Part 49 (1/2)
”Look here, James Wilton,” said Garstang, looking at him curiously; ”have you come here to insult me with your suspicions? If this young lady has left your roof, do you suppose I have had anything to do with it?”
”Yes, I do, and a great deal,” cried Wilton, angrily. ”You can't hoodwink me, even if you can net me and fleece me. Do you think I am blind?”
”In some things, very,” said Garstang, contemptuously--
”Then I'm not in this. I see through your plans clearly enough, but you are checked. Where is that boy of yours?”
”I have no boy,” said Garstang, contemptuously.
”Well, then, where is your stepson?”
”I do not know, James Wilton. Harry Dasent has long enough ago taken, as your son here would say, the bit in his teeth. I have not seen him since he came down to your place. But surely,” he cried, springing up excitedly, ”you do not think--”
”Yes, I do think, sir,” cried Wilton, rising too; ”I am sure that young scoundrel has carried her off. He has been hanging about my place all he could since she has been there, and paying all the court he could to her, and you know it as well as I do, the scoundrel has persuaded her that she was ill-used, and lured her away.”
”By Jove!” said Garstang, softly, as he stood looking thoughtfully at the carpet, and apparently hardly hearing a word in his stupefaction at this announcement,
”Do you hear what I say, sir?” cried Wilton, fiercely, for he was now thoroughly angry; ”do you hear me?”
”Yes, yes, of course,” cried Garstang, making an effort as if to rouse himself. ”Well, and if it is as you suspect, what then? Reckless as he is, Harry Dasent would make her as good a husband as Claud Wilton, and a better, for he is not related to her by blood.”
”You dare to tell me that!” thundered Wilton.
”Yes, of course,” said Garstang, coolly. ”Why not?”
”Then you do know of it; you are at the bottom of it all; you have helped him to carry her off.”
”I swear I have not,” said Garstang, quietly. ”I would not have done such a thing, for the poor girl's sake. It may be possible, just as likely as for your boy here, to try and win the girl and her fortune, but I swear solemnly that I have not helped him in any way.”
”Then you tell me as a man--as a gentleman, that you did not know he had got her away?”
”I tell you as a man, as a gentleman, that I did not know he had got her away. What is more, I tell you I do not believe it. Tell me more. How and when did she leave? When did you miss her?”
”Night before last--no, no, I mean the next morning after you had left.
She had gone in the night.”
Garstang's hand shot out, and he caught Wilton by the shoulder with a fierce grip, while his lip quivered and his face twitched, as he gazed at him with a face full of horror.
”James Wilton,” he said, in a husky voice, ”you jump at this conclusion, but did anyone see them go?”
”No: no one.”
”You don't think--”
”Think what, man? What has come to you?”
”She was in terrible trouble, suffering and hysterical, when she went up to her room,” continued Garstang, with his voice sinking almost to a whisper, and with as fine a piece of acting as could have been seen off the stage. ”Is it possible that, in her trouble and despair, she left the house, and--”
He ceased speaking, and stood with his lips apart, staring at his visitor, who changed colour and rapidly calmed down.
”No, no,” he said, and stopped to dear his voice. ”Impossible! Absurd!