them now, he who had been riding with my l=
ady
could hear their gay laughter. Lord Ronsdale was apparently telling her a
whimsical story; he had traveled much, met many people, bizarre and otherwi=
se,
and could be ironically witty when stimulated to the effort. John Steele di=
d not
look at them; when the girl at a turn in the way allowed her glance a momen=
t to
sweep aside toward those following, she could see he was riding with head
slightly down bent.
"Good-looking beggar, isn't he,"
observed the nobleman suddenly, his gaze sharpened on her.
"Who?" asked the girl.
"That chap, Steele," he answered
insinuatingly.
"Is he?" Her voice was flute-like.
"What is that noise?" abruptly.
"Noise?" Lord Ronsdale listened.
"That's music, or supposed to be! Unless I am mistaken, _The Campbells=
are
Coming_," he drawled.
"The Campbells? Oh, I understand! Let us
wait!"
They drew in their horses; the black one became
restive, eyed with obvious disapproval a gaily bedecked body of men swinging
smartly along toward them. At their head marched pipers, blowing lustily;
behind strode doughty clansmen, heads up, as became those carrying memories=
of battles
won. They approached after the manner of veterans who felt that they deserv=
ed
tributes of admiration from beholders: that in the piping times of peace th=
ey
were bound to be conquerors still.
Louder shrieked the wild concords; bare legs
flashed nearer; bright colors flaunted with startling distinctness. And at =
the
sight and sound, the girl's horse, unaccustomed to the pomp and pride of ma=
rtial
display, began to plunge and rear. She spoke sharply; tried to control it b=
ut found
she could not. Lord Ronsdale saw her predicament but was powerless to lend
assistance, being at the moment engaged in a vigorous effort to prevent his=
own
horse from bolting.
The bagpipes came directly opposite; the black
horse reared viciously; for the moment it seemed that Jocelyn would either =
be
thrown or that the affrighted animal would fall over on her, when a man spr=
ang
forward and a hand reached up. He stood almost beneath the horse; as it came
down a hoof struck his shoulder a glancing blow, grazed hard his arm, teari=
ng the
cloth. But before the animal could continue his rebellious tactics a hand l=
ike
iron had reached for, grasped the bridle; those who watched could realize a
great strength in the restraining fingers, the unusual power of Steele's
muscles. The black horse, trembling, soon stood still; the bagpipes passed =
on,
and Steele looked up at the girl.
"If you care to dismount--"
"Thank you," she said. "I'm not
afraid. Especially," she added lightly, "with you at the
bridle!"
"Few riders could have kept their seats so
well," he answered, with ill-concealed admiration.
"I have always been accustomed to horses.=
In
Australia we ride a great deal."
"For the instant," his face slightly
paler, "I thought something would happen."
"It might have," she returned, a lig=
ht
in her eyes, "but for a timely hand. My horse apparently does not
appreciate Scotch airs."
"Ugly brute!" Lord Ronsdale, a
dissatisfied expression on his handsome countenance, approached. "A li=
ttle
of the whip--" the words were arrested; the nobleman stared at John
Steele, or rather at the bare arm which the torn sleeve revealed well above=
the
elbow.
The white, uplifted arm suddenly dropped; Stee=
le
drew the cloth quickly about it, but not before his eyes had met those of L=
ord
Ronsdale and caught the amazement, incredulity, sudden terror--was it
terror?--in their depths.
"Told you not to trust him, Jocelyn!"
Sir Charles' loud, hearty voice at the same moment interrupted. "There=
was
a look about him I didn't like from the beginning."
"Perhaps he needs only a little toning do=
wn
to be fit," put in Captain Forsythe, as he and the others drew near.
"A few seasons with the hounds, or--"
"Chasing some poor little fox!" said=
the
girl with light scorn.
"One might be doing something worse!"=
;
"One might!" Her accents were dubiou=
s.
"You don't believe in the chase, or the h=
unt?
Allow me to differ; people always must hunt _something_, don't you know; pr=
imeval
instinct! Used to hunt one another," he laughed. "Sometimes do no=
w.
Fox is only a substitute for the joys of the man-hunt; sort of sop to Cerbe=
rus,
as it were. Eh, Ronsdale?"
But the nobleman did not answer; his face look=
ed
drawn and gray; with one hand he seemed almost clinging to his saddle. John
Steele's back was turned; he was bending over the girth of his saddle and h=
is
features could not be seen, but the hand, so firm and assured a moment befo=
re, seemed
a little uncertain as it made pretext to readjust a fastening or buckle.
"Why, man, you look ill!" Captain
Forsythe, turning to Lord Ronsdale, exclaimed suddenly.
"It's--nothing--much--" With vacant
expression the nobleman regarded the speaker; then lifted his hand and pres=
sed
it an instant to his breast. "Heart," he murmured mechanically.
"Beastly bad heart, you know, and sometimes a little thing--slight
shock--Miss Wray's danger--"
"Take some of this!" The captain, wi=
th
solicitude, pressed a flask on him; the nobleman drank deeply. "There;
that'll pick you up."
"Beastly foolish!" A color sprang to
Lord Ronsdale's face; he held himself more erect.
"Not at all!" Sir Charles interposed.
"A man can't help a bad liver or a bad heart. One of those inscrutable
visitations of Providence! But shall we go on? You're sure you're quite
yourself?"
"Quite!" The nobleman's tone was even
harder and more metallic than usual; his thin lips compressed to a tight li=
ne;
his eyes that looked out to a great distance were bright and glistening.
"Are you ready, Mr. Steele?" Jocelyn
Wray waited a moment as the others started, looked down at that gentleman. =
Her
voice was gracious; its soft accents seemed to say: "You may ride with=
me;
it is your reward!"
For one restored so quickly to favor, with a
felicitous prospect of gay words and bright glances, John Steele seemed
singularly dull and apathetic. He exhibited no haste in the task he was eng=
aged
in; straightened slowly and mounted with leisure. Once again in the saddle,=
and
on their way, it is true he appeared to listen to the girl; but his respons=
es
were vague, lacking both in vivacity and humor. It was impossible she should
not notice this want of attention; she bit her lips once; then she laughed.=
"Do you know, Mr. Steele, if I were vain I
should feel hurt."
"Hurt?" he repeated.
"You haven't heard what I have been
saying." Her eyes challenged his.
"Haven't I?"
"Deny it."
He did not; again she looked at him merrily.
"Of course, I can't afford to be harsh wi=
th
my rescuer. Perhaps"--in the same tone--"you really did save my l=
ife!
Have you ever really saved any one--any one else, shall I say?--you who are=
so
strong?"
A spasm as of pain passed over his face; his l=
ook,
however, was not for her; and the girl's eyes, too, had now become suddenly=
set
afar. Was she thinking of another scene, some one her own words conjured to
mind? Her mood seemed to gain in seriousness; she also became very quiet; a=
nd
so almost in silence they went on to the entrance, down the street, to her =
home.
"_Au revoir_, and thank you!" she sa=
id there,
regaining her accustomed lightness.
"Good-by! At least for the present,"=
he
added. "I am leaving London," abruptly.
"Leaving?" She regarded him in surpr=
ise.
"To be gone long?"
"It is difficult to say. Perhaps."
"But--you must have decided suddenly?&quo=
t;
"Yes."
"While we have been riding home?" Ag=
ain
he answered affirmatively; the blue eyes looked at him long. "Is it--i=
s it
serious?"
"A little."
"Men make so much of business,
nowadays," she observed, "it--it always seems serious, I suppose.
We--we are moving into the country in a few weeks. Shall I--shall we, see y=
ou
before then?"
"To my regret, I am afraid not."
"And after"--in a voice
matter-of-fact--"I think aunt has put you down for July; a house party=
; I
don't recall the exact dates. You will come?"
"Shall we say, circumstances permitting--" "Certainly," a little stiffly, "circumsta= nces permitting." She gave him her hand. "_Au revoir!_ Or good-by, if = you prefer it." He held the little gloved fingers; let them drop. There wa= s a suggestion of hopelessness in the movement that fitted oddly his inherent v= igor and self-poise; she started to draw away; an ineffable something held her.<= o:p>
"Good luck in your business!" she fo=
und
herself saying, half-gaily, half-ironically.
He answered, hoarsely, something--what?--rode =
off.
With color flaming high, the girl looked after him until Lord Ronsdale's ho=
rse,
clattering near, caused her to turn quickly.
*
=
The
book-worms' row, hardly a street, more a short-cut passage between two
important thoroughfares, had through the course of many years exercised a
subtle fascination for pedant, pedagogue or itinerant litterateur. At one e=
nd
of the way was rush and bustle; at the other, more rush and bustle; here mi=
ght
be found the comparative hush of the tiny stream that for a short interval =
has
left the parent current. Dusty and musty shops looked out on either side, a=
nd
within on shelves, or without on stands, unexpected bargains lay carelessly
about, rare Horaces or Ovids, Greek tragedies, ponderous volumes of the gol=
den
age of the English poets and philosophers. Truth nestled in dark corners; k=
nowledge
lay hidden in frayed covers and beauty enshrined herself behind cobwebs.
Not that the thoroughfare, in its entirety, was
devoted to books; nor that it housed no other people than bibliomaniacs or
antiquarians! Higher, above the little shops, small rooms, reached by ricke=
ty stairways,
offered quiet corners for divers and sundry gentlemen whose occupations cal=
led
for discreet and retired nooks.
In one of these places, described on the door =
as
"a private, confidential, inquiry office," sat, on the morning
following John Steele's ride in the park, a little man with ferret-like eye=
s at
a dusty desk near a dusty window. He did not seem to be very busy, was enga=
ged at
the moment in drawing meaningless cabalistic signs on a piece of paper, whe=
n a
step in the hallway and a low tapping at the door caused him to throw down =
his
pen and straighten expectantly. A client, perhaps!--a woman?--no, a man! Wi=
th
momentary surprise, he gazed on the delicately chiseled features of his cal=
ler;
a gentleman faultlessly dressed and wearing a spring flower in his coat.
"Mr. Gillett?" The visitor's glance
veiled an expression of restlessness; his face, although mask-like, was tin=
ted
with a faint flush.
The police agent at once rose. "The same,
sir, at your service; I--but I beg your pardon; unless I am mistaken--haven=
't
we--"
"Yes; a number of years ago on the _Lord
Nelson_," said the caller in a hard matter-of-fact tone. "We were
fellow passengers on her, until--"
"We became fellow occupants of one of her
small boats! An aging experience! But won't you," with that deference =
for
rank and position those of his type are pleased to assume, "honor me by
being seated, Lord Ronsdale?"
As he spoke, he dusted vigorously with his
handkerchief a chair which his caller, after a moment's hesitation, sank in=
to;
Mr. Gillett regarded the one he himself had been occupying; then, in an
apologetic manner ventured to take it. "Your lordship is well? Your
lordship looks it. Your lordship was, last I heard, in Australia, I believe=
. A
genuine pleasure to see your lordship once more."
The visitor offered no acknowledgment to this
flattering effusion; his long fingers rubbed one another softly. He looked =
at
the table, the window, anywhere save at the proprietor of the establishment,
then said: "I saw by an advertisement in the morning papers that you h=
ad
severed your connection with the force and had opened this--a private consu=
ltation
bureau."
"Quite so!" The other looked momenta=
rily
embarrassed. "A little friction--account of some case--unreliable witn=
ess
that got tangled up--They undertook to criticize me, after all my faithful
service--" He broke off. "Besides, the time comes when a man real=
izes
he can do better for himself by himself. I am now devoting myself to a smal=
l,
but strictly high-class," with an accent, "clientele."
Lord Ronsdale considered; when he spoke, his v=
oice
was low, but it did not caress the ear. "You know John Steele, of
course?"
The ferret eyes snapped. "That I do, your
Lordship. What of him?" quickly.
The caller made no reply but tapped the floor lightly with his cane, and--"What of him?" repeated Mr. Gillett.<= o:p>
Lord Ronsdale's glance turned; it had a strange
brightness. His next question was irrelevant. "Ever think much about t=
he
_Lord Nelson,_ Gillett?"
"She isn't a boat one's apt to forget, af=
ter
what happened, your Lordship," was the answer. "And if I do say i=
t,
her passengers were of the kind to leave pleasant recollections," the
police agent diplomatically added.
"Her passengers?" The caller's thin =
lips
compressed; a spark seemed to leap from his gaze, but not before he had dro=
pped
it. "Among them, if memory serves me, were a number of convicts?"=
"A job lot of precious jailbirds that I w=
as
acting as escort of, your Lordship!"
"But who never reached Australia!"
quickly.
"Drowned!--every mother's son of them!&qu=
ot;
observed Mr. Gillett, with a possible trace of complacency. "Not that I
fancy the country they were going to mourned much about that. I understand a
strong sentiment's growing out there against that sort of immigration."=
;
The visitor's white hand held closer the head =
of
his cane; the stick bent to his weight. "_Were_ they all drowned, by t=
he
way?" he observed as if seeking casual information on some subject that
had partly passed from his mind.
"No doubt of it. They were not released u=
ntil
the second boat got off, and then there was no time to get overboard the li=
fe
rafts!"
"True." Lord Ronsdale gazed absently=
out
of the window, through a film, as it were, at a venerable figure below; one=
of
the species _helluo librorum_ standing before a book-stall opposite.
"Recall the day on that memorable voyage you were telling us about
them--who they were, and so on?"
"Very well," replied Mr. Gillett,
good-humoredly. If his caller cared to discuss generalities rather than com=
e at
once to the business at hand, whatever had brought him there, that was none=
of
his concern. These titled gentry had a leisurely method, peculiar to
themselves, of broaching a subject; but if they paid him well for his time =
he
could afford to appear an amiable and interested listener. In this case, th=
e thought
also insinuated itself, that his visitor had something of the manner of a m=
an
who had been up late the night before; the glint of his eye was that of your
fashionable gamester; Mr. Gillett smiled sympathetically.
"One, if I recall rightly," went on =
Lord
Ronsdale, "was known as--let me see"--the elastic stick described=
a
sharper curve--"the 'Frisco Pet? Remember?" He bent slightly near=
er.
"That I do. Not likely to forget him.
Unmanageable; one of the worst! Was transported for life, with death as a
penalty for returning." A slight sound came from the nobleman's throat.
"A needless precaution," laughed the speaker, "for he's gone=
to
his reward. And so your lordship remembers--"
"I remember when he used to step into the
ring," said Lord Ronsdale, his voice rising somewhat. "Truth is,
sight of you brought back old recollections. Things I haven't thought of fo=
r a
long time, don't you see!"
"Quite so! Delighted, I am sure. I didn't
know so much about him then; that came after; except that the gentlemen fou=
nd
him a figure worth looking at when he got up at the post--"
"Yes; he was worth looking at." Lord
Bonsdale's eyes half closed. "A heavy-fisted, shapely brute; with musc=
les
like steel. But ignorant--" He lingered on the word; then his glance
suddenly lifted--"Had something on his arm; recall noticing it while t=
he
bout was on!"
Mr. Gillett with a knowing expression rose, to=
ok a
volume from a bookcase and opened it.
"The 'something' you speak of, my Lord,&q=
uot;
he observed proudly, "should be here; I will show it that you may
appreciate my system; the method I have of gathering and tabulating data. Y=
ou
will find an encyclopedia of information in that bookcase. All that Scotland
Yard has, and perhaps a little besides."
"Really?" The nobleman's eyes fasten=
ed
themselves on the book.
"To illustrate: Here's his case."
Gillett's fingers moved lightly over the page. "'Testimony of Dandy Jo=
e,
down-stairs at the time with landlady who kept the house where the crime was
committed. Heard 'Frisco Pet, who had been drinking, come in; go up-stairs,=
as
they supposed, to his own room; shortly after, loud voices; pistol shot.
Landlady and Joe found woman, Amy Gerard, dead in shabby little sitting-roo=
m.
Pet, the worse for liquor, in a dazed condition at a table, head in his han=
ds. Testimony
of Joe corroborated by landlady; she swore no one had been in house except
parties here mentioned, all lodgers.
"'Private mem.--House in bad neighborhood,
near the Adelphi catacombs. Son of landlady, red-headed giant, also one-time
prize-fighter, used to live here; the Pet's last fight in the ring was with
him. Later Tom took to the road; was wanted by the police at the time of the
crime for some brutal highway work--' But," breaking off, "I am
wearying your lordship. Here is what I was especially looking for, the mark=
ings
on the arm of the 'Frisco Pet. Perhaps, however, your lordship doesn't care=
to
listen further--"
"Go on!" The words broke sharply from
the visitor's lips; then he gave a metallic laugh. "I am interested in
this wonderful system of yours."
Mr. Gillett read slowly: "'On the right a=
rm
of the 'Frisco Pet, just below the elbow, appears the figure of a man, in
sparring attitude, done in sailor's tattooing; about the waist a flag, the
stars and stripes in their accustomed colors; crudely drawn but not to be
mistaken by noting following defects and details--' which," closing the
book, "I won't read."
His lordship's head had turned; at first he did
not speak. "A good system," he remarked after an interval. "=
And
a very good description, and yet--" His voice died away; for a moment =
he
sat motionless. "But my purpose--the purpose of my visit--I--we have
wandered quite from that. Let us, I beg of you, talk business."
Mr. Gillett started as if to venture a mild
expostulation, but thought better of the impulse. "What _is_ your
lordship's business with me?" he observed in his most professional ton=
e.
"I believe"--the visitor moistened h=
is
lips--"I believe I mentioned--John Steele when I came in?"
"Your lordship did."
"It--concerns him."
"I am all attention, your Lordship."=
Mr.
Gillett's manner was keen, energetic; if he felt surprise he suppressed it.
"Good! your lordship's business concerns John Steele."
"For reasons that need not be mentioned, I want to find out all I can about him. That, I believe, is the sort of work = you undertake. The terms for your services can be arranged later. It is unneces= sary to say you will be well paid. I assume you can command competent and trustworthy help, that you have agents, perhaps, in other countries?"<= o:p>
Mr. Gillett nodded. "If your lordship wou=
ld
give me some idea of the scope of the inquiry--"
The long fingers opened, then closed tightly.<= o:p>
"In the first place, you are to ascertain
where John Steele was before he came to England; how he got there; what he =
did.
Naturally, if he has lived in a far-away port you would seek to know the sh=
ip
that brought him there; the names of the captain and the crew."
"Your lordship thinks, then, our
investigation may lead us to distant lands?"
"Who can tell?" The nobleman's voice=
was
sharp, querulous. "That is what you are to find out."
"It shall be done, your Lordship,"
replied the other quickly. "I shall embark in the matter with great ze=
st,
and, I may add, interest."
"Interest?" The nobleman looked at h=
im.
"Oh, yes!"
"If I might be so bold, may I ask, does y=
our
lordship expect to find anything that would--ahem!--cast any reflection on =
the
high standing John Steele is building up for himself in the community,
or---"
A
shadow seemed to darken the mask-like features of the visitor; his gaze at =
once
glittering, vaguely questioning, was fastened on the wall; then slowly, wit=
hout
answering, he got up. "Surmises are not to enter into this matter,&quo=
t;
he said shortly. "It is facts, I want--facts!"
"And your lordship shall have them. The c=
ase
appears simple; not hard to get at the bottom of!" An odd expression s=
hone
from the visitor's eyes. "Which reminds me he has left town," add=
ed
Gillett.
"Left town!" Lord Ronsdale wheeled
abruptly. "You mean--"
"For a little trip to the continent I sho=
uld
imagine; heard of it because he got some unimportant court matter put
over."
"Gone away!" The nobleman, his back =
to
the other, lifted a hand to his brow. "When?"
"Last night."
"It was only yesterday morning I was ridi=
ng
with him!"
"And he didn't mention the matter?"<= o:p>
The visitor did not answer. "Why should he
have gone away?" he murmured, half aloud. "Was it because--"=
He
walked to the door; at the threshold stopped and looked back. "You mig=
ht
begin your inquiry by learning all you can about this little trip," he
suggested. "And by the by, whatever you may find out, if anything, you
will regard as belonging to me exclusively; to be mentioned, under no
circumstances, without my permission, to any one whosoever--"
"Your lordship!" Mr. Gillett's hurt
voice implied the little need for such admonition. "In my profession
absolute integrity toward one's client demands that secrecy should be the f=
irst
con--"
"It is understood then. Let me hear from =
you
from time to time," and the nobleman went out.
Mr. Gillett looked after him, then, reflective=
ly,
at the closed door. Outside the sound of shuffling feet alone broke the
stillness; before the book-stand the bibliomaniac buried his face deeper in=
the
musty pages of an old tragedy.
*
=
Several
months went by and John Steele saw nothing further, although he heard often=
, of
Miss Jocelyn Wray. His business to the continent, whatever its nature, had
seemed sufficiently important to authorize from him to her, in due process =
of
time, a short perfunctory message regretting his inability to present himse=
lf
at the appointed hour at Strathorn House. Whether the young girl found in t=
he
letter a vagueness warranting a suspicion that John Steele preferred the he=
avy
duties of the city to the light frivolities of the country matters not; suf=
fice
it the weeks passed and no further invitations, in the ponderous script of =
the
wife of Sir Charles, arrived to tempt him from his accustomed ways. But the
days of this long interim had not passed altogether uneventfully; a few
incidents, apart from the routine of his work, obtruded themselves upon his
attention.
A number of supposedly prospective clients had
called to ask for him at his office during his sojourn on the other side of=
the
channel. That was to have been expected; but one or two of these, by dint of
flattery, or possibly silver-lined persuasion, had succeeded in gaining acc=
ess
to his chambers.
"I should like to have a look into John
Steele's library; I've heard it's worth while," one had observed to the
butler at the door. "Only a bit of a peep around!" His manner of
putting his desire, supplemented by a half-crown, left the butler no
alternative save to comply with the request, until the "peep around&qu=
ot;
began to develop into more than cursory examination, when his sense of
propriety became outraged and the visitor's welcome was cut short.
"He was that curious, a regular Paul
Pry!" explained the servant to John Steele, in narrating the incident =
on
the latter's return to London. "Seemed specially taken by the reports =
of
the old trials you have on the shelves, sir. 'What an interesting collectio=
n of
_causes célèbres!_' he kept remarking. 'I suppose your master
makes much of them?' He would have been handling of them, too, and when I
showed him the door--trusting I did right, sir, even if he should happen to=
be
a client!--he asked more questions before going."
"What questions?" quietly.
"Personal-like. But I put a stop to
that."
For a few moments John Steele said nothing; his
face, on his reappearance in London, had looked slightly paler, more set an=
d determined,
not unlike that of a man, who, strongly assailed, has made up his mind to do
battle to the end. With whom? How many? He might put out his hand, clench i=
t;
the thin air made no answer. He regarded the shadows now; they seemed to wa=
ve
around him, intangible, obscure. A dark day in town, the streets were
oppressive; the people below passed like poorly done replicas of themselves;
the rattle of the wheels resembled a sullen, disgruntled mumble.
"You will admit no one to my chambers dur=
ing
my absence in the future," said Steele at length, to the man, sternly.
"No one, you understand, under any pretext whatever; even," a fli=
cker
of grim humor in the deep eyes, "if he should say he was a client of m=
ine!"
The butler returned a subdued answer, and John
Steele, after a moment's thought, stepped to a large safe in the corner, and
applying a somewhat elaborate combination, swung open the door. Taking from=
a
compartment a bundle of papers carefully rolled, he unfastened the tape, sp=
read
them on a table and examined them, one after the other. They made a volumin=
ous
heap; here and there on the white pages in bold regular script appeared the
name of a woman; her life lay before him, the various stages of an odd and
erratic career. At a cabaret at Montmartre; at a casino in the Paris Bohemi=
an
quarter; in London--at a variety hall of amusement. And afterward!--wastrel,
nomad! Throughout the writing, in many of the documents, another name, too,=
a
titled name, a man's, often came and went, flitted elusively from leaf to l=
eaf.
The reader looked at this name, wrote a page or
two, and inserted them. But his task seemed to afford him little satisfacti=
on;
his face wore an expression not remote from discouragement; none knew better
than he the actual value, for his purpose, of the material before him. The
chaff, froth, bubble of the case!--almost contemptuously he regarded it. Ha=
d he
sought the unattainable? Certainly he had left no stone unturned, no stone,=
and
yet the head and front of what he sought had ever escaped him--should he ev=
er
grasp it?--with these new secret activities menacing him?--harassing the
future?
He drew himself up suddenly, as if to shake off
momentary doubt or depression. Replacing his documents in the safe and lock=
ing
it, he walked into a room adjoining; in a bare, square place on the wall hu=
ng foils
and broadswords, and the only furnishings were the conventional appointment=
s of
a home gymnasium.
Here, having doffed his street clothes and ass=
umed
the scant costume of the athlete, for an hour or more he exercised vigorous=
ly,
every muscle responding to its task with an untiring ease that told of a
perfect system of training. As he stood in the glow, breathing deep and ful=
l, his
figure, with its perfect lines of strength and litheness, the superb but not
too pronounced swell of limb and shoulder, would have been the delight of t=
he
professional expounder of dumb-bells, bars and clubs, as the most proper me=
dium
of "fitness" and condition. Whether he exercised for the sake of
exercising, or because bodily movement served to stimulate his mind in the
consideration of problems of moment, John Steele certainly had never been in
finer physical fettle than at this particular period of his varied and even=
tful
career. Which proved of service to him and his well-being, for one night, n=
ot
long thereafter, he was called upon to defend himself from a number of foot=
pads
who set upon him.
The episode occurred in his own street near a
corner, where the shadows were black at an hour when the narrow way seemed
silent and deserted. For a block or more footfalls had sounded behind him, =
now
quickening, then becoming more deliberate, in unison with his own steps, as
from time to time he purposely altered his pace. Once he had stopped; where=
upon
they too had paused. A moment he stood looking up at St. Paul's, immense,
ominous, casting at that late hour a dim patch of shadow over scores of pig=
my
buildings and paltry byways; when he went on, patter!--patter!--the trailin=
g of
feet, inevitable as fate, followed through the darkness. But they came no
nearer until, abruptly wheeling, he entered the short street where his cham=
bers
were located; at the same time two men, apparently sauntering from the rive=
r in
that side thoroughfare, approached him somewhat rapidly, separating slightl=
y as
they did so.
John Steele seemed oblivious. He moved into a
doorway and drawing from his pocket a cigar, unconcernedly lighted a match.=
The
fellows looked at him, at the tiny flame; it flickered and went out. They
hesitated; he felt in his pocket, giving them time to move by. They did not=
do
so; in a moment the others from the main highway would join them. As if dis=
appointed
in not finding what he sought, Steele, looking around, appeared to see for =
the
first time the evil-looking miscreants who had came from the direction of t=
he
Thames, and striding toward them asked bruskly for a light. One of the fell=
ows
thus unceremoniously addressed had actually begun to feel in his shabby
garments for the article required when his companion uttered a short deriso=
ry
oath.
It served as a sudden stimulus to him against =
whom
it was directed; the old precept that he who strikes first strikes best, Jo=
hn
Steele seemed fully to appreciate. His heavy stick flashed in the air, rang
hard; the way before him cleared, he did not linger. But close behind now t=
he others
came fast; his door, however, was near. Now he reached it, fitted the heavy
key. Had it turned as usual, the episode would have been brought to a speedy
conclusion, but, as it was, the key stuck. The foremost of those who had be=
en
trailing fell upon Steele but soon drew back; one of them, unable to repres=
s a
groan, held his hand to a broken wrist, while from his helpless fingers a k=
nife
dropped to the ground.
A hoarse voice in thieves' jargon, unintelligi=
ble
to the layman, cursed them for cowards; John Steele on a sudden laughed lou=
dly,
exultantly; whereupon he who had thus spoken from the background stared. A =
ponderous,
hulking fellow, about six feet three, with a shock of red hair and a thick
hanging lip,--obviously this one of his assailants possessed immense, unusu=
al
strength. In appearance he was the reverse of pleasing; his bloodshot eyes
seemed to shine like coals from the darkness, the huge body to quiver with =
rage
or with lust for the conflict.
"Let me at him, ye--!" he cried in f=
oul
and flash tongue, when John Steele suddenly called him by name, said someth=
ing
in that selfsame dialect of pickpurses and their ilk.
Whatever the words or their portent, the effec=
t was
startling. Steele's bulky assailant paused, remained stock-still, his purpo=
se
arrested, all his anger gone out of him.
