Part 23 (1/2)
”We are rather a grim party! And yet my old uncle is absolutely the finest man I ever struck.”
”I don't wonder that you admire him.”
”You don't know what he is, Captain Dollar. He got the V.C. when he was my age in Burmah, but he deserves one for almost every day of his ordinary home life.”
Dollar made no remark; the young fellow offered him a cigarette, and was encouraged to light another himself. He required no encouragement to talk.
”The funny thing is that he's not really my uncle. I'm _her_ nephew; and she's a wonderful woman, too, in her way. She runs the whole place like a book; she's thrown away here. But--I can't help saying it--I should like her better if I didn't love him!”
”Talking of books,” said Dollar, ”the General told me he was writing one, and that you were helping him?”
”He didn't tell you what it was about?”
”No.”
”Then I mustn't. I wish I could. It's to be the last word on a certain subject, but he won't have it spoken about. That's one reason why it's getting on his nerves.”
”_Is_ it his book?”
”It and everything. Doesn't he remind you of a man sitting on a powder-barrel? If he weren't what he is, there'd be an explosion every day. And there never is one--no matter what happens!”
Dollar watched the pale youth swallowing his smoke.
”Do they often talk about crime?”
”Always! They can't keep off it. And Aunt Essie always changes the subject as though she hadn't been every bit as bad as uncle. Of course they've had a good lot to make them morbid. I suppose you heard about poor Dingle, the last gardener?”
”Only just”
”He was the last man you would ever have suspected of such a thing. It was in those trees just outside.” The crickets made extra merry as he paused. ”They didn't find him for a day and a night!”
”Look here! I'm not going to let you talk about it,” said Dollar. But the good-humored rebuff cost him an effort. He wanted to hear all about the suicide, but not from this worn lad with an old man's smile. He knew and liked the type too well.
”I'm sorry, Captain Dollar.” Jim Paley looked sorry. ”Yet, it's all very well! I don't suppose the General told you what happened last night?”
”Well, yes, he did, but without going into any particulars.”
And now the doctor made no secret of his curiosity; this was a matter on which he could not afford to forego enlightenment. Nor was it like raking up an old horror; it would do the boy more good than harm to speak of this last affair.
”I can't tell you much about it myself,” said he. ”I was wondering if I could, just now on the lawn. That's where it happened, you know.”
”I didn't know.”
”Well, it was, and the funny thing is that I was there at the time. I used to go out with the dog for a cigarette when they turned in; last night I was foolish enough to fall asleep in a chair on the lawn. I had been playing tennis all the afternoon, and had a long bike-ride both ways. Well, all I know is that I woke up thinking I'd been shot; and there was my aunt with a revolver she insists on carrying--and poor Muggins as dead as a door-nail.”
”Did she say it was an accident?”
”She behaved as if it had been; she was all over the poor dead brute.”
”Rather a savage dog, wasn't it?”