"How the--? Who--?" the man began.
"Call off your fellows!" John Steele=
's
voice seemed to thrill; a fierce elation shone from his glance. "I wan=
t to
talk with you. It'll be more worth your while than any prigging or bagging
you've ever yet done."
"Well, I'm blowed!" The man's tone w=
as
puzzled; surprise, suspicion gleamed from the bloodshot eyes. "How sho=
uld
a swell gent like you know--? And you want to talk with me? Here's a gamey
cove!"
"I tell you I must talk with you! And it =
will
be better for you, my man--" a sharp metallic click told that the spea=
ker
had turned the key in the lock behind him--"to step in here with me. Y=
ou
needn't be afraid I'm going to nab you; I've got a lay better than hooking =
you
for the dock. As for the others, they can go, for all of me."
"Oh, they can!" The big man's face expressed varying feelings--vague wonder; at the same time he began to edge cautiously away. "That would be a nice plant, wouldn't it? Let's out of this, blokies!" suddenly, "this cove knows too much, and--"<= o:p>
"Wait!" Steele stepped slightly towa=
rd
him. "I want you, Tom Rogers, and I'm going to have you; it'll be quid=
s in
your pocket and not Newgate."
"Slope for it, mates!" The big man's
voice rang out; around the corner in the direction of the Thames the burly
figure of a policeman appeared in the dim light. "That's his little
game!" and turned.
But John Steele sprang savagely forward. "=
;You
fool! You'll not get away so easily!" he exclaimed, when one of the ot=
hers
put out a foot. It caught the pursuing man fairly and tripped him. John Ste=
ele
went down hard; his head struck the stone curb violently.
For some moments he lay still; when at length =
he
did move, to lift himself on his elbow, as through a mist he made out the b=
road
and solicitous face of a policeman bending over him.
"That was a nasty fall you got, sir."=
;
"Fall?" John Steele arose, stood
swaying. "That man!--must not escape--Do you hear? must not!" As =
he
spoke he made as if to rush forward; the other laid steadying fingers on his
arm.
"Hold hard a bit, sir," he said.
"Not quite yourself; besides, they're well out of sight now. No use
running after."
Steele moved, grasped the railing leading up t=
he
front step; his brow throbbed; a thousand darting pains shot through his br=
ain.
But for the moment these physical pangs were as nothing; disappointment, se=
lf-reproach
moved him. To have allowed himself to go down like that; to have been caugh=
t by
such a simple trick! Clumsy clod!--and at a moment when--He laughed fiercel=
y;
from his head the blood flowed; he did not feel that hurt now.
The officer regarded the strong, noble figure
moving just a little to and fro, the lips set ironically, the dark eyes that
gleamed in the night as with sardonic derision.
"Pardon me, sir," he said in a brisk=
er
tone, "but hadn't we better go in? This, I take it, is your house; you=
can
look after yourself somewhat, and afterward describe your assailants. Then
we'll start out to find and arrest them, if possible!"
"Arrest?" John Steele looked at the
officer; his gaze slowly regained its accustomed steadiness. "I am afr=
aid
I can't help you; the darkness, the suddenness of the attack--"
"But surely you must have noticed somethi=
ng,
sir; whether they were large, or small; what sort of clothes they wore--&qu=
ot;
The other shook his head; the man appeared disappointed. "Well, I'll m=
ake
a report of the attack, but--"
Steele loosened his hold on the railing; he
appeared now to have recovered his strength. "That's just what I don't
want you to do. My name is John Steele, you know of me?" And, as the o=
ther
returned a respectful affirmative, "It is my desire to escape any
notoriety in this little matter, you understand? As one whose profession br=
ings
him in connection with these people, the episode seems rather anomalous as =
well
as humiliating. It might even," his accents had a covert mocking sound=
, "furnish
a paragraph for one of the comic weeklies. So you see--" Something pas=
sed
from his hand to the policeman's.
"I didn't think of that, sir; but I suppo=
se
there is something in your way of looking at it, and as there isn't much ch=
ance
of getting them, anyhow, without any clue, or description--" his voice
died away.
Walking quickly up the steps John Steele opened
the door, murmured a perfunctory "Good night" and let himself in.=
But
as he mounted to his chambers, some of the moment's exultation that had sei=
zed
him at sight of the man, revived.
"He has come back--he is here--in London.=
I
surely can lay hands on him--I must! I will!"
*
=
HE
found the task no easy one, however, although he went at it with his charac=
teristic
vigor and energy. Few men knew the seamy side of London better than John
Steele: its darksome streets and foul alleys, its hovels and various
habitations. And this knowledge he utilized to the best advantage, always to
find that his efforts came to naught. The snares he set before possible
hiding-places proved abortive; the artifices he employed to uncover the qua=
rry
in maze or labyrinth were fruitless. The man had appeared like a vision from
the past, and vanished. Whither? Out of the country, once more? Over the se=
as?
Had he taken quick alarm at Steele's words, and effected a hasty retreat fr=
om the
scenes of his graceless and nefarious career?
Reluctantly John Steele found himself forced to
entertain the possibility of this being so; otherwise the facilities at his
command were such that he should most likely, ere this, have been able to
attain his end, find what he sought. Soberly attired, he attracted no very =
marked
attention in the slums,--breeding spots of the criminal classes; the denize=
ns
knew John Steele; he had been there oft before.
He had, on occasion, assisted some of them with
stern good advice or more substantial services. He was acquainted with these
men and women; had, perhaps, a larger charity for them than most people fin=
d it
expedient to cherish. His glance had always seemed to read them through and
through, with uncompromising realization of their infirmities, weaknesses of
the flesh and inherited moral imperfections. His very fearlessness had ever
commended him to that lower world; it did now, enabling him the better to c=
ast
about in divers directions.
To hear nothing, to learn nothing, at least, v=
ery
little! One man had seen the object of Steele's solicitude and to this pers=
on,
a weazened little "undesirable," the red-headed giant had confided
that London was pretty hot and he thought of decamping from it.
"'Arter all this time that's gone by,' he
says to me, bitter-like, 'to think a man can't come back to 'is native 'ome
without being spied on for what ought long ago to be dead and forgot!' But
you're not trying to lay hands on 'im, to put 'im in the pen, gov'ner?"=
;
"I?" A singular glint shot from Stee=
le's
gaze. "No, no, my man, I'm not seeking him for that. But he didn't say
where he expected to go?"
"Not he."
"Nor what had brought him to London?"=
;
"I expect it was 'omesickness, sir. 'E's =
been
a bad lot, but 'e has a heart, arter all. It was to see 'is mother 'e came
back; the old woman drew 'im 'ere. You see 'e had written 'er from foreign
parts, but could never 'ear; 'cause she had moved; used to keep a place whe=
re a
woman was found--"
"Dead?"
"Murdered!" said the man; John Steele
was silent. "And she, 'is mother 'ad gone, 'aving saved a bit, out int=
o a
peaceable-like little 'amlet, where there weren't no bobbies, only instead,
bits of flower gardens and bright bloomin' daffy-down-dillies. But, blime m=
e,
when Tom come and found out where she 'ad changed to, if she 'adn't gone and
shuffled off, and all 'e 'ad for 'is pains was the sight of a mound in the =
churchyard."
"Yes; she's buried," said John Steele
thoughtfully, "and all she might have told about the woman who
was--murdered, is buried with her."
"But she did tell, sir; at the time,"
quickly, "of the trial."
"True." The visitor's tone changed. "If you can find Tom, give him this note; you'll be well paid--"<= o:p>
"I ain't askin' for that; you got me off =
easy
once and gave me a lift, arter I was let out--"
"Well, well!" Steele made a brusk
gesture. "We all need a helping hand sometimes," he said turning
away.
And that was as near as he had come to attainm=
ent
of his desires.
Summer passed; sometimes, the better to think,=
to
plan, to keep himself girded by constant exercise, he repaired to the park,=
now
neglected by fashion and given over to that nebulous quantity of diverse
qualities called the people. Where fine gentlemen and beaux had idled, midd=
le-class
nurse-maids now trundled their charges or paused to converse with the state=
ly
guardians of the place. Almost deserted were roads and row; landau, victoria
and brougham, with their varied coats-of-arms, no longer rolled pompously p=
ast;
only the occasional democratic cab, of nimble possibilities, speeding by wi=
th a
fare lent pretext of life to the scene. True, the nomad appeared in ever in=
creasing
numbers, holding his right to the sward for a couch as an inalienable
privilege; John Steele encountered him on every hand. Once, beneath a great
tree, where Jocelyn Wray and he had stopped their horses to talk for a mome=
nt,
the bleared, bloated face of what had been a man looked up at him. The sight
for an instant seemed to startle the beholder; a wave of anger at that face,
set in a place where imagination had an instant before played with a picture
altogether different, passed over him; then quickly went.
As he strode forward at a swinging pace, his
thoughts swept swiftly again into another channel, one they had been flowin=
g in
when he had first entered the park that day. Above him the leaves rustled c=
easelessly;
their restless movements seemed in keeping with his mood wherein impatience
mingled with other and fiercer emotions. Fate had been against him, the
inevitable "what must be," which, in the end, crushes alike
Faintheart or Strongheart. Of what avail to square his shoulders? the danger
pressed close; he felt it, by that intuition men sometimes have. What if he
left, left the field, this England? Who could accuse him of cowardice if in
that black moment he yielded to the hateful course and went, like the guilt=
y,
pitiable skulkers?
"How do you do, Steele? Just the man I wa=
nted
to see!"
Near the main exit, toward which John Steele h=
ad
unconsciously stepped, the sound of a familiar voice and the appearance of a
well-known stocky form broke in, with startling abruptness, on the dark tra=
in
of thought.
"Deep in some point of law?" went on=
Sir
Charles. "'Pon honor, believe you would have cut me. However, don't
apologize; you're forgiven!"
"Most amiable of you to say so, Sir
Charles!" perfunctorily.
"Not at all! Especially as our meeting is
quite apropos. Obliged to run up to town on a little matter of business; bu=
t,
thank goodness, it's done. Never saw London more deserted. Dined at the clu=
b,
nobody there. Supped at the hotel, dining-room empty. Strolled up Piccadill=
y,
not a soul to be seen. That is," he added, "no one whom one has s=
een
before, which is the same thing. But how did you enjoy your trip to the con=
tinent?"
"It was not exactly a trip for
pleasure," returned the other with a slight accent of constraint.
"Ah, yes; so I understood. But fancy goin=
g to
the continent on business! One usually goes for--which reminds me, how would
you like to go back into the country with me?"
"I? It is impossible at the moment
for--"
But Sir Charles seemed not to listen. "De=
uced
dull journey for a man to take alone; good deal of it by coach. You'll find=
a
few salmon to kill--trout and all that. Think of the joy of whipping a stre=
am,
after having been mewed up all these months in the musty metropolis! Beside=
s, I
made a wager with Jocelyn you wouldn't refuse a second opportunity to bask =
in
Arcadia." He laughed. "'I really couldn't presume to ask him agai=
n,'
is the way she expressed it, 'but if you can draw a sufficiently eloquent
picture of the rural attractions of Strathorn to woo him from his beloved d=
usty
byways, you have my permission to try.'"
"Did she say that?" John Steele spoke
quickly. Then, "I am sorry, it is impossible, but," in a low tone,
"how is Miss Wray?"
"Never better. Enjoying every moment. Jol=
ly
party and all that. Lord Ronsdale and--" Here Sir Charles enumerated a
number of people.
"Lord Ronsdale is there?"
"Yes; couldn't keep him away from Stratho=
rn
House now," he laughed. "As a matter of fact he has asked my
permission to--there!" Sir Charles stopped, then laughed again with a
little embarrassment. "I've nearly let the cat out of the bag."
John Steele spoke no word; his face was set,
immovable; his lashes shaded his eyes. A flood of traffic at a corner held
them; he appeared attentive only for it. The wheels pounded and rattled; the
whips snapped and cracked.
"You mean he has proposed for her hand and
she--" Steele seemed to speak with difficulty--"has consented?&qu=
ot;
The noise almost drowned the question but Sir
Charles heard.
"Well, not exactly. She appears complaisa=
nt,
as it were," he answered. "But really, I shouldn't have mentioned=
the
matter at all; quite premature, you understand. Let's say no more about it.
And--what was it you said about going back with me?"
"Yes," said John Steele with a sudden
strength and energy that Sir Charles might attribute to the desire to make
himself understood above the din of the street. "I'll go back with you
at"--the latter words, lower spoken, the other did not catch--"no
matter what cost!"
Sir Charles dodged a vehicle; he did not obser=
ve
the light, the fire, the sudden play of fierce, dark passion on his compani=
on's
face.
"Good!" he said. "And when you =
get
tired of 'books in the running brooks'--"
Steele's hand closed on his arm. "When do=
you
leave?" he asked abruptly.
"To-day--to-morrow--Suit your
convenience."
"Let it be to-day, then! To-day!"
Sir Charles looked at him quickly; John Steele=
's
face recovered its composure.
"I believe I have become weary of what yo=
ur
niece calls the 'dusty byways,'" he explained with a forced laugh.
*
=
When
John Steele, contrary to custom, set aside, in deciding to leave London that
day, all logical methods of reasoning and acted on what was nothing more th=
an
an irresistible impulse, he did not attempt to belittle to himself the poss=
ible
consequences that might accrue from his action. He was not following the co=
urse
intelligence had directed; he was not embarking on a journey his best inter=
ests
would have prompted; on the contrary, he knew himself mad, foolish. But not=
for
one moment did he regret his decision; stubbornly, obstinately he set his b=
ack toward
the town; with an enigmatical gleam in his dark eyes he looked away from the
blur Sir Charles and he had left behind them.
Green pastures, bright prospects! Whence were =
they
leading him? His gaze was now somber, then bright; though more often shadows
passed over his face, like clouds in the sky.
Outwardly his manner had become unconcerned,
collected; he listened to Sir Charles' jokes, offered casual comments of his
own. He even performed his wonted part in relieving the tedium of a long
journey with voluntary contributions to conversations on divers topics in w=
hich
he displayed wide and far-reaching knowledge. He answered the many question=
s of
his companion on the different habits of criminals; how they lived; the
possibilities for reforming the worst of the lot; the various methods toward
this end advocated by the idealist. These and other subjects he touched on =
with
poignant, illuminating comment.
Sir Charles regarded him once or twice in
surprise. "You have seen a deal in your day," he observed, "=
of
the under world, I mean!" John Steele returned an evasive answer. The
nobleman showed a tendency to doze in his seat, despite the jolts and jars =
of
the way, and, thereafter, until they arrived at Strathorn the two fellow
travelers rode on in silence.
This little hamlet lay in a sleepy-looking del=
l;
as the driver swung down a hill he whipped up his horses and literally char=
ged
upon the town; swept through the main thoroughfare and drew up with a flour=
ish before
the principal tavern. Sir Charles started, stretched his legs; John Steele =
got
down.
"Conveyance of any kind here, waiting to =
take
us to Strathorn House?" called out the former as he stiffly descended =
the
ladder at the side of the coach.
The landlord of the Golden Lion, who had emerg=
ed
from his door, returned an affirmative reply and at the same time ushered t=
he
travelers into a tiny private sitting-room. As they crossed the hall, turni=
ng
to the right to enter this apartment, some one in the room opposite, a more=
public
place, who had been furtively peering through the half-opened door to obser=
ve
the new-comers, at sight of John Steele drew quickly back. Not, however, be=
fore
that gentleman had caught a glimpse of him. A strange face, indeed,--but the
fellow's manner--his expression--the act itself somehow struck the
observer,--unduly, no doubt, and yet--A moment later this door closed, and =
from
beyond came only a murmur of men's voices over pots.
"Trap will be in front directly, Sir
Charles," said the landlord lingering. "Meanwhile if there is
anything--"
"Nothing, thank you! Only a short distanc=
e to
Strathorn House," he explained to John Steele, "and I fancy we'll=
do
better by waiting for what we may require there. But what is the latest new=
s at
Strathorn? Anything happened? Business quiet?"
"It 'asn't been so brisk, and it 'asn't b=
een
so dull, your Lordship, what with now and then a gentleman from London!&quo=
t;
"From London? Isn't that rather
unusual?"
"Somewhat. But as for your lordship's fir=
st
question, I don't know of any news, except Squire Thompson told me to inform
your lordship he would have the three hunters he was telling your lordship
about, down at his stud farm this afternoon, and if your lordship cared to =
have
a look at them--"
"If?" cried Sir Charles. "There
isn't any 'if.' Three finer animals man never threw leg over, judging from
report," he explained to John Steele. "Stud farm's about a mile in
the opposite direction from Strathorn House. Mind a little jog to the farm
first?"
"Not at all!" John Steele had been
looking thoughtfully toward the door that had closed upon the man whose qui=
ck
regard he had detected. "Only, if you will allow me to make a counter
proposal,--Strathorn House, you say, is near; I am in the mood for exercise,
after sitting so long, and should like to walk there."
"By all means," returned the other,
"since it's your preference. Pretty apt to overtake you," he went=
on,
after giving his guest a few directions. "Especially if you linger over
any points of interest!"
The trap drew up; the two men separated. Sir
Charles rattled briskly down one way, Steele turned to go the other. But be=
fore
setting out, he asked a casual question or two of the landlord, relating to=
the
occasional "gentleman from London"; the host, however, appeared to
know little of any cosmopolitan visitors who had happened to drift that way=
, and
John Steele, eliciting no information in this regard, finally started on his
walk. Whatever his thoughts, many quaint and characteristic bits of the town
failed to divert them; he looked neither to the right, at a James I. sun-di=
al;
nor to the left, where a small sign proclaimed that an event of historical
importance had made noteworthy that particular spot. Over the cobblestones,
smoothed by the feet of many generations, he walked with eyes bent straight
before him until he reached an open space on the other side of the village,
where he paused. On either side hedges partly screened undulating meadows, =
the broad
sweeps of emerald green interspersed here and there with small groups of tr=
ees
in whose shadows cattle grazed. A stream with lively murmur meandered downw=
ard;
in a bush, at his approach, a bird began to sing, and involuntarily the man
stopped; but only for a moment. Soon rose before him the top of a modest
steeple; then a church, within the sanctuary of whose yard old stones mingl=
ed
with new. He stepped in; "straight on across the churchyard!" had
been Sir Charles' direction. John Steele moved quickly down the narrow path;
his eye had but time to linger a moment on the monuments, ancient and
crumbling, and on headstones more recently fashioned, when above, another
picture caught and held his attention.
Strathorn House! A noble dwelling, massive, gr=
ay!
And yet one that lifted itself with charming lightness from its solid,
baronial-like foundation! It adorned the spot, merged into the landscape.
Behind, the forest, a dark line, penciled itself against the blue horizon;
before the ancient stone pile lay a park. Noble trees guarded the walks, th=
rew over
them great gnarled limbs or delicately-trailing branches. Between, the
interspaces glowed bright with flowers; amid all, a little lake shone like a
silver shield bearing at its center a marble pavilion.
Long the man looked; through a faint veil of m=
ist,
turret and tower quivered; strong lines of masonry vibrated. Wavering as in=
the
spell of an optical illusion, the structure might have seemed but a figment=
of imagination,
or one of those fanciful castles sung by the Elizabethan brotherhood of poe=
ts.
Did the image occur to John Steele, did he feel for the time, despite other
disquieting, extraneous thoughts, the subtle enchantment of the scene? The
minutes passed; he did not move.
"You find it to your liking?"
A voice, fresh, gay, interrupted; with a great
start, he turned.
Jocelyn Wray, for it was she, laughed; so abso=
rbed
had he been, he had not heard her light footstep on the grass behind.
"You find it to your liking?" she
repeated, tilting quizzically her fair head.
His face changing, "Entirely!" he
managed to say. And then, "I--did not know you were near."
"No? But I could see that. Confess,"
with accent a little derisory, "I startled you." As she spoke she
leaned slightly back against the low stone wall of the churchyard; the shif=
ting
light through the leaves played over her; her eyes seemed to dance in
consonance with that movement.
"Perhaps," he confessed.
The girl laughed again; one would have sworn t=
here
was; oy in her voice. "You must have been much absorbed," she
continued, "in the view!"
"It is very fine." He saw now more
clearly the picture she made: the details of her dress, the slender figure,
closely sheathed in a garb of blue lighter in shade than her eyes.
She put out her hand. "I am forgetting--y=
ou
came down with my uncle, I suppose?" in a matter-of-fact tone. "A
pleasure we hardly expected! Let me see. I haven't seen you since--ah, when=
was
it?"
He told her. "Yes; I remember now. Wasn't
that the day the Scotch bagpipes went by? You had business that called you
away. Something very important, was it not? You were successful?"
"Quite."
"How oddly you say that!" She looked=
at
him curiously. "But shall we walk on toward the house? I went down into
the town thinking to meet my uncle," she explained, "but as I had=
a
few errands, on account of a children's fête we are planning, reached=
the
tavern after he had gone."
"He went to a farm not far distant."=
As he spoke, she stepped into the path leading
from the churchyard; it was narrow and she walked before him.
"Yes; so the landlord said," she
remarked without looking around. And then, irrelevantly, "The others w=
ent
hunting. Are you a Nimrod, Mr. Steele?"
"Not a mighty one."
"Oh, you wouldn't have to be that--for
rabbits!"
She shot a glance over her shoulder; her eyes =
were
glad; but to the man they were bright merely with the joy of youth that dro=
ps
glances like sunshine for all alike. Perhaps he would have found pleasure in
thinking she appeared gayer for sight of him; but if the thought came,
bitterly, peremptorily it was dismissed. Sir Charles' words rang through his
mind; Lord Ronsdale!--John Steele's hat shaded his eyes; he stopped to pick=
a small
flower from the hedge. When he looked up he saw her face no longer; only the
golden hair seemed to flash in his eyes, the beautiful, bright meshes, and =
the light,
slender figure, so graceful, so buoyant, so near he could almost touch it, =
but
moving away, moving from him--
It may be, amid other thoughts, at that moment=
, he
asked himself why he had come. What had driven him to this folly? Why was he
stepping on blindly, oblivious of definite plan or policy, like a man walki=
ng
in the dark? No, not in the dark; all was too bright. He could see but too =
plainly--her!--felt
impelled to draw nearer--
But at that instant, she stepped quickly from =
the
byway into the main road. "There it is," she said, pointing with a
small white finger.
He held himself abruptly back. "What?&quo=
t;
fell from his lips.
"The way in, of course," said the gi=
rl.
He moved now at her side; at the entrance, bro=
ad,
imposing, she paused; a thousand perfumes seemed wafted from the garden; the
rustling of myriad wings fell on the senses, like faint cadences of music. =
The
girl made a courtesy; her red lips curved. "Welcome to Strathorn House,
Mr. John Steele!" she said gaily.
Within the stately house, near a recessed wind=
ow
at the front, a man stood at that moment, reading a letter handed to him bu=
t a
short time before. This document, though brief, was absorbing:
"Shall be down to see you soon. Am sending
this by private messenger who may be trusted. Case coming on; links nearly =
all
complete. Involve a new and bewildering possibility that I must impart to y=
ou
personally. Have discovered the purpose of S.'s visit to the continent. It
was--"
Lord Ronsdale perused the words more rapidly;
paused, on his face an expression of eagerness, expectancy.
"So that was it," he said to himself
slowly. "I might have known--"
Voices without caught his attention; he glanced
quickly through the window. Jocelyn Wray and some one else had drawn near, =
were
walking up the marble steps.
"John Steele!" He, Lord Ronsdale,
crumpled the paper in his hand. "Here!"
*
=
=
A few
days passed; the usual round of pastimes inseparable from house parties ser=
ved
to while away the hours; other guests arrived, one or two went. Lord Ronsda=
le
had greeted John Steele perfunctorily; the other's manner was likewise
mechanically courteous. It could not very well have been otherwise; a numbe=
r of
people were near.
"Come down for a little sport?" the
nobleman, his hands carelessly thrust into the pockets of his shooting
trousers, had asked with a frosty smile.
"Perhaps--if there is any!" Steele
allowed his glance for the fraction of a moment to linger on Lord Ronsdale's
face.
"I'll answer for that." A slight pau=
se
ensued. "Decided rather suddenly to run down, didn't you?"
"Rather."
"Heard you were on the continent. From Sir
Charles, don't you know. Pleasant time, I trust?" he drawled.
"Thank you!" John Steele did not ans=
wer
directly. "Your solicitude," he laughed, "honors me--my
Lord!"
And that had been all, all the words spoken, at
least. To the others there had been nothing beneath the surface between the=
m;
for the time the two men constituted but two figures in a social gathering.=
A rainy spell put a stop to outdoor diversions;
for twenty-four hours now the party had been thrown upon their own resource=
s,
to devise such indoor amusement as occurred to them. Strathorn House, howev=
er,
was large; it had its concert stage, a modern innovation; its armory hall a=
nd
its ball-room. Pleasure seekers could and did find here ample facilities for
entertaining themselves.
The second morning of the dark weather discove=
red
two of the guests in the oak-paneled smoking-room of Strathorn House. One of
them brushed the ash from his cigar meditatively and then stretched himself
more comfortably in the great leather chair.
"No fox-hunt or fishing for any of us
to-day," he remarked with a yawn.
The other, who had been gazing through a windo=
w at
a prospect of dripping leaves and leaden sky, answered absently; then his
attention
centered itself on the small figure of a boy
coming up through the avenue of trees toward a side entrance.
"Believe I shall run over to Germany very
soon, Steele," went on the first speaker.
"Indeed?" John Steele's brows drew
together; the appearance of the lad was vaguely familiar. He remembered him
now, the hostler boy at the Golden Lion.
"Yes; capital case coming on in the crimi=
nal
courts there."
"And you don't want to miss it,
Forsythe?"
"Not I! Weakness of mine, as you know. Mo=
st
people look to novels or plays for entertainment; I find mine in the real
drama, unfolded every day in the courts of justice."
Forsythe paused as if waiting for some comment
from his companion, but none came. John Steele watched the boy; he waved a
paper in his hand and called with easy familiarity to a housemaid in an open
window above:
"Telegram from London, Miss. My master at=
the
Golden Lion said there'd be a sixpence here for delivering it!"
"Well, I'll be down in a moment,
Impudence."
The silence that followed was again broken by
Captain Forsythe's voice: "There are one or two features in this German
affair that remind me of another case, some years back--one of our own--that
interested me."
"Ah?" The listener's tone was only
politely interrogatory.
"A case here in London--perhaps you have
heard of it? The murder of a woman, once well-known before the footlights, =
by a
one-time champion of the ring--the 'Frisco Pet, I think he was called."=
;
The other moved slightly; his back had been to=
ward
Forsythe; he now half-turned. "Yea, I have heard of it," he said
slowly, after a pause. "But why should this case across the water inte=
rest
you; because it is like--this other one you mention?"
"Because I once puzzled a bit over that o=
ne;
investigated it somewhat on my own account, don't you know."
"In what way?" Steele's manner was no
longer indifferent. "I'm rather familiar with some of the details
myself," he added.
"Then it attracted you, too, as an
investigator?" murmured the captain in a gratified tone. "For your
book, perhaps?"
"Not exactly. But you haven't yet told
me," in a keen, alert tone, "why you looked into it, 'on your own
account.' It seems simple, obvious. Not of the kind that would attract one =
fond
of nice criminal problems."
"That is just it," said Captain
Forsythe, rising. "It was, perhaps, a little too simple! too
obvious."
"How," demanded John Steele, "c=
an a
matter of this sort be too obvious? But," bending his eyes on the othe=
r,
"you attended the trial of this fellow?" His tone vibrated a litt=
le
oddly.
"The last part of it; wasn't in England w=
hen
it first came on; and what I heard of it raised some questions and doubts i=
n my
mind. Not that I haven't the greatest respect for English justice! However,=
I
didn't think much more about the case until a good many months later, when =
chance
alone drew my attention more closely to it."
"Chance?"
"Was down in the country--jolly good trout
district--when one night, while riding my favorite hobby, I happened to get=
on
this almost-forgotten case of the 'Frisco Pet. Whereupon the landlord of th=
e inn
where I put up, informed me that one of the villagers in this identical lit=
tle
town had been landlady at the place where the affair occurred."
"The woman who testified no one had been =
to
her place that night except--" John Steele spoke sharply.
"This fellow? Quite so." Captain
Forsythe walked up and down. "Now, I'd always had a little theory. Cou=
ld
never get out of my mind one sentence this poor, ignorant fellow uttered at=
the
trial. 'Seems as if I could remember a man's face, a stranger's, that looked
into mine that night, your Lordship, but I ain't exactly cock-sure!' 'Ain't
exactly cock-sure,'" repeated Captain Forsythe. "That's what caug=
ht
me. Would a man, not telling the truth, be not quite 'cock-sure'; or would =
he testify
to the face as a fact?" The other did not answer. "So the impress=
ion
grew on me. Can you understand?"
"Hum! Very interesting, Forsythe; very
ingenious; quite plausible!"
"Now you're laughing at me, Steele?"=
"On the contrary, my dear fellow, go
on."
"The landlady's testimony excluded the fa=
ce,
made it a figment of an imagination, disordered by drink!" Captain
Forsythe waved his hand airily as he stepped back and forth.
"You went to see this woman?"
"Out of curiosity, and found she was, ind=
eed,
the same person. She seemed quite ill and feeble; I talked with her about an
hour that day. Tried in every way to get her to remember she had possibly l=
et
in some other person that night, but--"
"But?"
"Bless you, she stuck to her story,"
laughed Captain Forsythe. "Couldn't move her an iota." One of the
listener's arms fell to his side; his hand closed hard. "Quite bowled =
over
my little theory, don't you know! Of course I told myself it didn't matter;=
the
man convicted was gone, drowned. However,--" he broke off. A swish of =
silk
was heard in the hallway; Forsythe stopped before the door.
"Ah, Miss Jocelyn! Haven't you a word in
passing?"
She paused, looked in. Amid neutral shades the
girl's slender figure shone most insistent; her gown, of a color between ro=
se
and pink, was warm-hued rather than bright, like the tints in an ancient
embroidery. Around her neck gleamed a band of old cloth of silver but the
warmth of tone did not cease at the argent edge, but leaped over to kiss the
fair cheeks and soft, smiling lips. "Is this the way you men amuse you=
rselves?"
she asked with a laugh. "Talking shop, no doubt?"
"Afraid we must plead guilty," said
Captain Forsythe.
"And that is why," with a quick side=
long
glance, drawing her skirts around her as she stood gracefully poised, "=
;Mr.
Steele appears so interested?"
"Interested?" The subject of her com=
ment
seemed to pull himself together with a start, regarded her. Was he, in the
surprise of the moment, just in the least disconcerted by that bright prese=
nce,
the beautiful clear eyes, straight, direct, though laughing? "Perhaps
appearances are--" he found himself saying.
"Deceptive!" she completed lightly.
"Well, if you weren't interested, Captain Forsythe was. He, I know, is
quite incorrigible when you get him on his hobby."
"Oh, I say, Miss Jocelyn!"
She came forward; light and brightness entered=
the
room with her. "Quite!" The slender figure stood between the two =
men.
"We expect any time he'll be looking around here next, to find somethi=
ng
to investigate!"
"Here?" John Steele smiled. "Wh=
at
should he find here?"
"In sleepy Strathorn? True!"
A shrill whistle smote the air; Steele's glance
turned to the window. The boy, having delivered his message, had left the d=
oor;
with lips puckered to the loud and imperfect rendition of a popular street
melody, he was making his way through the grounds. Involuntarily the man's =
look
lingered on him. "A telegram from London? For whom?"
"I'm afraid it's hopeless, Captain Forsyt=
he.
Nothing ever happens at Strathorn." At the instant the girl's laughing
voice seemed a little farther off. "If something only would--to help p=
ass
the time. Don't you agree with me, Mr. Steele?"
"I--" his glance returned to her qui=
ckly,
"by all means!"
She looked at him; had she detected that momen=
tary
swerving from the serious consideration of her light words? Her own eyes tu=
rned
to the window where they saw nothing but rain. She smiled vaguely, stood wi=
th her
hands behind her; it was he now who regarded her, straight, slender, lithe.
There was also something inflexible appearing in that young form, though so
replete with grace and charm.
"To help pass the time!" John Steele
laughed. "I--let us hope so."
There had been moments in the past when she had
felt she could not quite understand him; they were moments like these when =
she
seemed to become aware of something obscuring, falling before her--between
them--that seemed to hold him aloof from her, from the others, to invest hi=
m almost
with mystery. Mystery,--romantic idea! A slight laugh welled from the white
throat. In these prosaic days!
"By the way, what particular case were you
discussing when I happened by?"
"Nothing very new," answered the
military man, "an old crime perpetrated by a fellow called the--"=
"Beg pardon!" A footman stood in the
doorway. "Sir Charles' compliments to the gentlemen, and will they be =
good
enough to join him in armory hall?"
John Steele turned quickly to the servant, so
quickly a close observer might have fancied he welcomed the interruption.
"Captain Forsythe's and Mr. Steele's compliments to Sir Charles,"=
he
said at once, "and say it will give them pleasure to comply. That
is," he added, bowing, "with your permission, Miss Wray."
She assented lightly; preceded by the girl, the
two men left the room and mounted the broad stairway leading to the second
story.
Armory hall was a large and lofty chamber with
vaulted ceiling, that dated back almost to the early Norman period; its wal=
ls,
decorated in geometrical designs, were covered with many varieties of antiq=
ue
weapons of warfare; halberd and mace gleamed and mingled with harquebus, po=
leax
or lance. At one end of the hall were ranged in a row suits of armor which =
at
first glance looked like real knights, drawn up in company front; then the
empty helmets dawned on the beholder, transforming them into mere vacuous
relics.
As Steele and his companion together with Joce=
lyn
Wray entered, sounds of merriment and applause greeted the ear; two men in
fencing array who had apparently just ended a match were the center of an
animated company.
"A little contest with the foils! A fenci=
ng
bout! Good!" exclaimed Forsythe.
Jocelyn Wray walked over to the group and Fors=
ythe
followed.
"Bravo, Ronsdale!" A number of people
applauded.
"He has won. Now the reward! What is it to
be?"
"Not so fast! Here are others."
"True!" Ronsdale looked around with =
his
cold smile; his glance vaguely included John Steele and Captain Forsythe.
"Count me out!" laughed the latter.
"Not in my line, don't you know, since I joined the retired list!"=
;
"However, there's Steele," Sir Charl=
es,
pipe in hand, remarked.
Ronsdale had stepped to the girl's side; his e=
yes,
regarding her in the least degree too steadily, shone with a warmer gleam. =
She
appeared either not to notice, or to mind; with look unreservedly bright, s=
he smiled
back at him; then her gaze met John Steele's.
"Do you use the foils, Mr. Steele?"<= o:p>
He moved forward; Lord Ronsdale stood near her,
bending over with a slightly proprietary air.
"I--" Steele looked at them, at the
girl's questioning eyes. "Only a little!"
"Then you must try conclusions with Lord
Ronsdale!" called out Sir Charles. "As victor over the rest he mu=
st
meet all comers."
A light swept John Steele's face; perhaps the
situation appealed to a certain sense of humor; he hesitated.
"Nothing to be put out by, being beaten by
Ronsdale," interposed an observer. "Had the reputation of being o=
ne
of the best swordsmen on the continent; has even had, I believe," with=
a laugh,
"one or two little affairs of honor."
"Honor!" Steele's glance swung aroun=
d,
played brightly on the nobleman.
The latter's face remained impassive; he lifted
his foil carelessly and swung it; the hiss that followed might have been
construed as a challenge. John Steele tossed aside his coat.
"Can't promise this contest will be as
interesting as the other little affairs you speak of!" he laughed. Thr=
ough
the fine, white linen of his shirt could be discerned the superb swell and
molding of the muscles, as he now, with the gleaming toy in hand, stood bef=
ore
Ronsdale.
The latter's eyes suddenly narrowed; a covert
expectancy made itself felt in his manner. "Aren't you going to roll up
your sleeve?" he asked softly. "Usually find it gives greater fre=
edom
of movement, myself."
Steele did not at once reply; in his eyes bent=
on
Ronsdale a question seemed to flash; then a bolder, more daring light repla=
ced
it. "Perhaps you are right!" he said coolly, and following the
nobleman's example he pushed back his sleeve. The action revealed the splen=
did
arm of the perfectly-trained athlete marked, however, by a great scar exten=
ding
from just above the wrist to the elbow. Lord Ronsdale's eyes fastened on it;
his lips moved slightly but if any sound fell from them, it was rendered
inaudible by Sir Charles' exclamation:
"Bad jab, that, Steele! Looks as if it mi=
ght
have been made by an African spear!"
"No." John Steele smiled, encounteri=
ng
other glances, curious, questioning. "Can't include the land of ivory
among the countries I've been in," he added easily.
Lord Ronsdale breathed quickly. "Recent
wound, I should say."
"Not very old," said John Steele.
"If there's a good story back of it, we'll
have it later," Captain Forsythe remarked.
"Perhaps Mr. Steele is too modest to tell
it," Ronsdale again interposed.
"Your good opinion flatters me."
Steele's eyes met the other's squarely; then he made a brusk movement.
"But if you are ready?"
Their blades crossed. Ronsdale's suppleness of
wrist and arm, his cold steadiness, combined with a knowledge of many fine
artifices, had already made him a favorite with those of the men who cared =
to
back their opinions with odd pounds. As he pressed his advantage, the girl'=
s eyes
turned to John Steele; her look seemed to express just a shade of disappoin=
tment.
His manner, or method, appeared perfunctory, too perfunctory! Why did he not
enter into the contest with more abandon? Between flashes of steel she again
saw the scar on his arm; it seemed to exercise a sort of fascination over h=
er.
What had caused it, this jagged, irregular mar=
k?
He had not said. Lord Ronsdale's words, "A recent wound--perhaps Mr.
Steele is too modest--" returned to her. It was not so much the words =
as
the tone, an inflection almost too fine to notice, a covert sneer. Or, was =
it
that? Her brows drew together slightly. Of course not. And yet she felt vag=
uely
puzzled, as if some fine instinct in her divined something, she knew not wh=
at, beneath
the surface. Absurd! Her eyes at that moment met John Steele's. Did he read,
guess what was passing through her brain? An instant's carelessness nearly =
cost
him the match.
"Ten to five!" one of the men near h=
er
called out jovially. "Odds on Ronsdale! Any takers?"
"Done!"
She saw John Steele draw himself back sharply =
just
in time; she also fancied a new, ominous gleam in his eyes. His demeanor
underwent an abrupt change. If Ronsdale's quickness was cat-like, the other=
's movements
had now all the swiftness and grace of a panther. The girl's eyes widened; =
all
vague questioning vanished straightway from her mind; it was certainly very
beautiful, that agility, that deft, incessant wrist play.
"Hello!" Through the swishing of ste=
el
she heard again the man at her side exclaim, make some laughing remark:
"Perhaps I'd better hedge--"
But even as he spoke, with a fiercer thrusting=
and
parrying of blades the end came; a sudden irresistible movement of John
Steele's arm, and the nobleman's blade clattered to the floor.
"Egad! I never saw anything prettier!&quo=
t;
Sir Charles came forward quickly. "Met your match that time,
Ronsdale," in a tone the least bantering.
The nobleman stooped for his foil. "That
time, yes!" he drawled. If he felt chagrin, or annoyance, he concealed=
it.
"Lucky it wasn't one of those real affair=
s of
honor, eh?" some one whom Ronsdale had defeated laughed good-naturedly=
.
Again he replied. Steele found himself walking
with Jocelyn Wray toward the window. Across the room a footman who had been
waiting for the conclusion of the contest, and an opportune moment, now app=
roached
Lord Ronsdale and extended a salver.
"It came a short time ago, my Lord!"=
John Steele heard; his glance flashed toward
Ronsdale. The telegram, then, had been for--? He saw an inscrutable smile c=
ross
the nobleman's face.
"Any more aspirants?" the military m=
an
called out.
"Only myself left," observed Sir
Charles. "And I resign the privilege!"
"Then," said the girl, standing some=
what
apart with John Steele, near one of the great open windows, "must you,=
Mr.
Steele, be proclaimed victor?"
"Victor!" He looked down. Between th=
em
bright colors danced, reflections of hues from the old stained glass above;
they shone like red roses fallen from her lap at his feet. For a moment he
continued to regard them; then slowly gazed up to the soft colored gown, to=
the
beautiful young face, the hair that shone brightly against the background o=
f branches
and twigs, gleaming with watery drops like thousands of gems. "Victor!=
"
He--
A door closed quietly as Lord Ronsdale went ou=
t.
*
=
The
afternoon of that same day there arrived at the village of Strathorn from
London a discreet-looking little man who, descending at the Golden Lion, was
shown to a private sitting-room on the second story. Calling for a half-pint
from the best tap and casually surveying the room, he settled himself in a
chair with an air of nonchalance, which a certain eagerness in his eyes see=
med
to belie.
"Any mail or message for me, landlord?&qu=
ot;
he inquired, giving his name, when that worthy reappeared with the tankard.=
"No, sir."
"Nor any callers?"
"None that I've heard of--" A sound =
of
wheels at that moment interrupted; the landlord went to the window. "W=
hy,
it's his lordship," he remarked. "And such weather to be out
in!" as a sudden gust of rain beat against the pane. "Lord Ronsda=
le
who is staying at Strathorn House," he explained for the stranger's
benefit. "And he's coming in!"
The host hurried to the door but already a
footstep was heard on the stairway and the voice of the nobleman inquiring =
for
the new-comer's room.
"Right up this way! The gentleman is in h=
ere,
your Lordship," called down the landlord. Lord Ronsdale mounted leisur=
ely
and entered the room.
"I didn't expect to have the honor of a c=
all
from your lordship," said the guest of the Golden Lion, bowing low.
"If your lordship had indicated to me his pleasure--"
The nobleman whipped a greatcoat from his
shoulders and tossed it to the landlord. "Was coming to the village on
another little matter, and thought I might as well drop in and see you,&quo=
t;
he observed to the guest, "instead of waiting for you to come to Strat=
horn
House. You have the stock-lists and market prices with you?" he queried
meaningly. The other answered in the affirmative. "Very good, we will
consider the matter, and--you may go, landlord."
But when the innkeeper had taken his departure=
no
further word was said by the nobleman of securities or values; Lord Ronsdale
gazed keenly at his companion. Without, the wind swept drearily down the li=
ttle
winding street, and sighed about the broad overhanging eaves.
"Well," he spoke quickly, "I fa=
ncy
you have a little something to tell me, Mr. Gillett?"
"'A little something?'" The latter
rubbed his hands. "More than a little! Your lordship little dreamed,
when--"
"Spare me your observations," broke =
in
the nobleman. "Come at once to the business on hand." His voice,
though low, had a strident pitch; behind it might be fancied strained nerve=
s.
"As your lordship knows, good fortune or
chance favored me at the start; that is, along one line, the line of general
investigation. The special inquiry which your lordship mentioned, just as he
was leaving my office, proved for a time most illusive."
"You mean the object of John Steele's vis=
it
to the continent?"
"Exactly. And the object of that visit
solved, I have now a matter of greatest importance to communicate, so impor=
tant
it could only be imparted by word of mouth!" The police agent spoke
hastily and moved nearer.
"Indeed?" Lord Ronsdale's thin, cold
lips raised slightly, but not to suggest a smile; his eyes met the police
agent's. "You have reached a conclusion? One that you sought to reject,
perhaps, but that wouldn't be discarded?"
Mr. Gillett looked at him earnestly. "You
don't mean--it isn't possible that you knew all the while--?"
The white, aristocratic hand of Lord Ronsdale
waved. "Let us start at the beginning."
"True, your Lordship," Mr. Gillett
swallowed. "As your lordship is aware, we were fortunate enough in the
beginning to find out through our agent in Tasmania that John Steele came to
that place in a little trading schooner, the _Laura Deane_, of Portsmouth; =
that
he had been rescued from a tiny uncharted reef, or isle, on December
twenty-first, some three years before. The spot, by longitude and latitude,
marks, through an odd coincidence, the place where the _Lord Nelson_ met he=
r fate."
"A coincidence truly," murmured the
nobleman. "But at this stage in your reasoning you recalled that all on
board were embarked in the ships' boats and reached civilization, except
possibly--"
"A few of my charges between decks? True;=
I
remembered that. A bad lot of ugly brutes!" Mr. Gillett paused; Lord
Ronsdale raised his head. "The story of John Steele's rescue," we=
nt
on Mr. Gillett, "as told by himself," significantly, "was we=
ll
known in Tasmania and not hard to learn. A man of splendid intellect, a law=
yer
by profession, he had been passenger on a merchant vessel, the _Mary Vernon=
_,
of Baltimore, United States. This vessel, like the _Lord Nelson_, had come =
to
grief; after being tossed about, a helpless, water-logged wreck, it had fin=
ally
been abandoned. All of those in John Steele's boat had perished except him;=
some
had gone mad through thirst and suffering; others had killed their fellows =
in a
frenzy. Being of superb physique, having been through much physical
training--" the listener stirred in his chair--"he managed to sur=
vive,
to reach the little isle, where, according to his story, he remained almost=
a
year."
"A year? Then he set foot in Tasmania abo=
ut
four years after the _Lord Nelson_ went down," observed the nobleman, a
curious glitter in his eyes. "Four years after," he repeated,
accenting the last word.
"Such were the details gathered in
Tasmania," answered the police agent.
"Go on," said Lord Ronsdale. "Y=
ou
subsequently learned with more definiteness the actual circumstances of his
rescue?"
"From the mate of the _Laura Deane_, the schooner that rescued him from the isle, and one of her crew whom I managed= to locate at Plymouth, as I have informed your lordship by letter," answe= red Mr. Gillett. "These men now furnish lodgings to seamen, and incidental= ly shanghai a few of them for dubious craft! Both of them, the mate and the sailor, recalled the man of fine bearing and education whom they found on t= he little isle, a sort of Greek statue, half-clothed in rags, so to speak, who made his personality felt at once on these simple, ignorant fellows!" = Mr. Gillett paused to look at Lord Ronsdale, seemed waiting for the latter to s= ay something, but the nobleman only leaned forward and pushed at the coals with a poker.<= o:p>
"Which brings to my mind the one point,&q=
uot;
with emphasis, "that I haven't been able so far to reconcile or to
explain. Your lordship, who seems to have divined a great deal, can, perhap=
s. A
man of fine education and bearing, as I said, yet the other had been--"=
;
"It is your business, not mine, to
explain," interrupted the listener. "Tell all you know."
"At the spring on the little island the
seamen filled their water-butts; this kept them several days, mixing labor =
with
skylarking, during which time one of them picked up something, a pouch mark=
ed
with a name."
"Which was--?"
Mr. Gillett leaned forward, spoke softly; Lord
Ronsdale stared straight ahead. "Of course," he said, "of
course!"
"This, I will confess, startled, puzzled
me," continued the police agent after a pause. "What did it mean?=
I
tried to explain it in a dozen different ways but none of them seemed exact=
ly
to fit. Then it was that the line of special investigation helped. John
Steele's outing to which you directed my attention was passed on the contin=
ent.
What did he do there; was it business; was it pleasure took him there? Afte=
r a
good deal of pains, we discovered that he visited a certain large building,=
centrally
located. This proved a starting-point; why did he go there? At the top was a
studio; from the concierge we learned that he had asked for the artist. From
the artist we ascertained that John Steele had bought a picture; that he had
called several times to watch the painter at his work. So far, so good, or =
bad!
For was it likely John Steele had come to Paris to buy a bit of canvas, or =
was
his interest in art assumed to cover his real purpose? When he left the stu=
dio,
did he, without the knowledge of the concierge, call on some one else in the
building?
"This thought led to an inspection of the
tenants. They proved of all sorts and kinds; the place was a beehive; hundr=
eds
of people entered and left every day. At this time I happened on an item in=
a
periodical about some remarkable work in a certain line by a high-class med=
ical
specialist. Here is the paragraph."
Lord Ronsdale took the slip of paper the other
handed him and briefly looked at it. "You visited this person?"
"Yes, as his office address was mentioned=
as
being in the large building we were interested in. But at the moment I had =
no
suspicion that John Steele's pilgrimage to Paris could have been for the
purpose of consulting,--"
"An eminent specialist in the line of
removing birth-marks," glancing at the slip of paper, "or other
disfigurements--"
"Such as I described to your lordship from
the book that day in the office," murmured the police agent.
For some moments both were again silent; only =
the
sounds of the wind and the rain, mingled with monotonous creakings, broke t=
he
stillness.
"You say this shipwrecked man was like a
Greek statue, half clothed in rags. Perhaps then," slowly, "since=
he
was only half-clothed the rescuers might have noticed--"
"I sought them at once," with sudden
eagerness, "to verify what your lordship suggests, and I have their fu=
ll
corroboration; what the evidence of their eyes told them, that the rescued =
man
bore on his arm the exact markings described in my book."
"A coincidence not easily accounted
for." The speaker's tones had a rasping sound. "And now--"
"One question, my Lord. He is
discerning--knows that you--"
"Knows? Yes; he found that out one day in
Hyde Park, never mind how; about the same time I, too, learned something.&q=
uot;
"And yet he deliberately comes down here,
dares to leave London where at least his chances are better for--but why? I=
t is
unreasonable; I don't understand."
"Why?" Lord Ronsdale's smile was not
agreeable. "When does a man become illogical, stray from the path good
reasoning should keep him in? When does he accept chances, however
desperate?"
"When?" The police agent's tones
expressed vague wonder. "Why, when--there is a woman in the case!"
suddenly.
"A woman, or a girl."
"Your lordship means--"
"One who is beautiful enough to enmesh any
man's fancy," he spoke as to himself, "whose golden hair is a web=
to
draw lovers like the fleece of old; whose eyes like the sunny heavens tempt
them to bask in their light."
The words were mocking yet seemed to force
themselves from his lips. "When you add that she has high position; is=
as
opulent in the world's goods as she is rich in personal--" abruptly he
paused. "But this is irrelevant," he added almost angrily. "=
Is
there anything else you have to tell me?"
"Only one thing, and it may have no beari=
ng
on the case; some one who has not been seen in these parts in years, the
red-headed son of the landlady where the Gerard murder occurred has been ba=
ck
in London, and--Steele's been looking for him. For what purpose, I don't
know." The nobleman moved quickly. "But he hasn't found him--yet;
apparently the fellow took alarm, knowing the police agent might want him, =
and
vanished again."
Lord Ronsdale moistened his lips; then got up,
walked back and forth. A brisker gust, without, and the tin symbol of the
Golden Lion over the entrance to the inn swung with a harsh rattle almost
around the bar that held it. The nobleman stopped short; from the dim corner
where he stood his eyes gleamed with animal brightness.
"And now?" suggested Mr. Gillett.
"Your lordship of course knows what this means, if your lordship uses =
the
weapons you have in your hands? The penalty for one transported returning to
England is--"
"I know," interrupted the other.
"He has, however, dared to come back, to incur that risk. Any plea he
could hope to make," Lord Ronsdale spoke with studied deliberation,
"to justify the act, he could not--substantiate." The speaker
lingered on the word then went on more crisply. "He stands in the posi=
tion
of a person who has broken one of the most exacting laws of the realm and o=
ne which
has on all occasions been rigorously enforced. He has presumed to trespass =
in
the highest circles, to mingle with people of rank, our gentry, our
ladies--"
"Then your lordship will--"
"I have made my plans. And--I intend to
act."
"Where?"
"Here."
"But would it not be better to wait until=
he
returns to London, my Lord?"
"And give him more time to--" he bro=
ke
off. "We act here, at once!"
Lord Ronsdale again seated himself; his face h=
ad
regained its hard mask; he motioned the other man to draw his chair closer.
"I'll tell you how to proceed."
*
=
=
The
windows in Strathorn House shone bright; from within came the sound of musi=
c;
in the billiard room, adjoining the spacious hall, a number of persons were
smoking, playing, or watching the dancers. At one of the tables two men had
about finished a game; by the skilful stroke of him who showed the better
score, the balls clicked briskly, separated, and came together once more.
"Enough to go out with!" The player,
Captain Forsythe, counted his score. "Shall we say another, Steele?&qu=
ot;
"Not for me!" John Steele placed his=
cue
in the rack. "I'm out for a breath of air." And he stepped throug=
h an
open French window, leading upon a balcony that almost spanned the rear of =
the
house.
"Mr. Steele seems to be rather out of form
to-night." A plump, short woman with doll-like eyes, who had been watc=
hing
the game from a seat near-by, now spoke, with subtle meaning in her accents=
.
"Quite so. Can't really understand it. St=
eele
can put up a deuced strong game, don't you know, but to-night--Did you noti=
ce
how he failed at one of the easiest shots?"
"That was when Jocelyn Wray looked in,&qu=
ot;
murmured the other.
"Miss Wray!" Captain Forsythe set the
balls for a practice shot. "Well, Steele's a splendid chap," he s=
aid
irrelevantly.
"You have known him for some time?"<= o:p>
"Not a great while; he's rather a new man,
don't you know. But Sir Charles is quite democratic; took him up, well, as =
one
might in Australia, without," good-naturedly, "inquiring into his
family or his antecedents, or all that sort of rubbish."
"Indeed?" Her voice was non-committa=
l.
"But as for its being rubbish--"
"Oh, I say, Mrs. Nallis!" The other's
tone was expostulating. "Strong man; splendid sort of chap, Steele! A
jolly good athlete, too! Witness our little fencing contest of this
morning!"
"True! You are an evident admirer of Mr.
Steele, Captain Forsythe. And if I am not mistaken," she laughed,
"others share your opinion. Sir Charles, for example, and Jocelyn Wray.
She didn't look displeased this morning, did she? When the contest was over=
, I
mean. Not that I would imply--of course, her position and his--so far apart
from a social standpoint." A retort of some kind seemed about to spring
from the listener's lips but she did not give him the opportunity to speak;
went on: "Besides, when I came here, I understood a marriage had been,=
or
was about to be arranged between Sir Charles' niece and--"
"Not interrupting a bit of gossip, I
trust?" a cynical voice inquired; at the same time a third person, who=
had
quietly approached, paused to regard them.
"Ah, Lord Ronsdale!" Just for an ins=
tant
the lady was disconcerted. "Gossip?" She repeated in a tone that
meant: "How can you?"
He waved his hand; leaned against the table.
"Beg your pardon! Very wrong of me, no doubt; only the truth is--"
his lashes drooped slightly to veil his eyes, "I like a bit of gossip
myself occasionally!"
"We were talking about your friendly set-=
to
with John Steele," said Captain Forsythe bluntly.
The nobleman's long fingers lifted, pulled at =
his
mustache; in the bright glare, his nails, perfectly kept, looked sharp and
pointed. "Ah, indeed!" he remarked. "Steele is handy with the
foils; an all-round sportsman, I fancy; or once was!" softly.
"Never heard of him, though, in the amate=
ur
sporting world!" observed the lady. "Never saw his name mentioned=
in
any gentlemen's events--tennis or golf tournaments, track athletics, rowing,
and all that."
"No?" Lord Ronsdale gazed down;
half-sitting on the corner of the table, he swung one glossy shoe to and fr=
o.
"Perhaps he's hiding his light under a
bushel?" said the lady.
The nobleman made a sound. "Perhaps!"=
;
"I was asking Captain Forsythe about his
antecedents. No one here seems to know. Possibly you can enlighten us."=
;
"I?" Lord Ronsdale's tone was purrin=
g.
"Why should I be able to? But I see Miss Wray," rising and walking
toward the door. "My dance, don't you know."
She gazed after him. "I wonder why Lord
Ronsdale does not approve of, or shall we say, dislikes Mr. John Steele?&qu=
ot;
"Eh?--what?--I never noticed."
"A man notice?" She laughed. "B=
ut
your game of billiards? You are looking for some one. If I will do--?"=
"Delighted!" he Said with an accent =
of
reserve.
Meanwhile the principal subject of this conversation had been walking slowly on the broad stone balcony toward the ball-room; there he had stopped; then stepping to the balustrade, he stood looking off. The night was warm; in the sky, stars seemed trying to maintain their places between dark, floating clouds. Near at hand the foliage shimme= red with pale flashes of light; the perfumes of dew-laden flowers were like tho= se of an oriental bower. Faint rustlings, soft undertones broke upon the ear from dark places; mists seemed drawn like phantom ribbons, now here, now there. = He looked at the stars; watched one of them, very small, drop into the maw of a black-looking monster of vapor. As it vanished the sound of music was wafted from within; John Steele listened; they were beginning once more to dance.<= o:p>
He glanced around; splashes of color met the e=
ye;
hues that shifted, mingled; came swiftly and went. In the great hall, stari=
ng
Lelys and Knellers looked down from their high, gilded frames; the glaring
lights of a great crystal chandelier threw a flood of rays over the scene a=
t once
brilliant and dazzling. Steele stepped toward the window, paused; his eyes
seemed searching the throng. They found what they sought, a slender, erect
form, the gown soft, white, like foam; a face, animated, joyous. For an ins=
tant
only, however, he saw the beautiful features; then as Jocelyn turned in the
dance, around her waist glimpsed a black band, tipped by slender masculine
fingers; above, a cynical countenance. Or was it all cynical now? A brief
glance showed more than the habitual expression, a sedulousness--some
passionate feeling? Lord Ronsdale's look seemed once more to say he held and
claimed her; that she was his, or soon would be.
A fleeting picture; she was gone and other fig=
ures
intervened. John Steele stood with hands tightly clasped. Then his gaze
gradually lowered; he moved restlessly back and forth; but the music sounde=
d louder
and he walked away from it, to the end of the balcony and again looked
off--into darkness.
The moments passed; a distant buzz replaced
melody; the human murmur, the scraping of strings. From the forest came a
far-away cry, the melancholy sound of some wood-creature. He continued
motionless, suddenly wheeled swiftly.
"That is you, Mr. Steele?" A voice,
young, gay, sounded near; Jocelyn Wray came toward him; from her shoulders
floated a white scarf. "You have come out for the freshness of the gar=
den?
Although," she added, "you shouldn't altogether seclude yourself =
from
the madding crowd."
"No?" In the eyes that met hers flas=
hed
a question, the question that he had ever been asking himself since coming =
to
Strathorn House, that had driven him there.
Did she note the strangeness of the look she
seemed to have surprised on his face? Her own glance grew on the instant
slightly puzzled, showed a passing constraint; then her manner became light
again. "No. Especially as--You are leaving to-morrow, I believe?"=
"Yes." He tried to speak in conventi=
onal
tones; but his gaze swerved from the graceful figure with its dim, white li=
nes
that changed and fluttered in the faint breath of air, stealing so gently by
them and away. "My time is almost up; the allotted period of my brief
Elysium!" he half-laughed.
"And yet it was rather hard to get you he=
re,
wasn't it? You remember you quite scorned our first invitation," gaily=
.
"Scorned?" In the semi-darkness he c=
ould
only divine her features. "That is hardly the word."
"Isn't it? Well, then, you had business m=
ore
important," she laughed.
"Not more important,--imperative." W=
as
his voice, beneath an assumption of carelessness, just a shade uncertain? a=
gain
it became conventional. "I--have enjoyed myself immensely."
"Have you?" She glanced at him; a
flicker of light touched the strong face. "So good of you to say so! I
believe that answer is the proper formula. Invented by our ancestors,"
lightly, "and handed down!"
He did not at once reply; again she caught a
suggestion of that searching look she had noted before, and after a moment =
the
girl turned; walking to a rose-bush that partly screened one end of the
balcony, she bent over the flowers. "Of course I might use my influence
with my aunt to have the time allotted you, as you put it, extended. Especi=
ally
as you are so appreciative!" she laughed. "Until after the childr=
en's
fête, for example! What do you say? Shall I plead for you until then?=
If
you will promise to make yourself very useful!"
"I--you are very good--but--"
"Don't!" She spread out her hands.
"Forgive me for presuming to think that Strathorn House and its poor
attractions could longer keep Mr. John Steele from smoky London-town and the
drone of its courts!"
"It is not that"--he began, stopped.=
"Go; we abandon you to your fate." It
may be that he had made her feel she had been somewhat over gracious, as he
had, once or twice before,--that night at the opera, when they had first me=
t;
afterward on taking leave of him on the return from Hyde Park. But she only
laughed again, perhaps a little constrainedly this time. "You will miss
the revival of a few old rural pastimes!" she went on. "That soun=
ds
quite trivial to you though, does it not? Several of our present guests wil=
l stay,
however; others are coming; Lord Ronsdale," lightly, "has even be=
gged
to remain; we shall probably lead the old country-dance."
"Lord Ronsdale!--You!"--The flame ag=
ain
played in the dark eyes, more strongly now, no longer to be suppressed.
"Mr. Steele!" Her brows arched in su=
dden
surprise; she drew back a little.
He seemed about to speak but with an effort
checked himself and looked down. "I beg your pardon." His face was
half-turned; for a moment he did not go on. "I beg your pardon." =
He
again raised his head; his face was steady, very steady now; his words too.
"Your mentioning Lord Ronsdale reminded me of a social obligation; whi=
ch I
have neglected, or forgotten; the pleasure," with a slight laugh, &quo=
t;of
congratulating you--is that the word? Or Lord Ronsdale,--he, I believe, is =
the
one to be congratulated!"
"Congratulated?" Her face had change=
d,
grown colder. His hand grasped the stone balustrade, but he forced a smile =
to
his lips. "I can not imagine who has started--why you speak thus. Lord
Ronsdale is an old friend of my uncle, and--mine, too. But that is all; I am
not--have not been. You are mistaken."
"Mistaken?" The word broke from him
quickly; the strained expression of his face gave way to another he could i=
ll
conceal. Before the light in his gaze, the fire, the ardency, her own slowly
fell; she turned slightly as if to go. But he made no effort to stop her, s=
poke
no word. She took a step, hesitated; John Steele moved.
"Good-by," he said slowly. "I am
leaving rather early in the morning; I shall not see you again."
"Good-by." She raised her head with
outward assurance. "At least until we meet in London," she ended
lightly.
"That may not be--"
"Why, you are not thinking of leaving
London?" with gaiety perhaps a trifle forced, "of deserting your
dingy metropolis?"
He did not answer; she looked at him quickly;
something in his face held her; a little of the lightness went from hers.
"Once more, good-by, Miss--Jocelyn."=
His look was now resolute; but his voice linge=
red
on her name. He extended his hand in the matter-of-fact manner of one who k=
new
very well what he had to do; the girl's eyes widened on him. Did she realiz=
e he
was saying "Good-by" to her for all time? She held her head highe=
r, pressed
her lips slightly closer. Then she sought to withdraw her hand but he, as
hardly knowing what he did, or yielding to sudden, irresistible temptation,
clasped for an instant the slim fingers closer; they seemed to quiver in hi=
s.
The girl's figure moved somewhat from him; she stood almost amid the roses,
dark spots that nodded around her. The bush was a mass of bloom; did she
tremble ever so slightly? Or was it but the fine, sensitive petals behind h=
er
that stirred when kissed by the sweet-scented breeze?
John Steele breathed deeply; he continued to
regard her, so fair, so beautiful! A leaf fell; she made a movement; it see=
med
to awaken him to realization. He started and threw back his head; the dark,
glowing eyes became once more resolute. An instant, and he bent; a breath, =
or
his lips, swept the delicate, white fingers; then he dropped them. Her hand=
swung
back against the cold stone; on her breast, something bright--an ornament--=
fluttered,
became still. Behind, a bird chirped; her glance turned toward the ball-roo=
m.
"I--"
Other voices, loud, merry, coming from one of =
the
open French windows interrupted.
"Jocelyn!" They called to her; faces
looked out. "Jocelyn!"
"Yes!" She was walking rapidly from =
him
now, a laugh, a little forced, on her lips.
On the balcony a number of persons appeared.
"A cotillion! We're going to have a cotillion; that is, if you--"=
"Of course, if you wish." The gay gr=
oup
surrounded her; light, heedless voices mingled; then she, all of them, vani=
shed
into the ball-room.
John Steele moved slowly down the stone steps
leading to the garden below. One thought vibrated in his mind. Sir Charles =
had
erred when he told him that day in the park of his niece and Ronsdale. Perh=
aps
because the wish was father to the thought--But the girl's own assurance di=
spelled
all doubts and fears. He, John Steele, had been mistaken. Those were her wo=
rds,
"Mistaken!"
He could go away now, gladly, gladly! No; not
that, perhaps; but he could go. If need be,--far from England; never to be
seen, heard of, more by her. He could go, and she would never know she had
honored by her friendship, had sheltered beneath her roof, one who--As he
walked down the dimly lighted path somebody--a man--standing under the tree=
s, at
one side, at that moment touched his arm.
"I should like to speak with you, sir!&qu=
ot;
said a voice, and turning with a quick jerk, Steele saw the familiar featur=
es
of Gillett, the former police agent; behind him, other men.
"What do you want?"
The Scotland Yard man coughed significantly.
"Out here is a nice, quiet place for a word, or so," he said in h=
is
blandest manner. "And if you will be so good--"
John Steele's reply was as emphatic as it was
sudden; he had been dreaming; the awakening had come. A glint like lightning
flashed from his eyes; well, here was something tangible to be grappled wit=
h! A
laugh burst from his throat; with the quickness of thought he launched hims=
elf forward.
*
=
A
House maid, some time later that night, moved noiselessly over the heavy ru=
gs
in the boudoir of the princess suite, next to armory hall on the second sto=
ry
of Strathorn House. Glancing nervously about her from time to time, the wom=
an
trimmed a candle here and set another there; then lifted with ponderous bra=
ss
tongs a few coals and placed them on the smoldering bed in the delicately
tinted fireplace. After which she stood before it in the attitude of one wh=
o is
waiting though not with stolid and undisturbed patience.
A clock ticked loudly on the mantel; she looke=
d at
it, around her at the shadows of two beautiful marbles on pedestals of
malachite. Moving into the bedroom beyond, she took from a wardrobe of old
French workmanship a rose dressing-gown; this, and a pair of slippers of li=
ke
color she brought out and placed near the fire. As she did so, she started,=
straightened
suddenly; then her expression changed; the voice of Lord Ronsdale without w=
as
followed by that of Jocelyn Wray.
"Never fear! They'll get the fellow
yet," my lord had said.
Jocelyn answered mechanically; the door opened;
the maid caught a glimpse of Ronsdale's face, of the cold eyes that looked =
the
least bit annoyed.
"Although it was most bungling on their p=
art
to have permitted him to get away!" he went on. "I hope, however,
this little unexpected episode won't disturb your rest." An instant the
steely eyes seemed to contemplate her closer. "Many going away
to-morrow?" he asked, as if to divert her thoughts from the exciting
experience of the evening before leaving her.
"Only Captain Forsythe and--Mr. Steele.&q=
uot;
Did he notice the slightest hesitation, on her
part, before speaking the last name? My lord's eyes fell; an odd expression
appeared on his face. He murmured a few last perfunctory words;
then--"They'll get him yet. He can't get away," he repeated. The
words had a singular, a sibilant sound; he bowed deferentially and strode o=
ff,
not toward his own chamber, however, but toward the great stairway leading =
down
to the first story.
As the door closed behind her young mistress, =
the
maid came quickly forward. "Did you learn anything more, Miss Jocelyn,=
if
I may be so bold as to ask, from the police agent? Who the criminal was,
or--"
"The police agent only said he was an
ex-convict, no ordinary one, who had escaped from London and was making for=
the
sea. They got word he was at the village and followed him there but he mana=
ged
to elude them and they traced him to Strathorn House park, where he had tak=
en
refuge. The police did not acquaint Sir Charles, Lord Ronsdale or any one w=
ith
their purpose, thinking not to alarm us needlessly beforehand. And--I belie=
ve that
is all."
A moment the woman waited. "I--shall
I--"
The girl looked before her; tiny flames from t=
he
grate heightened the sheen on her gown; they threw passing lights on the
somewhat tired, proud face. "I shall not need you, Dobson," she s=
aid.
"You may go. A moment." The woman, who had half-turned, waited;
Jocelyn's glance had lowered to the fire; in its reflection her slim, delic=
ate
fingers were rosy. She unclasped them, smoothed the brocade absently with o=
ne
hand. "One or two are leaving early to-morrow. You will see--you will =
give
instructions that everything is provided for their comfort."
The maid responded and left the room; Jocelyn stood as if wrapped in reverie. At length she stirred suddenly and extinguishing all but one dim light, sank back into a chair. Her eyes half closed, then shut entirely. One might have thought her sleeping, except that her breathing was not deep enough; the golden head remained motionless agai= nst the soft pink of the dressing-gown; the hand that dropped limply from the w= hite wrist over the arm of the chair did not stir. Around, all was stillness; ti= me passed; then a faint shout from somewhere in the gardens, far off, aroused = her. The girl looked around; but immediately silence again reigned; she got up.<= o:p>
Leaning against the shaft holding one of the
marbles, she regarded without seeing a chaste, youthful Canova, and beyond,
painted on boards and set against satin, a Botticelli face, spiritual,
sphinx-like. Her brows were slightly drawn; she breathed deeply now, as if
there were something in the place, its quiescence, the immobility of the lo=
vely
but ghost-like semblance of faces with which it was peopled that oppressed =
her.
She seemed to be thinking, or questioning herself, when suddenly her attent=
ion
was attracted again by a sound of a different kind, or was it only fancy? S=
he
looked toward a large Flemish tapestry covering one entire end of the room;
behind the antique landscape in green threads she knew there was a disused =
door
leading into armory hall. Drawing back the heavy folds she stepped a little
behind them; the door was locked and bolted; moreover, several heavy nails =
had
fastened it, completely isolating her suite, as it were, from that spacious,
general apartment.
Again the sound! This time she placed it--the
creaking of the giant branch of ivy that ran up and around her own balcony.=
The
girl paused irresolutely, her hand on the heavy ancient hanging. Leaning
forward she waited; but the noise stopped; she heard nothing more, told her=
self
it was nothing and was about to move out again when her gaze was suddenly h=
eld
by something that passed like a shadow--a man's arm?--on the other side of =
the
nearest window, between the modern French curtains, not quite drawn togethe=
r.
In that inconsiderable space between the silk
fringes she was sure she had seen it, and anything suggestive of _dolce far
niente_ disappeared from the girl's blue eyes. The window opened wider,
noiselessly but quickly; then a hand, strong, shapely, pushed the curtains
aside. Had the intruder first satisfied himself that the room was vacant? He
acted as one certain of his ground; now drawing the window draperies quickl=
y together
behind him as if seeking to escape observation from any one below, he stepp=
ed
out into the room.
Something he saw seemed to surprise him; a low
exclamation fell from his lips; his eyes, searching in the dim light his
surroundings, swiftly passed from the rich furnishings, the artistic
decorations, to the bright-colored robe, the little slippers before the fir=
e.
Here they lingered, but only for a moment! Did the intruder hear a sound, a
quick breath? His gaze swerved to the opposite end of the room where it saw=
a living
presence. For a moment they looked at each other; the man's face turned very
pale; his hand touched the back of a chair; he steadied himself.
"I thought--to enter armory hall--did not
know your rooms were here," he managed to say in a low tone, "at =
this
corner of Strathorn House."
She did not answer; so they stood, silently,
absurdly. Her face was like paper; her hair, in contrast, most bright; her =
eyes
expressed only incomprehension. The man had to speak first; he pulled himse=
lf
together. The bad fortune that had dogged him so long, that he had fought
against so hard, now found its culmination: it had cast him, of all places,=
hither,
at her feet.
So be it; well, destiny now could harm him lit=
tle
more! His eyes gleamed; a reckless light shone out, a daredevil luster. He
continued to look at her, then threw back his head.
"I had hoped you would never know; but the
gods, it seems," he could even laugh, "have ordained otherwise.
'_Fata obstant_.'" Still that startled, uncomprehending look on the gi=
rl's
white face! He went on more quickly, like a man driven to bay. "You do=
not
understand; you are credulous; take people for what they seem,--not for what
they are; or have been."
He stopped; a suggestion of pain creeping into=
her
expression, as if, behind wonderment, she was conscious of something being
rudely torn, wrenched in her inmost being, held him. His face grew set; the
nails of his closed fingers cut his palms. But the laugh returned to his li=
ps, the
luster to his eyes.
"Or have been!" he repeated. "A
good many people have their pasts. Can you imagine what mine may have
been?"
But she scarcely followed his words; she did n=
ot
think, she could not; she seemed to stand in a hateful dream! Looking at
him--the torn evening clothes!--his face, pale, different! Listening to
him!--to what--?
"A convict!" said the man. "Yes;
that's what I was. Had been in jails, jails! And was sent out of the countr=
y,
years ago, transported. But time went by and the convict thought he might s=
afely
come back--boldly--with impunity. The years and--circumstances had altered
him--wrought great changes. He felt compelled to return--why, is of no
moment!--believed himself secure in so doing--and was--until chance led him=
out
of his accustomed way--to new walks--new faces--where lay the danger--the a=
mbush,
into which he, who thought himself strong, like a weak fool, walked--or was
led--blindly." He caught himself up with a laugh. "But what is th=
is
to you? Enough, the convict found himself recognized, his identity thorough=
ly
established."
He waited; still she was silent; the little ha=
nds
clasped tightly the heavy drapery that moved as if she were putting part of=
her
weight on it. Her expression showed still that she had not yet had time to =
comprehend;
that for her what he said remained, even now, but words, confused,
inexplicable. A strange sequel to a strange night, a night that had begun w=
ith
such gaiety and blitheness; that had been interrupted, after he had left he=
r,
by the shouting and rough voices from the garden! She seemed to hear them a=
new,
and afterward, the explanation of that odd little person, the police agent,=
his
apologies for breaking in upon the cotillion. But he had said--?
The blue eyes bent like stars now on this man =
in
her room, standing before her with bold, mocking face, as if his dark eyes
read, understood every thought that passed through her brain.
"You!--then it was you--John Steele--that
they--"
"The convict they tried to arrest? Yes.&q=
uot;
"You? I don't--" Her voice was almos=
t childlike.
"I will help you to--understand!" An
ashen shade came over his face, but it passed quickly; his voice sounded br=
usk.
"For months, since a fatal evening all light, brilliancy, beauty!--the
convict has been trying to hold back the inevitable; but the net whose first
meshes were then woven, has since been drawing closer--closer. In the world=
two
forces are ever at work, the pursuers and the pursued. In this instance the=
former,"
harshly, "were unusually clever. He struggled hard to keep up the dece=
ption
until he could complete a defense worthy of the name. But to no avail! He f=
elt
the end near; did not expect it so soon, however, this night!--this very
night--!"
The man paused; there was a strange gleam in t=
he
dark eyes that lingered on her; its light was succeeded by another, a fierc=
er
expression. For the first time she moved, shrank back slightly. "I'm
afraid I used a few of them roughly," he said with look derisory.
"There was no time for soft talk; it was cut and run--give 'leg bail,'=
as
the thieves say." Did he purposely relapse into coarser words to clench
home the whole damning, detestable truth? Her fine soft lips quivered; it m=
ay
be she felt herself awakening--slowly; one hand pressed now at her breast. =
In the
grate the fire sank, although a few licking flames still thrust their fiery
tongues between black lumps of coal.
"But it was a close call, out there in the
garden! They were before the convict in the woods; he must needs double bac=
k to
the shadow of the house! At the bottom of a moat he looked up to a balcony
overhead, small as Juliet's---though I swear he thought it led to armory ha=
ll,
not here; had he known the truth, he would have stayed there first, and--Bu=
t,
as it was, he heard voices around the corner; afar, men approaching. The iv=
y at
Strathorn House is almost as old as the house itself, the main branches lar=
ger
than a man's arm. It was not difficult to get here, though I wish now--&quo=
t;
he dared smile bitterly--"they had come on me first."
The breeze at the window slightly shook the
curtain; it waved in and out; the tassels struck faint taps on the sill.
"But why--?" she began at length, th=
en
stopped, as if the question were gone almost as soon as it suggested itself=
.
"--did I return here,--reenter Strathorn
House?" he completed it for her. "Because there seemed nothing el=
se
to do; it was probably only temporizing with the inevitable--but one always
temporizes."
She moved slowly out into the room; his face w=
as
half-averted; all the light that came from the grate, rested now on hers. At
that instant she seemed like a shadow, beautiful, but a shadow, going toward
him as through no volition of her own. The thick texture on the floor drown=
ed the
sound of her steps; she paused with her fingers on the gilded frame of a
settee. He did not turn, although he must have known she was near; with his
back toward her he gazed down at the soft, bright hues of the rug, and on i=
t a
white thing, a tiny bit of lace, a handkerchief that some time before had
fluttered to the floor and had been left lying there.
"But--" she spoke now--"you--you
who seemed all that was--I can't believe--it is
impossible--inconceivable--"
His features twitched, the nerves seemed moving
beneath the skin; but he answered in a hard tone. "I have told you the
truth; because," the words broke from him, "I had to! Must I,&quo=
t;
despite himself there was an accent of acutest pain in his voice, "rep=
eat
it?"
"No!" said the girl. "Oh, no.&q=
uot;
"You guessed I was going away. I was goin=
g so
that you might never learn what you know now."
"I--guessed you were going? Ah, to-night-=
-on
the balcony!"
Did he divine what her words recalled, could n=
ot
but bring to mind? A tint sprang to her white face; it spread even to the w=
hite
throat. The blue eyes grew hard, very hard; the little hand he had so short=
a
while before held in his, closed; the slender figure which had then seemed =
to waver,
straightened. He read the thought his words had evoked, did not meet her ey=
es
now.
"You tell me what you have--And yet you h=
ave
come--dared to come here--under this roof--?"
It may be she also recalled his look when firs=
t he
had entered this room, and, turning, had seen her; that her mind retained t=
he
impress of a bearing, bold, mocking.
"Oh," she said, "it was
infamous!"
The word struck him like a whip, lashed his fa=
ce
to a dull red; the silence grew.
"I would not presume to dispute or to
contradict any conclusion you may have reached," he spoke at length in=
a
low, even voice. "I had not, as I said, intended this last, this most
inexcusable intrusion. You have now only one course to pursue--" His g=
aze
turned to the long silken bell-rope on the wall. "And I promise not to
resist."
Her glance followed his, returned to his face,=
to
his eyes, quietly challenging. She took a step.
"Well?" he said.
She had suddenly stopped; in the hall voices w=
ere
heard approaching; he too caught them.
"That simplifies matters," he remark=
ed.
Her breast stirred; she stood listening; they =
came
nearer--now were at the door. A measured knocking broke the stillness.
"Jocelyn!" The voice was that of Sir
Charles. "Are you there?" She did not answer. "Kindly unlock=
the
door."
*
=
The
girl made no motion to obey and the knocking was repeated; mechanically she
moved toward the threshold. "Yes?" All the color had left her fac=
e.
"What--what is it?"
"Don't mean to alarm you, my dear, but Mr.
Gillett thinks the convict might be concealing himself somewhere in the hou=
se;
indeed, that it is quite likely. So we are making a little tour of inspecti=
on.
Shall we not go through your rooms? There! don't be frightened!" quick=
ly,
"only as a matter of precaution, you know."
"I," she seemed to catch her breath,
"it is really quite unnecessary. I have been through them myself."=
;
"Might have known that!" with an att=
empt
at jocoseness. "But thought we would make sure. Your balcony, you have
looked there?"
"Yes."
"Very well; lock your window leading to i=
t.
Only as a matter of precaution," he repeated hastily. "No need of=
our
coming in, I fancy. You had retired?"
"I--was about to."
"Quite right." A moment the party
lingered. "Shall I send one of the maids to sleep in your dressing-roo=
m?
Company, you know! Your voice sounds a little nervous."
"Does it? Not at all!" she said hast=
ily.
"I am--not in the least nervous."
"Good night, then!" They went. "=
;One
of my men in the garden felt sure he had seen him return toward the
house," Mr. Gillett's voice was wafted back, became fainter, died away=
.
The man in the room stood motionless now, his =
face
like that of a statue save for the light and life of his eyes. The clock be=
at
the moments; he looked at her. The girl was almost turned from him; he saw =
more
of the bright hair than the pale profile, so still against the delicately c=
arved
arabesques of the panel.
"The other way would have
been--preferable!"
There was nothing reckless or bold in his bear=
ing
now; but, looking away, she did not see. Was he tempted, if only in an
infinitesimal degree, to suggest a plea of mitigating circumstances--not for
his own sake but for hers; that she might feel less keenly that sense of hu=
rt, of
outraged pride, for having smiled on him, admitted him to a certain frank, =
free
intimacy? Before the words fell from his lips, however, she turned; her gaze
arrested his purpose, made him feel poignantly, acutely, the distance now
between them. "What were you," she hesitated, emphasized over-sha=
rply
the word, "transported for?"
An instant his eyes flashed suddenly back at h=
er,
as if he were on the point of answering, telling her all, disavowing; but to
what end? To ask more of her than of others, throw himself on her generosit=
y?
"What does it matter?"
True; what did it matter to her; he had been in
prisons before, by his own words.
"Your name, of course, is not John
Steele?"
He confessed it a purloined asset.
"What was it?"
He looked at her--beyond! To a storm-tossed sh=
ip,
a golden-haired child, her curls in disorder, moving with difficulty, yet
clinging so steadfastly to a small cage. His name? It may be he heard again=
the
loud pounding and knocking; held her once more to his breast, felt the conf=
iding,
soft arms.
"What does it matter?" he repeated.<= o:p>
What, indeed? That which she had not been able=
to
penetrate, to understand in him, this was it! This!
"But why"--fragments of what he had =
said
recurred to her; she spoke mechanically--"when you found yourself
recognized, did you not leave England; why did you come here--to Strathorn
House; incur the danger, the risk?"
"Why?" He still continued to look
straight before him. "Because you--were here!" He spoke quietly,
simply.
"I?" she trembled.
"Oh, you need not fear!" quickly.
"You!" a bitter smile crossed his face. "One may see a star =
and
long to draw nearer it, though one knows it is always beyond reach,
unattainable! May even stumble forward, led by its light--bright, beautiful!
Whither?" He laughed abruptly. "One has not asked, nor cared.&quo=
t;
"Cared?" Her figure swayed; he too s=
tood
uncertainly; the lights seemed to tremble.
The man suddenly straightened; then turned.
"And now," his voice sounded harsh, tense; he stepped toward the
balcony.
His words, the abrupt action--what it portende=
d,
aroused her.
"No; no!" The exclamation broke from=
her
involuntarily; she seemed to waken as from something unreal that had
momentarily held her. "There--there may be a safer way!" She hard=
ly
knew what she was saying; one thought alone possessed her mind; she looked =
with
strained, bright glance before her. "The Queen Elizabeth staircase lea=
ding
into the garden from my--" The words were arrested; her blue eyes, dar=
k,
dilated, lingered on him in an odd, impersonal way. "Wait!" Bright
spots of color now tinted her cheeks; she went quickly toward the door she =
had
left, her manner that of one who hastens to some course on impulse, without=
pausing
to reason. "A few minutes!" She listened, turned the key; then op=
ening
the door, stepped hastily out into the hall.
The latch clicked; the man stood alone. Whatev=
er
her purpose, only the desire to act quickly, to have done with an intolerab=
le
situation moved him. Once more he looked toward the window through which he=
had
entered; first, however, before going, he bethought himself of something, a=
n answer
to one of her questions. She should find the answer after he was gone! His
fingers thrust themselves into a breast-pocket; he took out a small object,
wrapped in velvet. An instant his eyes rested upon it; then, stooping, he
picked up the bit of lace handkerchief from the floor and laying the dark
velvet against it placed the two on the table.
Would she understand? The debt he had felt he =
owed
her long before to-night, that sense of obligation to the child who had rea=
ched
out her hand, in a different life, a different world! No; she had, of cours=
e, forgotten;
still he would leave it, that talisman so precious, which he had cherished
almost superstitiously.
When a few minutes later the girl hastily
reëntered the room, she carried on her arm a man's coat and hat; her
appearance was feverish, her eyes wide and shining.
"Your clothes are torn--would attract
attention! These were on the rack--I don't know whose--but I stole them!--s=
tole
them!"
She spoke quickly with a little hard note of
self-mockery. Her voice broke off suddenly; she looked around her.
The coat and hat slipped from her arm; she loo=
ked
at the window; the curtain still moved, as if a hand had but recently touch=
ed
it. She stared at it--incredulously. He had gone; he would have none of her=
assistance
then; preferred--She listened, but caught only the rustling of the heavy si=
lk.
When? Minutes passed; at her left, a candle, carelessly adjusted by the mai=
d,
dripped to the dresser; its over-long wick threw weird, ever-changing shado=
ws;
her own silhouette appeared in various distorted forms on hangings and wall=
.
Still she heard nothing, nothing louder than t=
he
faint sounds at the window; the occasional, mysterious creakings of old
woodwork. He must have long since reached the ground--the bottom of the old
moat; perhaps, as the police agent and several of his men were in the house=
, he
might even have attained the fringe of the wood. It was not so far distant,=
--the
space intervening from the top of the moat contained many shrubs; in their
friendly shadows--
She stole to the corner of the window now and
cautiously peered out. The sky was overcast; below, faint markings could ju=
st
be discerned; beyond, Cimmerian gloom--Strathorn wood.
Had he reached, could he reach it? A cool bree=
ze
fanned her cheeks without lessening the flush that burned there; her lips w=
ere half-parted.
She stepped uncertainly back; a reaction swept over her; the most trivial
thoughts came to mind. She remembered that she had not locked the door of h=
er
boudoir; that Sir Charles had told her to do so. She almost started to obey;
but laughed nervously instead. How absurd! What, however, should she do? She
looked toward the next room. Go to bed? It seemed the commonplace, natural
conclusion, and, after all, life was very commonplace. But the coat and hat=
she
had brought there? Consideration of them, also, came within the scope of the
commonplace.
It did not take her long to dispose of them, n= ot on the rack, however. Standing again, a few moments later, at the head of t= he stairway, in the upper hall, she heard voices approaching. Whereupon she quickly dropped both hat and coat on a chair near-by and fled to her room.<= o:p>
None too soon! From above footsteps were
descending; people now passed by; they evidently had been searching the thi=
rd
story. She could hear their low, dissatisfied voices; the last persons to c=
ome
she at once recognized by their tones.
"You have made a bungling job of it,"
said Lord Ronsdale. There was a suppressed fierce bitterness in his accents,
which, however, in the excitement of the moment, the girl failed to notice.=
"He had made up his mind not to be taken
alive, my Lord."
"Then--" The other interrupted Mr.
Gillett harshly, but she failed to catch more of his words.
"We've not lost him, my Lord," Mr.
Gillett spoke again. "If he's not in the house, he's near it, in the
garden, and we have every way guarded."
"Every way guarded!" The girl drew h=
er
breath; as they disappeared, the striking of the clock caused her to start.
One! two! About four hours of darkness, hardly that long remained for him! =
And
yet she would have supposed it later; it had been after one o'clock when she
had come to her room.
She became aware of a throbbing in her head, a
dull pain, and mechanically seating herself near one of the tables, she put=
up
her hand and started to draw the pins from her hair, but soon desisted. Aga=
in
she began to think, more clearly this time, more poignantly, of all she had=
experienced--listened
to--that night!
She, a Wray, sprung from a long line of proud,
illustrious folk! And he? The breath of the roses outside was wafted upward;
her eyes, deep, self-scoffing, rested, without seeing, on a small dark obje=
ct
on a handkerchief on the table. What was it to her if they took him?--What =
indeed?
Her fingers played with the object, closed hard on it. Why should she care =
if
he paid the penalty; he, a self-confessed---
Something fell from the velvet covering in her
hand and struck with a musical sound on the hard, polished top. Amid a turm=
oil
of thoughts, she was vaguely aware of it gleaming there on the cold white
marble, a small disk--a gold coin. At first it seemed only to catch without=
interesting
her glance; then slowly she took it, as if asking herself how it came there=
, on
her handkerchief, which, she dimly remembered, had been lying on the floor.
Some one, of course, must have picked up the handkerchief; but no one had b=
een
in the room since she had noticed it except--
Her gaze swung to the window; he, then, had le=
ft
it. Why? What had she to do with anything that had been his?
More closely she scrutinized it, the shining d=
isk
on her rosy palm; a King George gold piece! Above the monarch's face and he=
ad
with its flowing locks, appeared a tiny hole, as if some one had once worn =
it; beneath,
just discernible, was the date, 1762. She continued to regard it; then look=
ed
again at the bit of velvet, near-by. It had been wrapped in that, carefully;
for what reason? Like something more than what it seemed--a mere gold piece=
!
"1762." Why, even as she gazed at the
cloth, felt it, did the figures seem to reiterate themselves in her brain?
"1762." There could be nothing especially significant about the d=
ate;
yet even as she concluded thus, by some introspective process she saw herse=
lf
bending over, studying those figures on another occasion. Herself--and yet-=
-
She was looking straight before her now; sudde=
nly
she started and sprang up. "A King George gold piece!" Her hair,
unbound, fell around her, below her waist; her eyes like sapphires, gazed o=
ut
from a veritable shimmer of gold. "Date--" She paused. "Why,
this belonged to me once, as a child, and I--"
The blue eyes seemed searching--searching;
abruptly she found what she sought. "I gave it to the convict on the _=
Lord
Nelson_." She almost whispered the words. "The brave, brave fellow
who sacrificed his life for mine." Her warm fingers closed softly on t=
he
coin; she seemed wrapped in the picture thus recalled.
"Then how--" Her brows knitted, she
swept the shining hair from her face. "If he were drowned, how could it
have been left here by--" Her eyes were dark now with excitement.
"Him? Him?" she repeated. "Unless," her breast suddenly
heaved--"he was not drowned, after all; he--"
A sudden shot from the park rang out; the coin
fell from the girl's hand; other shots followed. She ran out upon the balco=
ny,
a stifled cry on her lips; she stared off, but only the darkness met her ga=
ze.
*
=
=
Not
far from one of the entrances to Regent's Park or the hum of Camden Town's =
main
artery of traffic, lay a little winding street which, because of its curving
lines, had long been known as Spiral Row. Although many would not deign in
passing to glance twice down this modest thoroughfare, it presented,
nevertheless, a romantic air of charm and mystery. The houses nestled timid=
ly
behind time-worn walls; it was always very quiet within this limited precin=
ct,
and one wondered sometimes, by day, if the various secluded abodes were rea=
lly
inhabited, and by whom? An actress, said vague rumor; a few scribblers, a p=
air
of painters, a military man or two. Here Madam Grundy never ventured, but C=
alliope
and the tuneful nine were understood to be occasional callers.
One who once lived in the Row has likened it t=
o a
tiny Utopia where each and every one minded his own business and where the
comings and goings of one's neighbor were matters of indifference.
Into this delectable byway there turned, late =
in
the night of the second day after that memorable evening at Strathorn House=
, a
man who, looking quickly around him, paused before the closed gate of one of
the dwellings. The street, ever a quiet one, appeared at that advanced hour=
absolutely
deserted, and, after a moment's hesitation, the man pulled the bell; for so=
me
time he waited; but no response came. He looked in; through the shrubbery he
could dimly make out the house, set well back, and in a half uncertain way =
he
stood staring at it, when from the end of the street, he heard a vehicle co=
ming
rapidly toward him.
More firmly the man jerked at the handle of the
bell; this time his efforts were successful; a glimmer as from a candle
appeared at the front door, and a few minutes later a dark form came slowly
down the graveled walk. As it approached the vehicle also drew nearer; the =
man regarded
the latter sidewise; now it was opposite him, and he turned his back quickl=
y to
the flare of its lamps. But in a moment it had whirled by, with a note of
laughter from its occupants, light pleasure seekers; at the same time a key
turned in a lock and the gate swung open.
"Good evening, Dennis," said the cal=
ler.
The faint gleam of the candle revealed the drowsy and unmistakably Celtic f=
ace
of him he addressed, a man past middle age, who regarded the new-comer with=
a
look of recognition. "I'm afraid I've interrupted your slumbers. This =
is
rather a late hour at which to arrive."
"No matter, sir. Sure and I sat up expect=
ing
you, Mr. Steele, until after midnight, and had only just turned in when--&q=
uot;
"What--?" The new-comer, now fairly
within the garden, could not suppress a start of surprise, which however the
other, engaged in relocking the gate, did not appear to notice.
"Expecting--?"
"Although I'd given up thinking you'd be =
here
to-night," the latter went on. "But won't you be stepping in,
sir?"
The other silently followed, walking in the ma=
nner
of one tired and worn; he did not, however, at that moment seem concerned w=
ith
fatigue or physical discomfort; the uncertain light of the candle before him
showed his brows drawn, his eyes questioning, as if something had happened =
to cause
him to think deeply, doubtfully. At the door the servant stood aside to all=
ow
him to enter; then ushered him into a fairly commodious and comfortable
sitting-room.
"My master did not come back with you, si=
r,
from Strathorn House?"
"No; Captain Forsythe's gone on to
Germany."
"To attend some court, I suppose. Sure, '=
tis
a dale he has done of that, Mr. Steele, after the both of us were wounded by
those black devils in India and retired from active service." The
servant's voice had an inquiring accent; his glance rested now in some surp=
rise
on the new-comer's garments,--a gamekeeper's well-worn coat and cap,--and o=
n the
dusty, almost shabby-looking shoes.
"A wager," said John Steele, noting =
the
old orderly's expression. "From Strathorn House to London by foot, wit=
hin
a given time, don't you know; fell in with some rough customers last night =
who
thought my coat and hat better than these."
"I beg your pardon, sir, but--" The
man's apprehensive look fastened itself on a dark stain on the coat, near t=
he
shoulder.
"Just winged me--a scratch," replied
John Steele with an indifferent shrug, sinking into a chair near the fire w=
hich
burned low.
"It's lucky you came off no worse, sir, a=
nd
you'll be finding a change of garments up-stairs; I put them out for you
myself--"
"I'm afraid, Dennis, I'm rather large for
your master's clothes," was the visitor's reply in a voice that he str=
ove
vainly to make light.
"Sure, they're your own, sir." The o=
ther
looked up quickly. "I'll get everything ready for a bath, and if you'v=
e a
mind for anything to eat afterward--"
"I think I'll have a little of the last,
first," said the visitor slowly.
"Right you are, sir. You do look a bit do=
ne
up, sir," sympathetically, "but there's a veal and 'ammer in the
cupboard that will soon make you fit."
"One moment, Dennis." John Steele le=
aned
back; the dying embers revealed a haggard face; his eyes half closed as if =
from
lack of sleep but immediately opened again. "You spoke of expecting me;
how," he stretched out his legs, "did you know--?"
"Sure, sir, by your luggage; it arrived w=
ith
my master's heavier boxes that he didn't take along with him over the
wather." The listener did not stir; was he too weary to experience
surprise or even deeper emotion?
His luggage there!--where no one knew--could h=
ave
known, he was going! The place he had selected, under what he had considered
propitious circumstances, as a haven, a refuge; where he might find himself=
for
a brief period comparatively safe, could he reach it, turn in, without being
detected! This last he believed he had successfully accomplished; and then =
to
be told by the man--All John Steele's excuses for coming in this unceremoni=
ous
fashion that he had planned to put to the servant of Captain Forsythe were =
at
the moment forgotten. Who could have guessed that he would make his way
straight hither--or had any one? An enemy, divining a lurking place for whi=
ch
he was heading, would not have obligingly forwarded his belongings. What th=
en?
Had Jocelyn Wray ordered them sent on with Captain Forsythe's boxes and bag=
s,
in order that they might be less likely to fall into the hands of the polic=
e?
This line of reasoning seemed to lead into most
unwonted channels; it was not probable she would concern herself so much
further about a common fugitive. The cut and bruised fingers of the man bef=
ore
the fireplace linked and unlinked; an indefinable feeling of new dangers he=
had
not calculated on assailed him. Suppose the police should have learned--sho=
uld
elect to trace, those articles of his? It was a contingency, a hazard to be
considered; he knew that every possible effort would be made to find him; t=
hat
if his antagonists were eager before, they would embark on the present quest
with redoubled zeal. He had been in their hands and had got away;
disappointment would drive them more fiercely on to employ every expedient.
They might even now be at the gate; at the moment, however, he felt as if he
hardly cared, only that he was very tired, too exhausted to move on. His
exertions of the last few days had been of no ordinary kind; his shoulder w=
as
stiff and it pained.
"Here you are, sir." The servant had
entered and reëntered, had set the table without the man in the arm-ch=
air
being conscious of his coming and going. "Remembered my master inviting
you once, when you were here, to pitch your camp at Rosemary Villa any time=
you
should be after yearning for that quietood essential for literary compositi=
on
and to windin' up the campaign on your book. So when I saw your luggage--&q=
uot;
"Exactly." It was curious the man sh=
ould
have spoken thus, should have voiced one of the very subterfuges Steele had=
had
in mind himself to utter, to show pretext for his too abrupt appearance. But
now--?
The situation was changed; yet he felt too
exhausted to disavow the servant's conclusion. Certainly the episode of the
luggage had made his task easier at this point; only, however, to enhance t=
he
greater hazards, as if fate were again laughing at him, offering him too mu=
ch ease,
too great comfort, seeking to allure him with a false estimate of his secur=
ity.
As he ate, mechanically, but with the zest of one who had long fasted, he
listened; again a vehicle went by; then another.
"Rather livelier than usual to-night?&quo=
t;
he observed and received an affirmative answer. Some evenings now you'd har=
dly
ever hear anything passing from sunset to sunrise and find it as quiet as t=
he
tomb.
Who lived on the right, on the left? The visit=
or
asked several questions casually; the house to the right, the man thought,
might be vacant; no one appeared to live in it very long. At least the movi=
ng
van seemed to have acquired a habit of stopping there; the one on the left =
had
a more stable tenant; a lady who appeared in the pantomime, or the opera, h=
e wasn't
sure which,--only, foreign people sometimes went in and out.
John Steele rose with an effort; no, there was
nothing more he required, except rest! Which room would he prefer, he was a=
sked
when he found himself on the upper landing; the man had put his things in a
front chamber; but the back one was larger. John Steele forced himself to c=
onsider;
he even inspected both of the rooms; that on the front floor had one window
facing the Row; the second chamber looked out over a rear wall separating t=
he
vegetable garden of Rosemary Villa from the shrub-adorned confines of a pla=
ce
which fronted on the next street.
The visitor decided on the former chamber; he
carefully closed the blinds and drew across the window the dark, heavy
curtains. This would answer very well; excellent accommodations for a man w=
hose
own chambers in the city were now in the hands of renovators--the painters,=
the
paper-hangers, the plumbers. And the back room? He paused, as if considering
the servant's assumption of his purpose in coming hither. He might as well =
let
the fellow think--
Yes, he would venture to make use of that for =
his
work; could thus take advantage of the force of circumstances that had aris=
en
to alienate him from prosaic citations, writs or arraignments. But he must,
with strained lightness, emphasize one point; for a brief spell he did not =
wish
to be disturbed. People might call; people probably would, anxious clients,
almost impossible to get rid of, unless--
No one must know where he was, under any
circumstances; his voice sounded almost jocular, at singular variance with =
the
heaviness, the weariness of his face. He, the old servant, had been a soldi=
er;
knew how to fulfil, then, a request or an order. Something crinkled in the =
speaker's
hand, passed to the other who was now busying himself with the bath; the ma=
n's
moist fingers did not hesitate to close on the note. He had been a hardened
campaigner and incidentally a good forager; he remarked at once he would ca=
rry
out to the letter all his master's visitor asked.
Half an hour later, John Steele, clad in his
dressing-gown, sat alone near the fire in his room; every sound had ceased =
save
at intervals a low creaking of old timber. Now it came from overhead, then =
from
the hall or near the window, as if spirit feet or fingers were busy in that=
venerable,
quaint domicile. But these faint noises, inseparable from houses with a
history, John Steele did not hear; the food and the bath had awakened in hi=
m a
momentary alertness; he seemed waiting--for what? Something that did not
happen; heaviness, depression again weighed on him; to keep awake he stirred
himself and again glanced about. Here were evidences of odd taste on the pa=
rt
of the tenant in the matter of household decoration; a chain and ball that =
had
once been worn by a certain famous convict reposed on an
_étagère_, instead of the customary vase or jug of pottery; o=
ther
souvenirs of prisons and the people that had been in them adorned a few she=
lves
and brackets.
John Steele smiled grimly; but soon his though=
ts
seemed floating off beyond control, and rising suddenly, he threw himself on
the bed. For a moment he strove to consider one or two tasks that should ha=
ve
been accomplished this night but which he must defer; was vaguely conscious=
of
the slamming of a blind next door; then over-strained nature yielded.
Hours passed; the sun rose high in the heavens,
began to sink; still the heavy sleep of utter exhaustion claimed him. Once =
or
twice the servant came to the door, listened, and stole away again. The
afternoon was well advanced when, as half through a dream, John Steele heard
the rude jingling of a bell,--the catmeat man, or the milkman, drowsily he =
told
himself. In fancy he seemed to see the broad, flowing river from a window of
his own chambers, the dawn stealing over, marshaling its tints,--crimson
until--
Slowly through the torpor of his brain realiza=
tion
began also to dawn; this room?--it was not his. The gleaming lances of sunl=
ight
that darted through the half-closed shutters played on the strange wall-pap=
er
of a strange apartment; no, he remembered it now--last night!
The loud and emphatic closing of the front gate
served yet more speedily to arouse him; hastily he sat up; his head buzzed =
from
a long-needed sleep that had been over sound; his limbs still ached, but ev=
ery
sense on an instant became unnaturally keen. Footsteps resounded on the gra=
vel;
he heard voices; those of two men, who were coming toward the house.
"So it's the meter man you are?" John
Steele recognized the inquiring voice as that of the caretaker. "Sure,
you're a new one from the last that was here."
"Yes; we change beats occasionally,"=
was
the careless answer, as the men passed around the side of the house and ent=
ered
a rear door. For a time there was silence; John Steele sprang from his bed =
and
crept very softly toward the hall. "A new man--" He heard them
talking again after a few minutes; he remained listening at his door, now s=
lightly
ajar.
"There must be a leak somewhere from the
quantity you've burned. I'll have a look around; might save your master a f=
ew
shillings."
The man moved from room to room and started, at
length, up the stairs. John Steele closed and noiselessly locked his door; =
the
"meter man" crossed the upper hall and stepped, one after the oth=
er,
into the several rooms. Having apparently made there the necessary examinat=
ion,
he walked over and tried the door of John Steele's room.
"This room's occupied by a visitor,"
interposed the servant quickly in a hushed voice. "And he's asleep now=
; he
wouldn't thank you for the disturbing of his repose."
"All right." Did the listener detect=
an
accent of covert satisfaction in the caller's low tones? "I'll not wake
him. Don't find the leak I was looking for; will drop in again, though, whe=
n I
have more time."
Their footsteps receded and shortly afterward,=
the
man left the house; as he did so, John Steele, pushing back the blinds a
little, looked out of his room; the man who had reached the front of the pl=
ace
glanced back. His gaze at that instant, meeting the other's, seemed to betr=
ay a
momentary eagerness; quickly Steele turned away; no doubt now lingered in h=
is
mind as to the purpose of the visit.
*
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reast-font-family:
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reast-font-family:
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=
The
half-expected had happened; bag and baggage had led his pursuers hither; the
fellow could now go back and report. After his bath, before lying down, John
Steele had partly dressed in the garments laid out for him; now he threw the
dressing-gown from his shoulders and hastily put on the rest of his clothes=
. He
felt now only the need for action--to do what? Impatience was capped by the
realization of his own impotence; Rosemary Villa was, no doubt, at that ver=
y moment,
subjected to a close espionage. He heard the man-servant in the garden, and
unable to restrain a growing restlessness to know the worst, Steele mounted=
the
stairs to the attic.
From the high window there he could see, aroun=
d a
curve in the Row, a loitering figure; in the other direction a neighboring
house concealed the byway, but he could reasonably conclude that some one a=
lso
sauntered there, sentinel at that end of the street. Quickly coming down to=
the
second story, he began cautiously to examine from the windows the situation=
of
the house, in relation to adjoining grounds and neighboring dwellings.
To the right, the top of the high wall shone w=
ith
the customary broken bits of glass; the rear defenses glistened also in
formidable fashion. He noted, however, several places where this safeguard
against unwonted invasion showed signs of deterioration; in one or two spots
the jagged fragments had been broken, or had fallen off. These slight break=
s in
the continuity of irregular, menacing glass bits, he fixed in mind by a cer=
tain
shrub or tree. Against the rear wall, which was of considerable height, lea=
ned
his neighbor's low conservatory, almost spanning it from side to side.
"Sure, sir, I don't know whether it's
breakfast or supper that's waiting for you." Captain Forsythe's man had
reappeared and stood now at the top of the landing looking in at him.
"It's a sound sleep you've had."
John Steele glanced at the clock; the afternoon
was waning. Why did not his enemies force their way in, surround him at onc=
e?
Unless--and this might prove a momentary saving clause!--these people witho=
ut
were but an advance guard, an outpost, awaiting orders. In this event Gille=
tt
would hastily be sent for; would soon be on his way---
"'Tis a rasher of real Irish bacon that is
awaiting your convenience, sir."
The servant was now eying the visitor dubiousl=
y;
John Steele wheeled, a perfunctory answer on his lips, and going to the
dining-room swallowed hastily a few mouthfuls. From where he sat he could
command a view of the front gate, and kept glancing toward it when alone. T=
o go
now,--or wait? The daylight did not favor the former course unless his purs=
uers
should suddenly appear before the locked gate, demanding admission.
He made up his mind as to his course then, the=
last
desperate shift. Amid a turmoil of thoughts a certain letter he had had in =
mind
to send to Captain Forsythe occurred to him, and calling for paper and pen,=
he wrote
there, facing the window, feverishly, hastily, several pages; then he gave =
the
letter to the servant for the postman, whose special call at the iron knock=
er
without had just sounded. The letter would have served John Steele ill had =
it
fallen into his enemies' hands, but once in the care of the royal mails it
would be safe. If it were, indeed, that person at the gate, and not some on=
e--
"One moment, Dennis!" The man paused.
"Of course you will make sure it is the postman--?"
The servant stared at this guest whose demeanor
was becoming more and more eccentric. "As if I didn't know his knock!&=
quot;
he said, departing.
The afternoon waned; the shadows began to fall;
John Steele's pulses now throbbed expectantly. He called for a key to the g=
ate
and moved toward the front door; by this time the darkness had deepened, an=
d,
key in hand, he stepped out.
At first he walked toward the front on the gra=
vel
that the servant might hear him, but near the entrance he paused, hesitatin=
g,
to look out. As he remained thus, some one, who had been standing not far o=
ff,
drew near. This person steathily passed; in doing so he glanced around; but=
John
Steele felt uncertain whether the fellow had or had not been able to
distinguish him in the gloom. John Steele waited, however, until the other
moved a short distance on; then he retraced his own way quietly, keeping to=
the
grass, toward the house; near it he swerved and in the same rapid manner st=
ole
around the place until he reached the back wall.
There he examined his position, felt the top, =
then
placed his fingers on the wall. It was about six feet high, but seizing hol=
d,
he was about to spring into the air, when behind him, from the direction of=
the
Row, a low metallic sound caught his attention. The front gate to the Forsy=
the house
had suddenly clicked; some one had entered,--not the servant; John Steele h=
ad
seen him but a few moments before in the kitchen; some one, then, who had
quietly picked the lock, as the surest way of getting in.
John Steele looked back; even as he did so, a
number of figures abruptly ran forward from the gate. He waited no longer b=
ut
drew himself up to a level with the top of the wall. The effort made him
acutely aware of his wounded shoulder; he winced but set his teeth hard and
swung himself over until one foot came in contact with the iron frame of th=
e greenhouse
next to the masonry. To crawl to the end of the lean-to, bending to hold to=
the
wall, and then to let himself down, occupied but a brief interval.
As he stood there, trying to make out a path
through shrubs and trees, he heard behind him an imperative knocking at the
front door of Captain Forsythe's house; the expostulating tones of the
serving-man; the half-indistinct replies that were succeeded by the noise of
feet hastening into the house.
For some time nothing save these sounds was wa=
fted
to the listener; then a loud disappointed voice, sounding above another voi=
ce,
came from a half-opened window. John Steele stood still no longer; great
hazard, almost certain capture, lay before him in the direction he was goin=
g; the
street this garden led to would be watched; but he could not remain where he
was. Already his enemies were moving about in the neighboring grounds; soon
they would flash their lights over the wall, would discover him, unless--He
moved quickly forward. As he neared the house, more imposing than Captain
Forsythe's, a stream of light poured from a window; through this bright spa=
ce
he darted quickly, catching a fleeting view of people within, several with
their faces turned toward him. Close to a side of the square-looking house,=
he
paused, his heart beating fast--not with fear, but with a sudden, fierce an=
ger
at the possibility that he would be caught thus; no better than a mere--
But needs must, when the devil drives; the dev=
il
was driving him now hard. To attempt to reach the gate, to get out to Surrey
Road,--little doubt existed as to what awaited him there; so, crouching low=
, he
forced himself to linger a little longer where he was. As thus he remained =
motionless,
sharp twinges again shot through his shoulder; then, on a sudden, he became
unmindful of physical discomfort; a plan of action that had flashed through=
his
brain, held him oblivious to all else; it offered only the remotest chance =
of
escape--but still a chance, which he weighed, determined to take! It had co=
me
to him while listening to the merry voices within the room near him talking=
of
the gay dinner just ended, of the box party at the theater that was to foll=
ow.
Already cabs were at the door; the women and t=
he
men, several of the latter flushed with wine, were ready to go. A servant
walked out and unlocked the gate and with light badinage the company issued
forth. As they did so, John Steele, unobserved, stepped forward; in the sem=
i-darkness
the party passed through the entrance into the street. Taking his place amo=
ng
the last of the laughing, dimly-seen figures, John Steele walked boldly on =
and
found himself a moment later on the sidewalk of Surrey Road. He was aware t=
hat
some one, a woman, had touched his arm, as if to take it; of a light femini=
ne
voice and an abrupt exclamation of surprise, of the quick drawing back of
fluttering skirts. But he did not stop to apologize or to explain; walking
swiftly to one of the last cabs he sprang in.
"A little errand first, driver," he
called out. "To--" and mentioned a street--"as fast as you
can." His tone was sharp, authoritative; it implied the need for insta=
nt
obedience, rang like a command. The man straightened, touched his horse with
his whip, and wheeling quickly they dashed away.
As they did so, John Steele thought he heard
exclamations behind; looking through the cab window he saw, at the gate, the
company gazing after him, obviously not yet recovered from their thrill of
surprise following his unexpected action. He observed, also, two men on the
other side of the street who now ran across and held a brief altercation wi=
th one
of the cabmen. As they were about to enter the cab several persons in the p=
arty
apparently intervened, expostulating vigorously. It was not difficult to
surmise the resentment of the group at this attempted summary seizure of a
second one of their cabs. By the time the men had explained their imperative
need, and after further argument were permitted to drive off, John Steele h=
ad
gained a better start than he had dared to hope. But they would soon be aft=
er
him, post-haste; yes, already they were dashing hard and furiously behind; =
he
lifted the lid overhead, in his hand a sovereign.
"Those men must not overtake us, cabby. Go
where you will! You understand?"
The man did; his fingers closed quickly on the
generous tip and once more he lashed his horse. For some time they continue=
d at
a rapid pace, now skirting the confines of the park, now plunging into a
puzzling tangle of streets; but wherever they went, the other cab managed
always to keep them in sight. It even began to creep up, nearer. From his p=
ocket
John Steele drew a weapon; his eyes gleamed ominously. The pursuing hansom =
drew
closer; casting a hurried glance over his shoulder, he again called up to t=
he
driver.
"It's no use, gov'ner," came back the
reply. "This 'oss 'as been out longer than 'is."
"Then turn the first dark corner and slow=
up
a bit,--for only a second; afterward, go on your very best as long as you
can."
Another sovereign changed hands and shortly
afterward the vehicle dashed into a side street. It appeared as likely a pl=
ace
as any for his purpose; John Steele, hardly waiting for the man to draw rei=
n,
leaped out as far as he might. He landed without mishap, heard a whip snap =
furiously,
and darted back into a doorway. He had just reached it when the other cab d=
rew
near; for an instant he felt certain that he had been seen; but the pursuer=
s'
eyes were bent eagerly ahead.
"This'll mean a fiver for you, my man,&qu=
ot;
he heard one of them shout to the driver. "We've got him, by--" A
harsh, jubilant cry cut the air; then they were gone.
John Steele did not wait; replacing the weapon=
in
his pocket he started quickly around the corner; his cabman could not lead =
them
far; they would soon return. As fast as possible, without attracting undue =
attention,
he retraced his way; passed in and out of tortuous thoroughfares; by shops =
from
whence came the smell of frying fish; down alleys where squalor lurked.
Although he had by this time, perhaps, eluded the occupants of the cab, he =
knew
there were others keenly alert for his capture whom he might at any moment
encounter. To his fancy every corner teemed with peril; he did not
underestimate the resources of those who sought him or the cunning of him w=
ho
was the chief among his enemies.
Which way should he move? At that moment the
city's multitudinous blocks seemed like the many squares of an oriental
checker-board; the problem he put to himself was how to cross the city and
reach the vicinity of the river; there to make a final effort to look
for--What? A hopeless quest!
His face burned with fever; he did not heed it=
. A
long, broad thoroughfare, as he walked on, had suddenly unfolded itself to =
his
gaze; one side of this highway shone resplendent with the flaring lights of=
numerous
stands and stalls displaying vegetables and miscellaneous articles. A hubbub
assailed the ear, the voices of hucksters and hawkers, vying with one anoth=
er
to dispose of their wares; like ants, people thronged the sidewalk and pave=
ment
near these temporary booths.
About to turn back from this animated scene, J=
ohn
Steele hesitated; the road ran straight and sure toward the destination he
wished to reach, while on either hand lay a network of devious ways. Amid t=
hese
labyrinths, even one familiar with the city's maze might go astray, and aga=
in
he glanced down the single main road, cutting squarely through all intricac=
ies;
noted that although, on one side, the lamps and the torches flared high,
revealing every detail of merchandise, and, incidentally, the faces of all =
who
passed, the other side of the thoroughfare seemed the more murky and shadow=
y by
comparison.
He decided, crossed the street; lights gleamed=
in
his face. He pushed his way through the people unmolested and strode on,
followed only by the noise of passing vehicles and carts; then found himself
walking on the other side, apart from the headlong busy stream. A suspicion=
of
mist hung over the city; through it, people afar assumed shapes unreal; abo=
ve the
jagged sky-line of housetops the heavens had taken on that sickly hue, the =
high
dome's jaundiced aspect for London in autumn.
On!--on! John Steele moved; on!--on!--the traf=
fic
pounded, for the most part in the opposite direction; a vast, never-ending
source of sound, it seemed to soothe momentarily his sense of insecurity. T=
ime
passed; he had, apparently, evaded his pursuers; he told himself he might,
after all, meet the problem confronting him; meet and conquer. It would be =
a hard
battle; but once in that part of the city he was striving to reach, he might
find those willing to offer him shelter--low-born, miserable wretches he had
helped. He would not disdain their succor; the end justified the way. In th=
eir
midst, if anywhere in London, was the one man in the world who could throw a
true light on the events of the past; enable him to---
Behind him some one followed; some one who drew
ever nearer, with soft, skulking steps which now he heard--
"Mr. Steele!" Even as he wheeled, his
name was called out.
=
Before
the sudden fierce passion gleaming on John Steele's face, the bright flame =
of
his look, the person who had accosted him shrank back; his pinched and pale
face showed surprise, fear; almost incoherently he began to stammer. Steele=
's
arm had half raised; it now fell to his side; his eyes continued to study, =
with
swift, piercing glance, the man who had called. He was not a fear-inspiring
object; hunger and privation seemed so to have gripped him that now he
presented but a pitiable shadow of himself.
Did John Steele notice that changed, abject
aspect, that bearing, devoid totally of confidence? All pretense of a certa=
in
coster smartness that he remembered, had vanished; the hair, once curled wi=
th
cheap jauntiness, hung now straight and straggling; a tawdry ornament which=
had
stood out in the past, absurdly distinct on a bright cravat, with many other
details that had served to build up a definite type of individual, seemed to
have dropped off into oblivion.
Steele looked about; they two, as far as he co=
uld
see, were alone. He regarded the man again; it was very strange, as if a
circular stage, the buskined world's tragic-comic wheel of fortune, had tur=
ned,
and a person whom he had seen in one character had reappeared in another.
"I ask your pardon." The fellow found
his voice. "I'll not be troubling you further, Mr. Steele."
The other's expression altered; he could have
laughed; he had been prepared for almost anything, but not this. The man's
tones were hopeless; very deferential, however.
"You were about to beg--of me?" John Steele smiled, as if, despite his own danger, despite his physical pangs, he found the scene odd, unexampled, between this man and himself--this man, a sorry vagrant; himself, become now but a--"You were about to--?"<= o:p>
"I had, sir, so far forgotten myself as to
venture to think of applying for temporary assistance; however--" Dandy
Joe began to shuffle off in a spiritless way, when--
"You are hungry?" said John Steele.<= o:p>
"A little, sir."
"A modest answer in view of the actual tr=
uth,
I suspect," observed the other. But although his words were brusk, he =
felt
in his pocket; a sovereign--it was all he had left about him. When he had
departed post-haste for Strathorn House, he had neglected to furnish himself
with funds for an indefinite period; a contingency he should have foreseen =
had
risen; for the present he could not appear at the bank to draw against the
balance he always maintained there. His own future, how he should be able to
subsist, even if he could evade those who sought him, had thus become
problematical. John Steele fingered that last sovereign; started to turn, w=
hen
he caught the look in the other's eyes. Did it recall to him his own plight=
but
a short twenty-four hours before?
"Very well!" he said, and was about =
to
give the coin to the man and walk away, when another thought held him.
This fellow had been a link in a certain chain=
of
events; the temptation grew to linger with him, the single, tangible, though
paltry and useless, figure in the drama he could lay hands on. John Steele
looked around; in a byway he saw the lighted window of a cheap oyster buffe=
t. It
appeared a place where they were not likely to be interrupted, and motionin=
g to
the man, he wheeled abruptly and started for it.
A few minutes later found them seated in the
shabby back room; a number of faded sporting pictures adorned the wall;
one--how John Steele started!--showed the 'Frisco Pet in a favorite attitud=
e.
Absorbed in studying it, he hardly heard the proprietor of the place, and it
was Joe who first answered him; he had the honor of being asked there by th=
is gentleman,
and--he regarded John Steele expectantly.
Steele spoke now; his dark eyes shone strangel=
y; a
sardonic expression lurked there. The proprietor could bring his companion a
steak, if he had one. Large or small?--large--with an enigmatical smile.
The "hexibition styke" in the window;
would that do, queried the proprietor, displaying it.
Would it? the eyes of the erstwhile dandy of t=
he
east side asked of John Steele; that gentleman only answered with a nod, and
the supplemental information that he would take "half a dozen natives
himself." The proprietor bustled out; from an opposite corner of the r=
oom,
the only other occupant regarded with casual curiosity the two ill-assorted=
figures.
Tall, florid, Amazonian, this third person represented a fair example of th=
e London
grisette, the _petite dame_ who is not very petite, of its thoroughfares.
Setting down a pewter pot fit for a guardsman, she rose and sauntered toward
the door; stopping there, with one hand on her hip, she looked back.
"Ever see 'im?" she observed, nodding
her bonnet at the portrait. "Noticed you appeared hinterested, as if y=
ou
'ad!"
"Perhaps!" Steele laughed, not
pleasantly. "In my mind's eye, as the poet says."
"Wot the--!" she retorted elegantly.
"'Ere's a swell toff to chawf a lidy! 'Owever," reflectively,
"I'ave 'eard 'e could 'it 'ard!"
"But that," said the gentleman,
indicating the tankard, "could hit harder."
"My hyes; wot's the name of yer missionary
friend, ragbags?" to Joe.
"The gentleman's a lawyer, and when I tell
you his name is--"
John Steele reached over and stopped the speak=
er;
the woman laughed.
"Perhaps it ayn't syfe to give it!"<= o:p>
Her voice floated back now from the threshold;
predominated for a moment later in one of the corners of the bar leading to=
the
street: "Oi soi, you cawn't go in for a 'arf of bitters without a bloo=
min'
graveyard mist comin' up be'ind yer back!" Then the door slammed; the
modern prototype of the "roaring girl" vanished, and another
voice--hoarse, that of a man--was heard:
"The blarsted fog is coming down fast.&qu=
ot;
For some time the two men in the little back r=
oom
sat silent; then one of them leaned over: "She might have asked you th=
at
question, eh, Joe?" The speaker's eyes had turned again to the picture=
.
The smaller man drew back; a shiver seemed to =
run
over him. "They're a long while about the steak," he murmured.
"For your testimony helped to send him ov=
er
the water, I believe?" went on the other.
"How do you--? I ain't on the stand now, =
Mr.
Steele!" A spark of defiance momentarily came into Dandy Joe's eyes.
"No; no!" John Steele leaned back, h=
alf
closed his eyes; again pain, fatigue seemed creeping over him. Outside soun=
ded
the clicking and clinking of glasses, a staccato of guffaws, tones _vivace_.
"The harm's been done so far as you are concerned; you, as a factor, h=
ave disappeared
from the case."
"Glad to hear you say so, Mr. Steele. I
mean," the other's voice was uncertain, cautious, "that's a matter
long since dead and done with. Didn't imagine you ever knew about it; becau=
se
that was before your time; you weren't even in London then." The keen =
eyes
of the listener rested steadily on the other; seemed to read deeper. "=
But
as for my testimony helping to send him over the water--"
"Or under!" _sotto voce_.
Joe swallowed. "It was true, every word of
it."
"Good!" John Steele spoke almost
listlessly. "Always stick by any one who sticks to you,--whether a fri=
end,
or a pal, or a patron."
"A patron!" From the other's lips fe=
ll
an oath; he seemed about to say something but checked himself; the seconds =
went
by.
"But even if there had been something not
quite--strictly in accord--which there wasn't"--quickly--"a man
couldn't gainsay what had been said," Dandy Joe began.
"He could," indifferently.
"But that would be--"
"Confessing to perjury? Yes."
"Hold on, Mr. Steele!" The man's eyes
began to shine with alarm. "I'm not on the---"
"I know. And it wouldn't do any good, if =
you
were."
"You mean--" in spite of himself, the
fellow's tones wavered--"because he's under the water?"
"No; I had in mind that even if he hadn't
been drowned, your---"
"Wot! Hadn't---"
"A purely hypothetical case! If the sea g=
ave
up its dead"--Joe stirred uneasily--"any retraction on your part
wouldn't serve him. In the first place, you wouldn't confess; then if you
did--which you wouldn't--to employ the sort of Irish bull you yourself
used--you would be discredited. And thus, in any contingency," leaning
back with folded arms, his head against the wall, "you have become
_nil_!"
"Blest if I follow you, sir!"
"That, also," said John Steele,
"doesn't matter. The principal subject of any consequence, relating to
you, is the steak, which is now coming." As he spoke, he rose, leaving
Dandy Joe alone at the table.
For a time he did not speak; sitting before a
cheerless fire, that feebly attempted to assert itself, he looked once or t=
wice
toward the door, as if mindful to go out and leave the place.
But for an inexplicable reason he did not do s=
o;
there was nothing to be gained here; yet he lingered. Perhaps one of those
subtle, illusory influences we do not yet understand, and which sometimes s=
hape
the blundering finite will, mysteriously, without conscious volition, was a=
t work.
One about to stumble blindly forward, occasionally stops; why, he knows not=
.
John Steele continued to regard the dark coals=
; to
divers and sundry sounds from the table where the other ate, he seemed
oblivious. Once when the proprietor stepped in, he asked, without looking
around, for a certain number of grains of quinine with a glass of water; th=
ey
probably kept it at the bar. Yes, the man always had it on hand and brought=
it in.
A touch of fever, might he ask, as the visitor
took it; nothing to speak of, was the indifferent answer.
Well, the gentleman should have a care; the
gentleman did not reply except to ask for the reckoning; the proprietor fig=
ured
a moment, then departed with the sovereign that had been tossed to the tabl=
e.
By this time Dandy Joe had pushed back his cha=
ir;
his dull eyes gleamed with satisfaction; also, perhaps, with a little calcu=
lation.
"Thanking you kindly, sir, it's more than=
I
had a right to expect. If ever I can do anything to show--"
"You can't!"
"I don't suppose so," humbly. Joe lo=
oked
down; he was thinking; a certain matter in which self-interest played no sm=
all
part had come to mind. John Steele was known to be generous in his services=
and
small in his charges. Joe regarded him covertly. "Asking your pardon f=
or referring
to it--but you've helped so many a poor chap--there's an old pal of mine wh=
at
is down on his luck, and, happenin' across him the other day, he was asking=
of
me for a good lawyer, who could give him straight talk. One moment, sir! He=
can
pay, or soon would be able to, if--"
"I am not at present," Steele
experienced a sense of grim humor, "looking for new clients."
"Well, I thought I'd be mentioning the
matter, sir, although I hadn't much hopes of him being able to interest the
likes of you. You see he's been out of old England for a long time, and was
goin' away again, when w'at should he suddenly hear but that his old woman =
that
was, meaning his mother, died and left a tidy bit. A few hundred pounds or =
so;
enough to start a nice, little pub. for him and me to run; only it's in the=
hands
of a trustee, who is waiting for him to appear and claim it."
"You say he has been out of England?"
John Steele stopped. "How long?"
"A good many years. There was one or two
little matters agin him when he left 'ome; but he has heard that certain
offenses may be 'outlawed.' Not that he has much 'ope his'n had, only he wa=
nted
to see a lawyer; and find out, in any case, how he could get his money
without--"
"The law getting hold of him? What is his
name?"
"Tom Rogers."
For some minutes John Steele did not speak; he
stood motionless. On the street before the house a barrel-organ began to pl=
ay;
its tones, broken, wheezy, appealed, nevertheless, to the sodden senses of
those at the bar:
&=
nbsp;
"Down with the Liberals, Tories, Parties of all
degree."
Dandy Joe smiled, beat time with his hand.
"You can give me," John Steele spoke
bruskly, taking from his pocket a note-book, "this Tom Rogers'
address."
Joe looked at the other, seemed about to speak=
on
the impulse, but did not; then his hand slowly ceased its motion.
"I, sir--you see, I can't quite do that--=
for
Tom's laying low, you understand. But if you would let him call around
quiet-like, on you--"
John Steele replaced the note-book. "On
me?" He spoke slowly; Dandy Joe regarded him with small crafty eyes.
"I hardly think the case will prove sufficiently attractive."
The other made no answer; looked away
thoughtfully; at the same moment the proprietor stepped in. Steele took the
change that was laid on the table, leaving a half-crown, which he indicated
that Dandy Joe could appropriate.
"Better not think of going now, sir,"
the proprietor said to John Steele. "Never saw anything like it the way
the fog has thickened; a man couldn't get across London to-night to save his
neck."
"Couldn't he?" Dandy Joe stepped tow=
ard
the door. "I'm going to have a try."
A mist blew in; Dandy Joe went out. John Steele
waited a moment, then with a perfunctory nod, walked quietly to the front d=
oor.
The man had not exaggerated the situation; the fog lay before him like a th=
ick yellow
blanket. He looked in the direction his late companion had turned; his figu=
re
was just discernible; in a moment it would have been swallowed by the fog, =
when
quickly John Steele walked after him.
*
=
The
dense veil overhanging the city, while favorable to John Steele in some
respects, lessening for the time his own danger, made more difficult the ta=
sk
to which he now set himself. He dared not too closely approach the figure
before him, lest he should be seen and his purpose divined; once or twice D=
andy
Joe looked around, more, perhaps, from habit than any suspicion that he was
followed. Then the other, slackening his steps, sometimes held back too far=
and
through caution imperiled his plan by nearly losing sight of Dandy Joe
altogether. As they went on with varying pace, the shuffling form ahead see=
med
to find the way by instinct; crossed unhesitatingly many intersecting thoro=
ughfares;
paused only on the verge of a great one.
Here, where opposing currents had met and beco=
me
congested, utter confusion reigned; from the masses of vehicles of all kind=
s, constituting
a seemingly inextricable blockade, arose the din of hoarse voices. With the
fellow's figure a vague swaying shadow before him, John Steele, too, stoppe=
d;
stared at the dim blotches of light; listened to the anathemas, the angry
snapping of whips. Would Dandy Joe plunge into the mêlée; atte=
mpt
to pass through that tangle of horses and men? Apparently he found discreti=
on
the better part of valor and moving back so quickly he almost touched John
Steele, he walked down the intersecting avenue.
Several blocks farther on, the turmoil seemed =
less
marked, and here he essayed to cross; by dint of dodging and darting between
restless horses he reached the other side. A sudden closing in of cabs and
carts midway between curbs held John Steele back; he caught quickly at the
bridle of the nearest horse and forced it aside. An expostulating shout, a =
half-scream
from somewhere greeted the action; a whip snapped, stung his cheek. An inst=
ant
he paused as if to leap up and drag the aggressor from his seat, but instead
with closed hands and set face he pushed on; to be blocked again by an
importunate cab.
"Turn back; get out of this somehow,
cabby!" He heard familiar tones, saw the speaker, Sir Charles, and, by=
his
side--yes, through the curtain of fog, so near he could almost reach out and
touch her, he saw as in a flash, Jocelyn Wray!
She, too, saw him, the man in the street, his =
pale
face lifted up, ghost-like, from the mist. A cry fell from her lips, was lo=
st
amid other sounds. An instant eyes looked into eyes; hers, dilated; his, un=
naturally
bright, burning! Then as in a daze the beautiful head bent toward him; the
daintily clad figure leaned forward, the sensitive and trembling lips half
parted.
John Steele sprang back, to get free, to get o=
ut
of there at once! Did she call? he did not know; it might be she had given
voice to her surprise, but now only the clatter and uproar could be heard. =
In
the fog, however, her face seemed still to follow; confused, for a moment, =
he
did not heed his way. Something struck him--a wheel? He half fell, recovered
himself, managed to reach the curb.
He was conscious now of louder shoutings; of t=
he
sting on his cheek; of the traffic, drifting on--slowly. Then he, too, star=
ted
to walk away, in the opposite direction; it mattered little whither he bent=
his
footsteps now. Dandy Joe had disappeared; the hope of attaining his end thr=
ough
him, of being led to the retreat of one he had so long desired to find, had
proved illusive. The last moment's halt had enabled him to escape, to fade =
from
view like a will-o'-the-wisp.
John Steele did not go far in mere aimless
fashion; leaning against a wall he strove once more to plan, but ever as he=
did
so, through his thought the girl's fair face, looking out from enshrouding
lace, intruded. Again he felt the light of her eyes, all the bitterness of =
spirit
their surprise, consternation, had once more awakened in him.
He looked out at the wagons, the carts, the
nondescript vehicles of every description; but a moment before she had been
there,--so near; he had caught beneath filmy white the glitter of gold,--her
hair, the only bright thing in that murk and gloom. He recalled how he had =
once
sat beside her at the opera. How different was this babel, this grinding an=
d crunching
of London's thundering wheels!
But around her had always been dreams that had=
led
him into strange byways, through dangerous, though flowery paths! To what e=
nd?
To see her start, her eyes wide with involuntary dread, shrinking? Could he=
not
thus interpret that look he had seen by the flare of a carriage lamp, when =
she
had caught sight of him?
Dread of him? It seemed the crowning mockery; =
his
blood surged faster; he forgot his purpose, when a figure coming out of a p=
ublic
house, through one of the doors near which he had halted, caught his attent=
ion.
Dandy Joe, a prodigal with unexpected riches, wiped his lips as he sauntered
past John Steele and continued his way, lurching a little.
How long did Steele walk after him? The distan=
ce
across the city was far; groping, occasionally stumbling, it seemed
interminable now. Once or twice Dandy Joe lost his way, and jocularly accos=
ted
passers-by to inquire. At Seven Dials he experienced difficulty in determin=
ing
which one of the miserable streets radiating as from a common hub, would le=
ad him
in the desired direction; but, after looking hastily at various objects--a
barber's post, a metal plate on a wall--he selected his street. Narrow, dar=
k,
it wormed its way through a cankered and little-traversed part of old Londo=
n.
For a time they two seemed the only pedestrians
that had ventured forth that night in a locality so uninviting. On either s=
ide
the houses pressed closer upon them. Touching a wall here and there, John
Steele experienced the vague sensation that he had walked that way on other=
occasions,
long, long ago. Or was it only a bad dream that again stirred him? Through =
the
gulch-like passage swept a cold draft of air; it made little rifts in the f=
og;
showed an entrance, a dim light. At the same time the sound of the footstep=
s in
front abruptly ceased.
For a few minutes Steele waited; he looked tow=
ard
the place Dandy Joe had entered. It was well-known to him, and, what seemed
more important, to Mr. Gillett; the latter would remember it in connection =
with
the 'Frisco Pet; presumably turn to it as a likely spot to search for him w=
ho
had been forced to leave Captain Forsythe's home. That contingency--nay,
probability--had to be considered; the one person he most needed to find had
taken refuge in one of the places he would have preferred not to enter. But=
no
time must be lost hesitating; he had to choose. Dismissing all thought of
danger from without, thinking only of what lay before him within, he moved
quickly forward and tried the door.
It yielded; had Dandy Joe left it unfastened
purposely to lure him within, or had his potations made him unmindful? The =
man
outside neither knew nor cared; the mocking consciousness that he had turned
that knob before, knew how to proceed, held him. He entered, felt his way in
the darkness through winding passages, downward, avoiding a bad step--did h=
e remember
even that?
How paltry details stood out! The earthen floor
still drowned the sound of footsteps; the narrow hall took the same turns; =
led
on and on in devious fashion until he could hear, like the faint hum of bee=
s,
the distant rumble from the great thoroughfares, somewhere above, that para=
lleled
the course of the river. At the same time a slant of light like a sword, fr=
om
the crack of a door, gleamed on the dark floor before him; he stepped toward
it; the low sound of men's tones could be heard--Joe's; a strange voice! no=
, a
familiar one!--that caused the listener's every fiber to vibrate.
"And what did you say, when he pumped you=
for
the cote?"
"That you would rather call on him."=
"And then he cared nought for the job? Yo=
u're
sure"--anxiously--"he wasn't playing to find out?"
The other answered jocosely and walked away; a
door closed behind him. For a time the stillness remained unbroken; then a =
low
rattle, as of dice on a table, caused John Steele to glance through a crevi=
ce.
What he saw seemed to decide him to act quickly; he lifted a latch and step=
ped in.
As he did so a huge man with red hair sprang to his feet; from one great ha=
nd
the dice fell to the floor; his shaggy jowl drooped. Casting over his shoul=
der
the swift glance of an entrapped animal, he seemed about to leap backward to
escape by a rear entrance when the voice of the intruder arrested his purpo=
se,
momentarily held him.
"Oh, I'm alone! There are no police
outside." He spoke in the dialect of the pick-purse and magsman. To pr=
ove
it, John Steele stooped and locked the door.
The small bloodshot eyes lighted with wonder; =
the
heavy brutish jaws began to harden. "Alone?"
The other tossed the key; it fell at the man's
feet; John Steele walked over to the opposite door and shot a heavy bolt th=
ere.
"Looks as if it would hold," he said in thieves' argot as he turn=
ed
around.
"Are ye a gaby?" The red-headed giant
stared ominously at him.
"On the contrary," coolly, "I k=
now
very well what I am doing."
A question interlarded with oaths burst from t=
he
other's throat; John Steele regarded the man quietly. "I should think =
it
apparent what I want!" he answered. As he spoke, he sat down. "It=
is
you," bending his bright, resolute eyes on the other.
"And you've come alone?" He drew up =
his
ponderous form.
John Steele smiled. "I assure you I welco=
med
the opportunity."
"You won't long." The great fists
closed. "Do you know what I am going to do to you?"
"I haven't any curiosity," still
clinging to thieves' jargon or St. Giles Greek. "But I'm sure you won't
play me the trick you did the last time I saw you."
The fellow shot his head near; in his look sho=
ne a
gleam of recognition. "You're the swell cove who wanted to palaver that
night when--"
"You tried to rob me of my purse?"
John Steele laughed; his glance lingered on his
bulky adversary with odd, persistent exhilaration, as if after all that had
gone before, this contest royal, which promised to become one of sheer brute
strength, awoke to its utmost a primal fighting force in him. "Do you =
know
the penalty for attempting that game, Tom Rogers, alias Tom-o'-the-Road; al=
ias---"
The man fell back, in his eyes a look of feroc=
ious
wonderment. "Who are you? By---!" he said.
"John Steele."
"John Steele?" The bloodshot eyes be=
came
slightly vacuous. "The--? Then you used him," indicating savagely=
the
entrance at the back, "for a duck to uncover?" Steele nodded.
"And you're the one who's been so long at my heels?" Rage caused =
the
hot blood to suffuse the man's face. "I'll burke you for that."
John Steele did not stir; for an instant his l=
ook,
confident, assured, seemed to keep the other back. "How? With the lead,
or--"
The fellow lifted his hairy fists. "Those=
are
all I--"
"In that case--" Steele took the wea= pon, on which his hand had rested, from his pocket; rising with alacrity he plac= ed it on a rickety stand behind him. "You have me a little outclassed; ab= out seventeen stone, I should take it; barely turn thirteen, myself. However,&q= uot; tossing his coat in the corner, "you look a little soft; hardly up to = what you were when you got the belt for the heavy-weight championship. Do you remember? The 'Frisco Pet went against you; but he was only a low, ignorant sailor and had let himself get out of form. You beat him, beat him," J= ohn Steele's eyes glittered; he touched the other on the arm, "though he fought seventeen good rounds! You stamped the heart out of him, Tom."<= o:p>
The red-headed giant's arms fell to his side.
"How do you--"
"I was there!" An odd smile crossed
Steele's determined lips. "Lost a little money on that battle. Recall =
the
fourteenth round? He nearly had you; but you played safe in the fifteenth, =
and
then--you sent him down--down," John Steele's voice died away. "It
was a long time before he got up," he added, almost absently.
The listener's face had become a study; perple=
xity
mingled with other conflicting emotions. "You know all that--?"
"And all the rest! How for you the
fascination of the road became greater than that of the ring; how the old
wildness would crop out; how the highway drew you, until--"
"See here, what's your little game? Strai=
ght
now; quick! You come here, without the police, why?"
John Steele's reply was to the point; he stated
exactly what he wanted and what he meant that the other should give him. As=
the
fellow heard, he breathed harder; he held himself in with difficulty.
"And so that's what you've come for,
Mister?" he said, a hoarse guffaw falling from the coarse lips. John
Steele answered quietly. "And you think there is any chance of your
getting it? May I be asking," with an evil grin, "how you expect =
to
make me, Tom Rogers," bringing down his great fist, "do your
bidding?"
"In the first place by assuring you no ha=
rm
shall come to you. It is in my power to avert that, in case you comply. In =
the
second place, you will be given enough sovereigns to--"
"Quids, eh? Let me have sight of them,
Mister. We might talk better."
"Do you think I'd bring them here, Tom-o'=
-the-Road?
No, no!" bruskly.
"That settles it." The other made a
gesture, contemptuous, dissenting.
John Steele's manner changed; he turned sudden=
ly
on the fellow like lightning. "In the next place by giving you your ch=
oice
of doing what I ask, or of being turned over to the traps."
"The traps!" The other fellow's face
became contorted. "You mean that you--"
"Will give you up for that little job,
unless--"
For answer the man launched his huge body forw=
ard,
with fierce swinging fists.
What happened thereafter was at once brutish,
terrible, Homeric; the fellow's reserves of strength seemed immense; sheer
animal rage drove him; he ran amuck with lust to kill. He beat, rushed, str=
ove
to close. His opponent's lithe body evaded a clutch that might have ended t=
he contest.
John Steele fought without sign of anger, like a machine, wonderfully train=
ed;
missing no point, regardless of punishment. He knew that if he went down on=
ce,
all rules of battle would be discarded; a powerful blow sent him staggering=
to
the wall; he leaned against it an instant; waited, with the strong, impelli=
ng
look people had noticed on his face when he was fighting in a different way=
, in
the courts.
The other came at him, muttering; the mill had
unduly prolonged itself; he would end it. His fist struck at that face so
elusive; but crashed against the wall; like a flash Steele's arm lifted. The
great form staggered, fell.
Quickly, however, it rose and the battle was
resumed. Now, despite John Steele's vigilance, the two came together. Tom
Rogers' arm wound round him with suffocating power; strove, strained, to hu=
rl
him to earth. But the other's perfect training, his orderly living, saved h=
im
at that crucial moment; his strength of endurance lasted; with a great effo=
rt
he managed to tear himself loose and at the same time with a powerful upper=
stroke
to send Rogers once more to the floor. Again, however, he got to his feet; =
John
Steele's every muscle ached; his shoulder was bleeding anew. The need for
acting quickly, if he should hope to conquer, pressed on him; fortunately
Rogers in his blind rage was fighting wildly. John Steele endured blow after
blow; then, as through a mist, he found at length the opening he sought; an
instant's opportunity on which all depended.
Every fiber of his physical being responded; he
threw himself forward, the weight of his body, the force of a culminating
impetus, went into his fist; it hit heavily; full on the point of the chin
beneath the brutal mouth. Tom Rogers' head shot back as if he had received =
the
blow of a hammer; he threw up his arms; this time he lay where he struck th=
e ground.
John Steele swayed; with an effort he sustained
himself. Was it over? Still Rogers did not move; Steele stooped, felt his
heart; it beat slowly. Mechanically, as if hardly knowing what he did, John
Steele began to count; "Time!" Rogers continued to lie like a log;
his mouth gaped; the blow, in the parlance of the ring, had been a
"knock-out"; or, in this case, a _quid pro quo_. Yes, the last, b=
ut
without referee or spectators! The prostrate man did stir now; he groaned; =
John
Steele touched him with his foot.
"Get up," he said.
The other half-raised himself and regarded the
speaker with dazed eyes. "What for?"
John Steele went to the stand, picked up his
revolver, and then sat down at a table. "You're as foul a fighter as y=
ou
ever were," he said contemptuously.
*
=
=
The
candle burned low; it threw now on grimy floor and wall the shadows of the =
two
men, one seated at the table, the other not far from it. Before John Steele=
lay
paper and ink, procured from some niche. He had ceased writing; for the mom=
ent
he leaned back, his vigilant gaze on the figure near-by. From a corner of t=
he
room the rasping sound of a rat, gnawing, broke the stillness, then suddenly
ceased.
"Where were you on the night this woman, =
Amy
Gerard, was found dead?"
A momentary expression of surprise, of alarm,
crossed the bruised and battered face; it was succeeded by an angry suspici=
on that
glowed from the evil eyes. "You're not trying to fix that job on---&qu=
ot;
"You? No."
"Then what did you follow him here for, to
pump me? The Yankee that got transported is--"
"As alive as when he stepped before you in
the ring!"
"Alive?" The fellow stared. "No=
t in
England? It was death for him to come back!"
"Never mind his whereabouts."
The man looked at Steele closer. "Blame, =
if
there isn't something about you that puzzles me," he said.
"What?" laconically.
The fellow shook his head. "And so he's h=
ired
you?"
"Not exactly. Although I may say I repres=
ent
him."
"Well, he got a good one. You know how to=
use
your fists, Mister."
"Better than this 'Frisco Pet did once, e=
h,
Tom?" The man frowned. "But to return to the subject in hand. That
question you seemed afraid to answer just now was superfluous; I know where=
you
were the night the woman was shot."
"You do?"
"Yes; you were--" John Steele leaned
forward and said something softly.
"How'd you find that out?" asked the
man.
"The 'Frisco Pet knew where you were all =
the
time; but did not speak, because he did not wish to get you into trouble. A=
lso,
because he did not know, then, what he long afterward
learned,--indirectly!--that you could have cleared him!"
"Indirectly? I? What do you--?"
"Through your once having dropped a few
words. Wine in, wits out!"
The fellow scowled; edged his chair closer.
"Keep where you are!" John Steele's =
hand
touched the revolver now on the table before him; even as it did so, the ro=
om
seemed to sway, and it was only by a strong effort of will he kept his
attention on the matter in hand, fought down the dizziness. "And let's=
get
through with this! I don't care to waste much more of my time on you."=
"You're sure nothing will happen to me,
if--" The man watched him closer.
"This paper need never be made public.&qu=
ot;
"Then what--"
"That's my business. It might be useful in
certain contingencies."
"Such as the police discovering he hadn't
gone to Davy Jones' locker?" shrewdly.
John Steele's answer was short, as if he found=
this
verbal contest trite, paltry, after the physical struggle that had preceded=
it.
"And what am I to get if I do what
you--" The pupils of the fellow's eyes, fastened on him, were now like
pin-points.
The other smiled grimly; this bargaining and
trafficking with such a man, in a place so foul! It seemed grotesque,
incongruous; and yet was, withal, so momentous. He knew just what Rogers sh=
ould
say; what he would force him to do! In his overwrought state he overlooked =
one
or two points that would not have escaped him at another time: a certain cr=
aftiness,
or low cunning that played occasionally on that disfigured face.
"What did you say I was to get if--"=
"You shall have funds to take you out of =
the
country, and I will engage to get and forward to you the money left in trus=
t.
The alternative," he bent forward, "about fifteen years, if the
traps--"
The fellow pondered; at last he answered. For a
few minutes then John Steele wrote, looking up between words. His head bent=
now
closer to the paper, then drew back from it, as if through a slight uncerta=
inty
of vision or because of the dim light. The fellow's eyes, watching him, low=
ered.
"You know--none better!--that on that
particular night some one else--some one besides the 'Frisco Pet--entered y=
our
mother's house?"
Oaths mingled with low filchers' slang; but the
reply was forthcoming; other questions, too, were answered tentatively;
sometimes at length, with repulsive fullness of detail. The speaker hesitat=
ed
over words, shot sharp, short looks at the other; from the hand that wrote,=
to
the fingers near that other object,--strong, firm fingers that seemed ready=
to
leap; ready to act on any emergency. Unless--a shadow appeared to pass over=
the
broad, white brow, the motionless hand to waver, ever so little. Then quick=
ly
the hand moved, rested on the brown handle of the weapon, enveloped it with
light careless grasp.
"You can state of your own knowledge what
happened next?" John Steele spoke sharply; the fellow's red brows sudd=
enly
lifted.
"Oh, yes," he replied readily.
John Steele's manner became shorter; his quest=
ions
were put fast; he forced quick replies. He not only seemed striving to get
through his task as soon as possible; but always to hold the other's attent=
ion,
to permit his brain no chance to wander from the subject to any other. But =
the
fellow seemed now to have become as tractable as before he had been sullen,
stubborn; gave his version in his own vernacular, always keenly attentive,
observant of the other's every motion. His strength had apparently returned=
; he
seemed little the worse for his late encounter. At length came an interval;
just for an instant John Steele's eyes shut; the fingers that had held the =
pen
closed on the edge of the table. A quick passing expression of ferocity hov=
ered
at the corners of the observer's thick lips; he got up; at the same time Jo=
hn
Steele rose and stepped abruptly back.
"You know how to write your name?" H=
is
voice was firm, unwavering; the revolver had disappeared from the table and=
lay
now in his pocket.
"All right, gov'ner!" The other spoke
with alacrity. "I'm game; a bargain is a bargain, and I'll take your w=
ord
for it," leaning over and laboriously tracing a few letters on the pap=
er.
"You'll do your part. You'll find me square and above board, although =
you
did use me a little rough. There, here's your affadavy."
John Steele moved back to a corner of the room=
and
pulled a wire; in some far-away place a bell rang faintly. "Are----,&q=
uot;
he spoke a woman's name, obviously a sobriquet, "and her daughter still
here?"
"How?"
"Never mind; answer."
"Yes, they're here, gov'ner. You'll want =
them
for witnesses, I suppose. Well, I'll not be gainsaying you." His tones
were loud; conveyed a sense of rough heartiness; the other made no reply.
Not long after, the paper, duly witnessed, lay=
on
the table; the landlady and her daughter had gone; John Steele only waited =
for
the ink to dry. He had no blotter, or sand; the fluid was old, thick; the p=
rincipal
signature in its big strokes, with here and there a splutter, would be unin=
telligible
if the paper were folded now. So he lingered; both men were silent; a few t=
ense
minutes passed. John Steele leaned against the wall; his temples throbbed; =
the
fog seemed creeping into the room and yet the door was closed. He moved tow=
ard
the paper; still maintaining an aspect of outward vigilance, took it and he=
ld
it before him as if to examine closer.
The other said nothing, made no movement. When=
the
women had come in, his accents had been almost too frank; the gentleman had
called on a little matter of business; he, Tom Rogers, had voluntarily sign=
ed
this little paper, and they could bear witness to the fact. Now all that pr=
ofanely
free air had left him; he stood like a statue, his lips compressed; his eyes
alone were alive, speaking, alert.
John Steele folded the paper and placed it in =
an
inside pocket. The other suddenly breathed heavily; John Steele, looking at
him, walked to the door leading to the street. He put his hand on the key a=
nd
was about to turn it, but paused. Something without held his attention,--a =
crunching
sound as of a foot on a pebble. It abruptly revived misgivings that had
assailed him before entering the place, that he had felt as a vague weight
while dealing with the fellow. The police agent! Time had passed, too great=
an
interval, though he had hastened, hastened as best he might, struggling with
his own growing weakness, the other's reviving power.
Again the sound! Involuntarily he turned his h=
ead;
it was only an instant's inattention, but Tom Rogers had been waiting for i=
t.
Springing behind in a flash, he seized John Steele by the throat. It was a
deadly, terrible grip; the fingers pressed harder; the other strove, but sl=
owly
fell. As dizziness began to merge into oblivion, Rogers, without releasing =
his
hold, bent over.
"You fool! Did you think I would let you =
get
away with the paper? That I couldn't see you were about done for?"
He looked at the white face; started to unbutt=
on
the coat; as he reached in, his attention was suddenly arrested; he threw b=
ack
his head.
"The traps!"
Voices below resounded without.
"So that was your game! Well," savag=
ely,
"I think I have settled with you."
He had but time to run to the rear door, unbol=
t it
and dash out, when a crashing of woodwork filled the place, and Mr. Gillett=
looked
in.
*
=
When
John Steele began to recover, he was dimly aware that he was in a four-whee=
ler
which rattled along slowly through streets, now slightly more discernible; =
by
his side sat a figure that stirred when he did; spoke in crisp, official
accents. He, Mr. Steele, would kindly not place any further obstacles in the
way of justice being done; it was useless to attempt that; the police agent=
had
come well armed, and, moreover, had taken the precaution for this little
journey of providing a cab in front and one behind, containing those who kn=
ew
how to act should the necessity arise.
John Steele heard these words without answerin=
g;
his throat pained him; he could scarcely swallow; his head seemed bound aro=
und
as by a tight, inflexible band. The cool air, however, gradually revived hi=
m;
he drank it in gratefully and strove to think. A realization of what had
occurred surged through his brain,--the abrupt attack at the door; the arri=
val
of the police agent.
Furtively the prisoner felt his pocket; the
memorandum book containing the paper that had cost so much was gone; he loo=
ked
at the agent. Had it been shifted to Mr. Gillett's possession, or, dimly he
recalled his assailant's last words, had Rogers succeeded in snatching the
precious evidence from his breast before escaping? In the latter case, it h=
ad, undoubtedly,
ere this, been destroyed; in the former, it would, presumably, soon be
transferred to the police agent's employer. To regain the paper, if it exis=
ted,
would be no light task; yet it was the pivot upon which John Steele's fortu=
nes
hung. The principal signer was, in all likelihood, making his way out of Lo=
ndon
now; he would, in a few hours, reach the sea, and after that disappear from=
the
case. At any rate, John Steele could have nothing to hope from him in the
future; the opportune or inopportune appearance of the police agent would s=
avor
of treachery to him. John Steele moved, quickly, impatiently; but a hand, s=
wung
carelessly behind him, moved also,--a hand that held something hard.
Thereafter he remained outwardly quiescent;
resistance on his part, and the consequences that would ensue, might not be
displeasing to his chief enemy; it would settle the case in short and summa=
ry
fashion. Justification for extreme proceedings would be easily forthcoming =
and there
would be none to answer for John Steele.
Where were they going? John Steele could not
surmise; he saw, however that they had left behind the neighborhood of hove=
ls,
narrow passages and byways, and traversed now one of the principal circuses.
There the street traffic moved smoothly; they seemed but an unimportant par=
t of
an endless procession which they soon left to turn into a less public, more=
aristocratic
highway. A short distance down this street, the carriages suddenly stopped
before an eminently respectable and sedate front, and, not long after, John
Steele, somewhat to his surprise, found himself in Lord Ronsdale's rooms and
that person's presence.
The nobleman had been forewarned of John Steel=
e's
coming. He sat behind a high desk, his figure and part of his face screened=
by
its massive back. One drawer of the desk was slightly opened. What could be
seen of his features appeared sharper than usual, as if the inner virulence,
the dark hidden passions smoldering in his breast had at length stamped the=
ir
impression on the outer man. When he first spoke his tones were more irasci=
ble,
less icily imperturbable, than they had been hitherto. They seemed to tell =
of a
secret tension he had long been laboring under; but the steady cold eyes lo=
oked
out from behind the wood barrier with vicious assurance.
The police agent he addressed first; his servi=
ces
could be dispensed with for the present; he should, however, remain in the =
hall
with his men. Mr. Gillett looked from the speaker to him he had brought the=
re
and after a moment turned and obeyed; but the instant's hesitation seemed t=
o say
that he began to realize there was more to the affair than he had fathomed.=
"There is no need for many words between =
us,
Mr. Steele." Lord Ronsdale's accents were poignant and sharp. "Had
you listened to what Mr. Gillett, on my behalf, would have said to you that
night in the gardens at Strathorn House, we might, possibly, both of us, ha=
ve
been saved some little annoyance. We now start at about where we were befor=
e that
little contretemps."
John Steele silently looked at Lord Ronsdale; =
his
brain had again become clear; his thoughts, lucid. The ride through the cool
and damp air, this outré encounter at the end of the journey, had ac=
ted
as a tonic on jaded sense and faculty. He saw distinctly, heard very plainl=
y;
his ideas began to marshal themselves logically. He could have laughed at L=
ord Ronsdale,
but the situation was too serious; the weakness of his defenses too obvious.
Proofs, proofs, proofs, were what the English jury demanded, and where were
his? He could build up a story; yes, but--if he could have known what had t=
aken
place between Mr. Gillett and this man a few minutes before, when the polic=
e agent
had stepped in first and tarried here a brief period before ushering him in=
!
Had Mr. Gillett delivered to his noble patron =
the
memorandum book and other articles filched from John Steele's pockets? That
partly opened drawer--what did it contain? The nobleman's hand lingered on =
the
edge of it; with an effort the other resisted allowing his glance to rest
there.
He even refused to smile when Lord Ronsdale, a=
fter
a sharper look, asked him to be seated; he seemed to sift and weigh the pros
and cons of the invitation in a curious, calm fashion; as if he felt himself
there in some impersonal capacity for the purpose of solving a difficult ca=
techetical
problem.
"Yes; I think I will." He sat down i=
n a
stiff, straight-backed chair; it may be he felt the need of holding in rese=
rve
all his physical force, of not refusing to rest, even here.
Lord Ronsdale's glance narrowed; he hesitated =
an
instant. "To go back to Strathorn House--a very beautiful place to go =
back
to," his tones for the moment lapsed to that high pitch they sometimes
assumed, "Mr Gillett had there received from me certain instructions.
Whatever you once were," seeming not to notice the other's expression,
"you have since by your own efforts attained much. How--?" His br=
ows
knit as at something inexplicable. "But the fact remained, was perhaps
considered. Exposure would have meant some--unpleasantness for your
friends." The eyes of the two men met; those of Lord Ronsdale were ful=
l of
sardonic meaning. "Friends who had trusted you; who," softly,
"had admitted you to their firesides, not knowing--" he broke off.
"They," he still adhered to the plural, "would have been dee=
ply
shocked, pained; would still be if they should learn--"
"If?" John Steele did manage to cont=
ain
himself, but it was with an effort; perhaps he saw again through the fog a
girl's face, white and accusing, which had appeared; vanished. "You sp=
oke
of certain instructions?" he even forced himself to say.
"Mr. Gillett, in the garden at Strathorn
House, was authorized by me to offer you one chance of avoiding exposure,
and," deliberately, "the attendant consequences; you were to be
suffered to leave London, this country, with the stipulation that you should
never return." John Steele shifted slightly. "You did not expect
this," quickly, "you had not included that contingency in your
calculations?"
"I confess," in an even, emotionless
voice, "your lordship's complaisance amazes me."
"And you would have accepted the
alternative?" The nobleman's accents were now those of the service, di=
plomatic;
they were concise but measured.
"Why discuss what could never have been
considered?" was the brusk answer.
Lord Ronsdale frowned. "We are still fenc=
ing;
we will waste no more time." Perhaps the other's manner, assured,
contemptuously distant, goaded him; perhaps he experienced anew all that fi=
rst
violent, unreasoning anger against this man whose unexpected coming to Lond=
on
had plunged him into an unwelcome and irritating role. "That alternati=
ve
is still open. Refuse, and--you will be in the hands of the authorities to-=
night.
Resist--" His glittering eyes left no doubt whatever as to his meaning=
.
"I shall not resist," said John Stee=
le.
"But--I refuse." He spoke recklessly, regardlessly.
"In that case--" Lord Ronsdale half
rose; his face looked drawn but determined; he reached as if to touch a bel=
l.
"You force the issue, and--"
"One moment." As he spoke John Steele
stepped toward the fireplace; he gazed downward at a tiny white ash on the
glowing coals; a little film that might have been--paper? "In a matter=
so
important we may consider a little longer, lest," still regarding the
hearth, "there may be after-regrets." His words even to himself
sounded puerile; but what they led to had more poignancy; he lifted now his
keen glowing eyes. "In one little regard I did your lordship an
injustice."
"In what way?" The nobleman had been
studying him closely, had followed the direction of his glance; noted almost
questioningly what it had rested on--the coals, or vacancy?
"In supposing that you yourself murdered =
Amy
Gerard," came the unexpected response. The other started violently.
"Your lordship will forgive the assumption in view of what occurred on=
a
certain stormy night at sea, when a drowning wretch clung with one hand to a
gunwale, and you, in answer to his appeal for succor, bent over and--"=
"It's a lie!" The words fell in a sh=
arp
whisper.
"What?" John Steele's laugh sounded
mirthlessly. "However, we will give a charitable interpretation to the
act; the boat was already overcrowded; one more might have endangered all. =
Call
it an impulse of self-preservation. Self-preservation," he repeated;
"the struggle of the survival of the fittest! Let the episode go.
Especially as your lordship incidentally did me a great service; a very gre=
at
service." The other stared at him. "I should have looked at it on=
ly
in that light, and then it would not have played me the trick it did of
affording a false hypothesis for a certain conclusion. Your lordship knows =
what
I mean, how the true facts in this case of Amy Gerard have come to light?&q=
uot;
John Steele's glance was straight, direct; if =
the
other had the paper, had read it, he would know.
Lord Ronsdale looked toward the bell, hesitate=
d.
"I think you had better tell me," he said at last.
"If your lordship did not kill the woman-=
-if
the 'Frisco Pet did not, then who did?" Ronsdale leaned forward just in
the least; his eyes seemed to look into the other's as if to ask how much, =
just
what, he had learned. John Steele studied the nobleman with a purpose of his
own. "Why, she killed herself," he said suddenly.
"How?" The nobleman uttered this wor=
d,
then stopped; John Steele waited. Had Lord Ronsdale been surprised at his
knowledge? He could hardly tell, from his manner, whether or not he had the
affidavit and had read it.
"How--interesting!" The nobleman was
willing to continue the verbal contest a little longer; that seemed a point
gained. "May I ask how it occurred?"
"Oh, it is all very commonplace! Your
lordship had received a threatening letter and called on the woman. She wan=
ted
money; you refused. She already had a husband living in France, a ruined
gambler of the Bourse, but had tricked you into thinking she was your wife.=
You
had discovered the deception and discarded her. From a music-hall singer sh=
e had
gone down--down, until she, once beautiful, courted, had become a mere--what
she was, associate of one like Dandy Joe, cunning, unscrupulous. At your
refusal to become the victim of their blackmailing scheme, she in her anger
seized a weapon; during the struggle, it was accidentally discharged."=
Was Lord Ronsdale asking himself how the other=
had
learned this? If Rogers had escaped with the paper, John Steele knew Ronsda=
le
might well wonder that the actual truth should have been discovered; he wou=
ld
not, under those circumstances, even be aware of the existence of a witness=
of
the tragedy. But was Lord Ronsdale assuming a manner, meeting subtlety with
subtlety? John Steele went on quietly, studying his enemy with close, atten=
tive
gaze.
"At sound of the shot, Joe, who had been
waiting below in the kitchen with the landlady, rushed up-stairs. You expla=
ined
how it happened; were willing enough to give money now to get away quietly
without being dragged into the affair. The dead woman's confederate, greedy=
for
gain even at such a moment, would have helped you; but there was a difficul=
ty:
would the police accept the story of suicide? There were signs of a struggl=
e.
At that instant some one entered the house, came stumbling up the stairs; it
was the--'Frisco Pet."
John Steele paused; his listener sat stiff,
immovable. "Joe hurried you out, toward a rear exit, but not before,&q=
uot;
leaning slightly toward Lord Ronsdale, "an impression of your face, pa=
le,
drawn, had vaguely stamped itself on the befuddled brain," bitterly,
"of the fool-brute. You lost no time in making your escape; little was
said between you and Joe; but he proved amenable to your suggestion; the way
out of the difficulty was found. He hated the Pet, who had once or twice
handled him roughly for abusing this poor creature. You gave Joe money to h=
ave
the landlady's testimony agree with his; she never got that money,"
meaningly, "but gave the desired evidence. Joe had found out
something."
Once more the speaker stopped; there remained a
crucial test. If Lord Ronsdale had the paper, what John Steele was about to=
say
would cause him no surprise; he would be prepared for it. The words fell
sharply:
"The landlady's son, Tom Rogers, was at t=
he
time in the house, in hiding from the police. He was concealed above in a s=
mall
room or garret; through a stove-pipe opening, disused, he looked down into =
the sitting-room
below and heard, saw all!"
The effect was instantaneous, magical; Lord
Ronsdale sprang to his feet; John Steele looked at him, at the wavering fac=
e,
the uncertain eyes. No doubt existed now in his mind; Gillett had not secur=
ed
the paper, or he would have given it to his patron when they were alone. Th=
at
fact was patent; the document was gone, irretrievably; there could be no ho=
pe
of recovering it. The bitter knowledge that it had really once existed would
not serve John Steele long. But with seeming resolution he went on: "I=
had
the story from his own lips," deliberately, "put in the form of an
affidavit, duly signed and witnessed."
"You did?" Lord Ronsdale stared at h=
im a
long time. "This is a subterfuge."
"It is true."
"Where--is the paper?"
"Not in my pocket."
The other considered. "You mean it is in a
safe place?"
"One would naturally take care of such a
document."
"You did not have any such paper at
Strathorn."
"No?" John Steele smiled but he did =
not
feel like smiling. "Not there certainly."
"I mean no such paper existed then, or you
would have taken advantage of it."
John Steele did not answer; he looked at the
drawer. The affidavit was not there; but something else was.
"You are resourceful, that is all."<= o:p>
Lord Ronsdale had now quite recovered himself;=
he
sank back into his chair. "You have, out of fancy, constructed a libel=
ous
theory; one that you can not prove; one that you would be laughed at for
advancing. A cock-and-bull story about a witness who was not a witness; a p=
aper
that doesn't exist, that never existed."
A sound at the door caused him to turn sharply=
; a
knocking had passed unheeded. The door opened, closed. Mr. Gillett, a troub=
led,
perturbed look on his face, stood now just within. "Your lordship!&quo=
t;
"Well?" the nobleman's manner was
peremptory.
The police agent, however, came forward slowly.
"I have here something that one of our men has just turned over to
me." John Steele started; but neither of the others noticed. "He
found it at the last place we were; evidently it had been dropped by the fe=
llow
who was there and who fled at our coming." As he spoke, he stepped nea=
rer
the desk, in his hand a paper.
"What is it?" Lord Ronsdale demanded
testily.
Mr. Gillett did not at once answer; he looked =
at
John Steele; the latter stood like a statue; only his eyes were turned towa=
rd
the nobleman, to the thin aristocratic hand yet resting on the edge of the
drawer.
"If your lordship will glance at it?"=
; said
Mr. Gillett, proffering the sheet.
The nobleman did so; his face changed; his eyes
seemed unable to leave the paper. Suddenly he gave a smothered explanation;
tore the sheet once, and started up, took a step toward the fire.
"Stop!" The voice was John Steele's;=
he
stood now next to the partly-opened drawer, in his hand that which had been
concealed there, something bright, shining. Lord Ronsdale wheeled, looked at
the weapon and into the eyes behind it. "Place those two bits of paper
there--on the edge of the desk!"
*
=
Lord
Ronsdale hesitated; his thin jaws were set so that the bones of the cheek
showed; his eyes gleamed. When he did move it was as if blindly, precipitat=
ely,
to carry out his first impulse.
"I wouldn't!" What John Steele held
vaguely included, in the radius of its possibilities, Mr. Gillett.
"Unless--"
"You wouldn't dare!" Lord Ronsdale
trembled, but with impotent passion, not fear. "It would be--"
"Self-defense! The paper would remain--fu=
ll
vindication. In fact the paper already is mine. Whether I kill you or not is
merely incidental. And to tell you the truth I don't much care how you
decide!"
Again Lord Ronsdale seemed almost to forget
caution; almost, but not quite; perhaps he was deterred by the look on John
Steele's face, scornful, mocking, as half-inviting him to cast all prudence=
to
the winds. This bit of evidence that he had not calculated upon, it was har=
d to
give it up; but no other course remained. Besides, another, Gillett, knew of
its existence; Lord Ronsdale felt he could not depend on that person in an
emergency of this kind; the police agent's manner was not reassuring. He se=
emed
inclined to be more passive than aggressive; perhaps he had been somewhat
overcome by this unexpected revelation and the deep waters he who boasted o=
f an
"eminently respectable and reputable agency" had unwittingly drif=
ted
into; in climaxes of this character one's thoughts are likely to center on
self, to the exclusion of patron or employer, however noble. The police age=
nt
looked at Ronsdale and waited to see what he would do.
The nobleman moved toward the desk; the paper
fluttered from his cold fingers; when once more John Steele buttoned his co=
at
the affidavit had again found lodgment in his waistcoat pocket.
It seemed a tame, commonplace end; but it was =
the
end; all three men knew it. John Steele's burning glance swept from Lord
Ronsdale to Gillett; lingered with mute contemplation. What now remained to=
be
done should be easily, it seemed almost too easily, accomplished. He felt l=
ike
one lingering on the stage after the curtain had gone down; the varied
excitement, the fierce play of emotion was over; the actors hardly appeared
interesting.
What he said was for Lord Ronsdale alone; after
Gillett had gone, he laid down a condition. In certain respects it was a mo=
ment
of triumph; but he experienced no exultation, only a supreme weariness, an
anxiety to be done with the affair, to go. But the one point had first to b=
e made,
emphasized; to be accepted by the other violently, quietly, resignedly,--Jo=
hn
Steele did not care what his attitude might be; what he chiefly felt was th=
at
he did not wish to waste much time on him.
"And if I refuse to let you dictate in a
purely private concern?" Lord Ronsdale, white with passion, had answer=
ed.
"The end will be the same for you. As mat=
ters
stand, Sir Charles no doubt thinks still that you would make a desirable
_parti_ for his niece. His wife, Lady Wray, unquestionably shares that opin=
ion.
Their combined influence might in time prevail, and Jocelyn Wray yield to t=
heir
united wishes. This misfortune," with cutting deadliness of tone, &quo=
t;it
is obvious must be averted. You will consent to withdraw all pretensions in
that direction, or you will force me to make public this paper. A full
exposition of the case I think would materially affect Sir Charles and Lady
Wray's attitude as to the desirability of an alliance between their family =
and
yours."
"And yourself? You forget," with a
sneer, "how it would affect you!"
"Myself!" John Steele laughed. "=
;You
fool! Do you imagine I would hesitate for that reason?"
The nobleman looked at him, at the glowing,
contemptuous eyes. "Hesitate? Perhaps not! You love her yourself,
and--"
John Steele stepped toward him. "Stop, or=
--I
have once been almost on the point of killing you to-night--don't--" he
broke off. "The condition? You consent or not?"
"And if I--? You would--?"
"Keep your cowardly secret? Yes!"
To this the other had replied; of necessity the
scene had dragged along a little farther; then John Steele found himself on=
the
stairway, going down.
It was over, this long, stubborn contest; he
hardly heard or saw a cab drive up and stop before the house as he went out=
to
the street, was scarcely conscious of some one leaving it, some one about to
enter who suddenly stopped at sight of him and exclaimed eagerly, warmly. He
was not surprised; with apathy he listened to the new-comer's words; rambli=
ng,
disconnected, about a letter that had intercepted him at Brighton and broug=
ht
him post-haste to London.
A letter? John Steele had entered the cab; he =
sank
back; when had he written a letter? Weeks ago; he looked at this face,
familiar, far-off; the fog was again rising around him. He could hardly see=
; he
was glad he did not have to stir; he seemed to breathe with difficulty.
"Where--are we going?"
"To Rosemary Villa."
"I--should prefer--my own
chambers"--John Steele spoke with an effort--"it is nearer--and I=
'm a
bit done up. Besides, after a little rest, there are--some business matters=
--to
be attended to--that will
need looking after as soon as--"
His head fell forward; Captain Forsythe looked=
at
him; called up loudly, excitedly to the driver.
*
A
dubious sort of day, one that seemed vainly trying to appear cheerful! A day
that threw out half-promises, that showed tentatively on the sky a mottled =
blur
where the sun should have been! On such a day, a month after that night in =
Lord
Ronsdale's rooms, Captain Forsythe, calling on John Steele, found himself
admitted to the sitting-room. While waiting for an answer to his request to=
see
Mr. Steele, he gazed disapprovingly around him. The rooms were partly
dismantled; a number of boxes littering the place indicating preparations to
move. Captain Forsythe surveyed these cases, more or less filled; then he s=
hook
his head and lighted a cigar. But as he smoked he seemed asking himself a
question; he had not yet found the answer when a footstep was heard and the=
subject
of his ruminations entered the room. John Steele's face was paler than it h=
ad
been; thinner, like that of a man who had recently suffered some severe
illness.
"Ah, Forsythe!" he said, with an
assumption of cheeriness. "So good of you!"
"That's all very well," was the answ=
er.
"But what about those?" With his cigar he indicated vaguely the
boxes.
"Those? Not yet all packed, are they? Lazy
beggars, your London servants, just before leaving you!" he laughed.
"See here!" Forsythe looked at him.
"You're not well enough yet to--"
"Never felt better!"
"No chance to get you to change your mind=
, I
suppose?"
"Not in the least!"
For a few moments Forsythe said nothing; then,
"Weed?" he asked, offering Steele a cigar.
"Don't believe I'll begin just yet a
while."
"Oh!" significantly. "Quite fit,
eh?" Forsythe's tone sounded, in the least, scoffing; John Steele went=
to
the window; stood with his back to it. A short time passed; the military man
puffed more quickly. It seemed the irony of fate, or friendship, that now t=
hat
he was just beginning to get better acquainted with Steele the latter should
inconsistently determine to leave London.
"Anything I can do for you when you're
away?" began Captain Forsythe. "Command me, if there is. Needn't =
say--"
"There's only one thing," John Steele
looked at him; his voice was steady, quiet. "And we've already spoken
about that. You will let me know if Ronsdale doesn't keep to the letter of =
the
condition?"
"Very well." Captain Forsythe's
expression changed slightly, but the other did not appear to notice.
"Although I don't imagine the contingency will arise," he added
vaguely, looking at his cigar rather than John Steele.
"Nevertheless I shall leave with you
certified copies of all the papers," said Steele in a short matter-of-=
fact
tone. "These, together with the one you furnished me, are absolutely
conclusive."
"The one I furnished you!" Captain
Forsythe rested his chin on the knob of his stick. "Odd about that, wa=
sn't
it?--that the day in the library at Strathorn House, when I was about to te=
ll
you how I had better success the second time I visited the landlady, we sho=
uld
have been interrupted. And," looking at the other furtively, "by
Jocelyn Wray!" Steele did not answer. "If I had only seen the dri=
ft
of your inquiries, had detected more than a mere perfunctory interest! With=
the
confession given me on her death-bed by the landlady, that she had testifie=
d falsely
to protect her good-for-nothing son, and acknowledging that another whom she
did not know by name, but whom she described minutely, had entered the hous=
e on
the fatal night--with this confession in your hands, a world of trouble mig=
ht
have been saved. As it is," he ended half-ruefully, "you have fou=
nd
me most unlike the proverbial friend in need, who is--"
"A friend, indeed!" said John Steele,
placing a hand on the other's shoulder, while a smile, somewhat constrained,
lighted his face for a moment. "Who at once rose to the occasion; hast=
ened
to London on the receipt of a letter that was surely a test of
friendship--"
"Oh, I don't know about that!" quick=
ly.
"Test of friendship, indeed!" Captain Forsythe looked slightly
embarrassed beneath the keen searching eyes. "Don't think of it,
or--Besides," brightening, "I had to come; telegram from Miss Wra=
y,
don't you know."
"Miss Wray!" Steele's hand fell sudd=
enly
to his side; he looked with abrupt, swift inquiry at the other.
Captain Forsythe bit his lips. "By
Jove!--forgot--" he murmured. "Wasn't to say anything about
that."
"However, as you have--" John Steele
regarded him steadily. "You received a telegram from--"
"At the same time that your letter
intercepted me at Brighton."
"Asking you to return to London?"
"Exactly. She--wanted to see me."
"About?" John Steele's eyes asked a
question; the other nodded. "Of course; not difficult to understand; h=
er
desire to hush up the affair; her fear," with a short laugh, "lest
the scandal become known. A guest at Strathorn House had been--"
"I don't think it was for--"
"You found out," shortly, "that
she, too, had learned--knew--"
"Yes; she made me aware of that at once w=
hen
she came to see me with Sir Charles. It was she sent your luggage--"
"Sir Charles? Then he, also?--"
"No. You--you need feel no apprehension on
that score." A peculiar expression came into the other's glance. "=
;You
see his niece told him it was not her secret; asked him to help her, to tru=
st
her. Never was a man more perplexed, but he kept the word he gave her on
leaving for London, and forebore to question her. Even when they drove thro=
ugh
London in that fog--"
"Yes, yes. I know--"
"You? How--?"
John Steele seemed not to hear. "She saw =
you
that night?"
"She did, alone in the garden of Rosemary
Villa. Sir Charles behaved splendidly. 'All right, my dear; some day you'll
tell me, perhaps,' he said to her. 'Meanwhile, I'll possess my soul in
patience.' So while he smoked in the cab, we talked it over." An insta=
nt
he regarded John Steele as if inviting him to look behind these mere words;=
but
John Steele's half-averted face appeared set, uncommunicative. Perhaps agai=
n he
saw the girl as he had last seen her at Strathorn House; her features, aliv=
e,
alight, with scorn and wounded pride.
"Well?" he said shortly. "And t=
he
upshot of it all was--"
"She suggested my going to Lord
Ronsdale."
"To invoke his assistance, perhaps!"
Steele once more laughed. "As an old friend!" Captain Forsythe
started to speak; the other went on: "Well, we'll keep his secret, as =
long
as he keeps his compact."
"But--"
"I promised. What does it matter? Sir Cha=
rles
may be disappointed at not being able to bring about--But for her sake--tha=
t is
the main consideration."
"And you, the question of your own
innocence--to her?" Forsythe looked at him narrowly, smiled slightly to
himself.
"Is--inconsequential! The main point is--=
the
'Frisco Pet is dead. Gillett won't speak; you won't; Lord Ronsdale can't.
Another to whom I am about to tell the story, will, I am sure, be equally
silent."
"Another? You don't mean to say you are
deliberately going to--" Captain Forsythe frowned; a bell rang.
John Steele smiled. "Can you think of no =
one
to whom I am bound to tell the truth, the whole truth? Who extended me his =
hand
in friendship, invited me to his home? Of course it would be easier to go
without speaking; it is rather difficult to own that one has accepted a man=
's hospitality,
stepped beneath his roof and sat at his board, as--not to mince words--an
impostor. I could have delegated you--to tell him all; but that wouldn't do=
. It
is probably a part of the old, old debt; but I must meet him face to face; =
so I
have sent for--"
A servant opened the door of the library; Sir
Charles Wray walked in.
*
Below, in the cab, Jocelyn waited; her pale fa=
ce
expressed restlessness; her eyes, deep and shining, were bent on the river,
fixed unseeingly on a small boat that struggled, struggled almost in vain,
against the current. Then they lowered to something she held in her hand, a=
bit
of crumpled paper. It was John Steele's note to Sir Charles asking him to c=
all;
stating nothing beyond a mere perfunctory request to that end, giving no re=
ason
for his wish to see him.
Her eyes lingered on the message; beneath the
bright golden hair, her brows drew together. The handwriting was in the lea=
st
unlike his, not quite so bold and firm as that she remembered in one or two
messages from him to her--some time ago. But then he had been ill, Captain =
Forsythe
had told her, and was still, he thought, far from well.
She made a movement; the little fingers crumpl=
ed
the message; then one of them thrust it within her glove. She continued to =
sit
motionless, how long? The small boat, with sail at the bow and plodding oar=
at
stern, at length drew out of sight; the paper made itself felt in her warm
palm. Why did not her uncle return? He had been gone some time now; what--w=
hat could
detain him?
"Can you drop in at my chambers for a few
minutes?" John Steele had written. "A few minutes;" the blue
eyes shone with impatience. He was leaving London, Captain Forsythe had
informed her; and, she concluded, he wanted to see her uncle before he left.
But not her, no; she had driven there, however, with Sir Charles, on some l=
ight
pretext--for want of something better to do--to be out in the air--
"I'll wait here in the cab," she had
said to her uncle, when he had left it before John Steele's dwelling. "=
;At
least," meeting the puzzled gaze that had rested on her more than once
lately, "I may, or may not wait. If I get tired--if when you come back,
you don't find me, just conclude," capriciously, "I have gone on =
some
little errand of my own. Shopping, perhaps."
"Jocelyn!" he had said, momentarily =
held
by her eyes, her feverish manner. "There is something wrong, isn't the=
re?
Hasn't the time come yet, to tell?"
"Something wrong? What nonsense!" she
had laughed.
She recalled these words now, found it intoler=
able
to sit still. Abruptly she rose and stepped from the cab.
"My uncle is gone a long while," she
said to the man, up behind.
"Oh, no, miss; not so werry!" consul=
ting
a watch. "A matter of ten minutes; no more."
No more! She half started to move away; looked
toward the house. Brass plates, variously disposed around the entrance and
appearing nearly all alike as to form and size, stared at her. One metal si=
gn a
shock-headed lad was removing--"John Steele"--she read the plain,
modest letters, the inscription, "Barrister" beneath; she caught =
her
breath slightly.
"He certainly is very long," she
repeated mechanically.
"Why don't you go in and see wot's detain=
ing
of him?" vouchsafed the cabby in amicable fashion as he regarded the
hesitating, slender figure. "That's wot my missus allus does, when she
thinks the occasion--which I'll not be mentioning--the proper one."
"Third floor to the right, miss!" sa=
id
the boy, occupied in removing the sign and stepping aside as he spoke, to a=
llow
her to pass. "If it's Mr. Steele's office you're looking for! You'll s=
ee
'Barrister' in brass letters, as I said to the old gentleman; I haven't got=
at
them yet; to take them down, I mean."
"Thank you," she said irresolutely, =
and
without intending to enter, found herself within the hall. There a narrow
stairway lay before her; he pointed to it; with an excess of juvenile
solicitude and politeness, boyhood's involuntary tribute to youth and beaut=
y in
need of assistance, he told her to go on, "straight up."
And she did, unreasoningly, mechanically; one
flight, two flights! The steps were well worn; how many people had walked up
and down here carrying burdens with them. Poor people, crime-laden people!
Before many doors, she saw other signs, "Barristers." And of that
multitude of clients, how many left these offices with heavy hearts! In that
dim, vague light of stairway and landings she seemed to feel, to see, a gho=
stly
procession, sad-eyed, weary. But Captain Forsythe had said that John Steele=
had
helped many, many. Her own heart seemed strangely inert, without life; she
stood suddenly still, as if asking herself why she was there.
Near his door! About to turn, to retrace her
steps--an illogical sequence to the illogical action that had preceded it, =
she
was held to the spot by the door suddenly opening; a man--a servant, broom =
in hand--who
had evidently been engaged in cleaning one of the chambers within, was step=
ping
out! In surprise he regarded her, this unusual type of visitor, simply yet
perfectly gowned. A lady, or a girl--patrician, aristocratic to her
finger-tips; very fair, striking to look upon! So different from most of the
people who came hither to air their troubles, to seek assistance.
"You wished to see Mr. Steele?"
For an instant the servant's words and his dir=
ect,
almost challenging look held the girl. Usually self-contained as she was, s=
he
felt that perhaps he had caught some fleeting expression in her eyes, when =
at
his abrupt appearance she had lifted them with a start from the brass lette=
rs.
The proud head nodded affirmatively to the inquiry.
"Well, you can be stepping into the libra=
ry,
miss," said the man. "Mr. Steele is engaged just now; but--"=
"That is just it," she said,
straightening. "My uncle is with him, and I wished to see--"
"If you will walk in," he said.
"You can wait here."
Jocelyn on the instant found no reason for
refusing; the door closed behind her; she looked around. She stood in a lib=
rary
alone; beyond, in another chamber, she heard voices--her uncle's, John
Steele's.
*
=
And
yet those tones were not exactly like John Steele's; they sounded familiar,=
yet
different. What made the difference? His recent illness? The character of w=
hat
he was saying, the fact that he represented himself, not another, in this c=
ase?
He was speaking quickly, clearly, tersely. Very tersely, thought the girl; =
not,
however, to spare himself; a covert ring of self-scorn precluded that idea.=
"Those boxes contained books; yours, Sir
Charles!" were the first words the girl caught.
"Mine! Bless my soul!" Her uncle's
surprised voice broke in. "You don't mean to tell me that all those
volumes I had boxed for Australia and which I thought lost on the _Lord Nel=
son_
came ashore on your little coral isle?"
Came ashore on his coral isle; the girl caught=
at
the words. Of course he had been saved, he who had saved her from the wild =
sea;
she had realized that after their last meeting at Strathorn House. But how?=
He had
reached an island, then--by what means? Some day her uncle would tell her; =
she
understood now why he had sent for Sir Charles, the motive that had prompted
him to an ordeal, not at all easy. She was glad; she would never have told =
herself,
and yet she could realize, divine, the poignant pain this lifting of the
curtain, this laying bare the past, must cost him. She, too, seemed to feel=
a
part of that pain; why? It was unaccountable.
"Exactly!" said John Steele succinct=
ly.
"And never were angels in disguise more foully welcomed!"
"Bless my soul!" Sir Charles' amazed
voice could only repeat. "I remember most of those books well--a brave
array; poets, philosophers, lawmakers! Then that accounts for your--! It is
like a fairy tale."
"A fairy tale!" Jocelyn Wray gazed
around her; at books, books, on every side. She regarded the door leading o=
ut;
was half-mindful to go; but heard the man-servant in the hall--and lingered=
.
"Nothing so pleasant, I assure you,"
John Steele answered Sir Charles shortly. Then with few words he painted a
picture uncompromisingly; the girl shrank back; perhaps she wished she had =
not
come. This, truly, was no fairy tale, but a wild, savage drama, primeval, t=
he
picture of a soul battling with itself on the little lonely isle. She could=
see
the hot, angry sun, feel its scorching rays, hear the hissing of the waves.=
All
the man's strength for good, for ill, went into the story; the isle became =
as
the pit of Acheron; at first there were no stars overhead. The girl was very
pale; she could not have left now; she had never imagined anything like thi=
s.
She had looked into Greek books, seen pictures of men chained to rocks and
struggling against the anger of the gods--but they had appeared the mere
fantasies of mythology. The drama of the little coral isle seemed to unfold=
a
new and real vista of life into which she had unconsciously strayed. She ha=
rdly
breathed; her hand had leaped to her breast; she felt alternately oppressed,
thrilled. Her eyes were star-like; but like stars behind mist. Strange!
strange!
"When the man woke," he had said,
"he cursed the sea for bringing him as he thought nothing. One desire
tormented him. It became intolerable. Day after day he went down to the oce=
an,
but the surf only leaped in derision. For the thousandth time he cursed it,=
the
isle to which he was bound. Weeks passed, until, almost mad through the
monotony of the long hours, one day he inadvertently picked up a book. The
brute convict could just read. Where, how he ever learned, I forget. He beg=
an
to pick out the words. After that--"
"After that?" The girl had drawn clo=
ser;
his language was plain, matter-of-fact. The picture that he drew was without
color; she, however, saw through a medium of her own. The very landscape
changed now, remained no longer the terrible, barren environment. She seeme=
d to
hear the singing of the birds, the softer murmur of the waves, the purring =
of
the stream. It was like a mask, one of those poetic interpolations that the
olden poets sometimes introduced in their tragedies. John Steele paused. Wa=
s it
over?--Almost; the coral isle became a study; there was not much more to te=
ll.
Through the long months, the long years, the man had fought for knowledge a=
s he
had always fought for anything; with all his strength, passion, energy.
"Incredible! By Jove!" she heard Sir
Charles' voice, awed and admiring. "I told you, Steele, when you were
about to begin, that we people of the antipodes take a man for what he is, =
not
for what he was. But I am glad to have had your confidence and--and--tell m=
e,
how did you happen to light on the law, for special study and
preparation?"
"You forget that about half your superb library was law-books, Sir Charles. A most comprehensive collection!"<= o:p>
"So they were! But you must have had wond=
erful
aptitude."
"The law--the ramifications it creates for
the many, the attendant restraints for the individual--I confess interested=
me.
You can imagine a personal reason or--an abstract one. From the lonely
perspective of a tiny coral isle, a system, or systems,--codes of conduct, =
or
morals, built up for the swarming millions, so to speak!--could not but pos=
sess
fascination for one to whom those millions had become only as the far-away
shadows of a dream. You will find a few of those books, minus fly-leaf and
book-plate, it shames me to say!--still in my library, and--"
"Bless you; you're welcome to them,"
hastily. "No wonder that day in my library you spoke as you did about
books. 'Gad! it's wonderful! But you say at first you could hardly read? Yo=
ur
life, then, as a boy--pardon me; it's not mere idle curiosity."
"As a boy!" John Steele repeated the
words almost mechanically. "My parents died when I was a child; they c=
ame
of good stock--New England." He uttered the last part of the sentence
involuntarily; stopped. "I was bound out, was beaten. I fought, ran aw=
ay.
In lumber camps, the drunken riffraff cursed the new scrub boy; on the
Mississippi, the sailors and stevedores kicked him because the mate kicked
them. Everywhere it was the same; the boy learned only one thing, to fight.
Fight, or be beaten! On the plains, in the mountains, before the fo'castle,=
it
was the same. Fight, or--" he broke off. "It was not a boyhood; it
was a contention."
"I believe you." Sir Charles' accents
were half-musing. "And if you will pardon me, I'll stake a good deal t=
hat
you fought straight." He paused. "But to go back to your isle, yo=
ur
magic isle, if you please. You were rescued, and then?"
"In a worldly sense, I prospered; in New
Zealand, in Tasmania. Fate, as if to atone for having delayed her favors, n=
ow
lavished them freely; work became easy; a mine or two that I was lucky enou=
gh
to locate, yielded, and continues to yield, unexpected returns. Without
especially desiring riches, I found myself more than well-to-do."
"And then having fairly, through your own
efforts, won a place in the world, having conquered fortune, why did you re=
turn
to England knowing the risk, that some one of these fellows like Gillett, t=
he
police agent, might--"
"Why," said John Steele, "becau=
se I
wished to sift, to get to the very bottom of this crime for which I was
convicted. For all real wrong-doing--resisting officers of the law--offenses
against officialdom--I had paid the penalty, in full, I believe. But this o=
ther
matter--that was different. It weighed on me through those years on the isl=
and
and afterward. A jury had convicted me wrongfully; but I had to prove it; to
satisfy myself, to find out beyond any shadow of a doubt, and--"
"He did." For the first time Captain
Forsythe spoke. "Steele has in his possession full proofs of his innoc=
ence
and I have seen them; they go to show that he suffered through the cowardic=
e of
a miserable cad, a titled scoundrel who struck his hand from the gunwale of=
the
boat when the _Lord Nelson_ went down, yes, you told that story in your fev=
ered
ramblings, Steele."
"Forsythe!" the other's voice rang o=
ut
warningly. "Didn't I tell you the part he played was to be forgotten
unless--"
"All right, have your way," grudging=
ly.
"A titled scoundrel! There was only one
person of rank on the _Lord Nelson_ besides myself, and--Forsythe"--the
old nobleman's voice called out sharply--"you have said too much or too
little."
John Steele made a gesture. "I have given=
my
word not to--"
"But I haven't!" said Captain Forsyt=
he.
"The confession I procured, and what I subsequently learned, led me
directly to--Here is the tale, Sir Charles."
*
It was over at last; they were gone, Sir Charl=
es
and Captain Forsythe; their hand-clasps still lingered in his. That was
something, very much, John Steele told himself; but, oddly, with no percept=
ible
thrill of satisfaction. Had he become dead to approval? What did he want? Or
what had been wanting? Sir Charles had been affable, gracious; eminently ju=
st in
his manner. But the old man's sensibilities had been cruelly shocked; Ronsd=
ale,
the son of his old friend, a miserable coward who, if the truth were known,
would be asked to resign from every club he belonged to! And he, Sir Charle=
s,
had desired a closer bond between him and one he loved well, his own niece!=
Perhaps John Steele divined why the hearty old
man's face had grown so grave. Sir Charles might well experience shame for =
this
retrogression of one of his own class, the broken obligations of nobility; =
the
traditions shattered. But he thanked John Steele in an old-fashioned, court=
ly
way for what he had once done for his niece whose life he had saved. Perhap=
s it
was the reaction in himself; perhaps John Steele merely fancied a distance =
in
the other's very full and punctilious expression of personal indebtedness; =
his
courteous reiteration that he should feel honored by his presence at any and
all times at his house!
For a few moments now John Steele remained
motionless, listening to their departing footsteps; then turned and gazed
around him.
Never had his rooms appeared more cheerless, m=
ore
barren, more empty. No, not empty; they were filled with memories. Hardly
pleasant ones; recollections of struggles, contentions that had led him
to--what? His chambers seemed very still; the little street very silent. Ti=
me
had been when he had not felt its solitude; now he experienced only a sense=
of irksomeness,
isolation. The man squared his shoulders and looked out again from the wind=
ow
toward that small bit of the river he could just discern. Once he had gazed=
at
it when its song seemed to be of the green banks and flowers it had passed =
by;
but that had been on a fairer occasion; at the close of a joyous, spring da=
y.
How it came back to him; the solemn court of justice, the beautiful face, an
open doorway, with the sunshine golden without and a figure that, ere passi=
ng
into it, had turned to look back! It was but for an instant, yet again his =
gaze
seemed to leap to that luring light, the passing gleam of her eyes, that had
lingered--
That he saw now! or was it a dream? At the
threshold near-by, some one looked out; some one as fair, fairer, if that c=
ould
be, whose cheeks wore the tint of the wild rose.
"Pardon me; I came up to see if my
uncle--"
He stared at her, at the beautiful, tremulous
lips, the sheen of her hair--
"You!--"
"Yes." She raised a small, gloved ha=
nd
and swept back a disordered tress.
"Your--your uncle has just gone," he
said.
"I know."
"You do?" He knew it was no dream, t=
hat
the fever had not returned, that she really stood there. Yet it seemed
inexplicable.
"I was in the library when they--went out=
. I
had come up to see--I was with my uncle in the cab--and wondered why he--&q=
uot;
She stopped; he took a quick step toward her.
"You were in there, that room, when--"
"Yes," she said, and threw back her
head, as if to contradict a sudden mistiness that seemed stupidly sweeping =
over
her gaze. "Why did you not tell me--you did not?--that you were
innocent?"
"You were in there?" He did not seem=
to
catch her words. "Heard--heard--?"
A moment they stood looking at each other;
suddenly she reached out her hands to him. With a quick exclamation he caug=
ht
and held them.
But in a moment he let them fall. What had he = been about to say, to do, with the fair face, the golden head, so near? He stepp= ed back quickly--madness! Had he not yet learned control? Had the lessons not = been severe enough? But he was master of himself now, could look at her coldly. Fortunately she had not guessed, did not know he had almost--She stood near= the back of a chair, her face half-averted; perhaps she appeared slightly paler, but he was not sure; it might be only the shadow of the thick golden hair.<= o:p>
"You--are going away?" She was the f=
irst
to speak. Her voice was, in the least, uncertain.
"To-morrow," without looking at her.=
"Where, if I may ask?"
"To my own country."
"America."
"Yes."
"It is very large," irrelevantly.
"I remember--of course, you are an American; I--I have hardly realized=
it;
we, we Australians are not so unlike you."
"Perhaps," irrelevantly on his part,
"because your country, also, is--"
"Big," said the girl. Her hands moved
slightly. "Are--are you going to remain there? In America, I mean?&quo=
t;
He expected to; John Steele spoke in a
matter-of-fact tone; he could trust himself now. The interview was just a
short, perfunctory one; it would soon be over; this he repeated to himself.=
"But--your friends--here?" Her lips
half-veiled a tremulous little smile.
"My friends!" Something flashed in h=
is
voice, went, leaving him very quiet. "I am afraid I have not made many
while in London." Her eyes lifted slightly, fell. "Call it the ho=
ming
instinct!" he went on with a laugh. "The desire once more to beco=
me
part and parcel of one's native land; to become a factor, however small, in=
its
activities."
"I don't think you--will be--a small
factor," said the girl in a low tone.
He seemed not to hear. "To take up the fi=
ght
where I left it, when a boy--"
"The fight!" The words had a far-away
sound; perhaps she saw once more, in fancy, an island, the island. Life was=
for
strong people, striving people. And he had fought and striven many times;
hardest of all, with himself. She stole a glance at his face; he was looking
down; the silence lengthened. He waited; she seemed to find nothing else to
say. He too did not speak; she found herself walking toward the door.
"Good-by." The scene seemed the repl=
ica
of a scene somewhere else, sometime before. Ah, in the garden, amid flowers,
fragrance. There were no flowers here--
"Good-by." He spoke in a low voice.
"As I told Captain Forsythe, you--you need not feel concern about the
story ever coming out--"
"Concern? What do you mean?"
"Your telegram to Captain Forsythe, the f=
ear
that brought you to London--"
"The--you thought that?"--swiftly.
"What else?"
The indignation in her eyes met the surprise in
his.
"Thank you," she said; "thank y=
ou
for that estimate of me!"
"Miss Wray!" Contrition, doubt,
amazement mingled in his tone.
"Good-by," she said coldly.
And suddenly, as one sees through a rift in the
clouds the clear light, he understood.
*
"You will go with me? You!"
"Why, as for that--"
Fleece of gold! Heaven of blue eyes! They were=
so
near!
"And if I did, you who misinterpret motiv=
es,
would think--"
"What?"
"That I came here to--"
"I should like to think that."
"Well, I came," said the girl, "=
;I
don't know why! Unless the boy who was taking down the signs had something =
to
do with it!"
"The--?"
"He said to go 'straight up'!" she
laughed.
He laughed, too; all the world seemed laughing=
. He
hardly knew what he said, how she answered; only that she was there, slende=
r,
beautiful, as the springtime full of flowers; that a miracle had happened, =
was happening.
The mottled blur in the sky had become a spot of brightness; sunshine filled
the room; in a cage above, a tiny feathered creature began to chirp.
"And Sir Charles? Lady Wray?" He spo=
ke
quietly, but with wild pulsing of temples, exultant fierce throbbing of hea=
rt;
he held her from all the world.
"They?" She was silent a moment; then
looked up with a touch of her old, bright imperiousness. "My uncle lov=
es
me, has never denied me anything, and he will not in this--that is, if I te=
ll
him--"
"What?"
Did her lips answer; or was it only in her wil=
ful,
smiling eyes that he read what he sought?
"Jocelyn!"
Above the little bird, with a red spot on its
breast, bent its bead-like eyes on them; but neither saw, noticed. Besides,=
it
was only a successor to the bird that had once been hers; that had flown li=
ke a
flashing jewel from her soul to his, in that place, seawashed, remote from =
the world.