Part 38 (1/2)

There was no note of challenge in his voice, neither was there any dismay. But the effect of his words upon every man present was as if he had flung a bomb into their midst. The silence endured tensely for a couple of seconds, then there came a hard breath and a general movement as if by common consent the company desired to put an end to a situation, that had become unendurable.

Bertie Oakes dug Tommy in the ribs, but Tommy was as white as death and did not even feel it. Something had happened, something that made him feel giddy and very sick. That significant silence was to him nothing short of tragedy. He had seen his hero topple at a touch from the high pinnacle on which he had placed him, and he felt as if the very ground under his feet had become a quicksand.

As in a maze of s.h.i.+fting impressions he heard Sir Reginald valiantly covering the sudden breach, talking inconsequently in a language which Tommy could not even recognize as his own. And the Colonel was seconding his efforts, while Major Burton sat frowning at the end of his cigar as if he were trying to focus his sight upon something infinitesimal and elusive. No one looked at Monck, in fact everyone seemed studiously to avoid doing so. Even his brother seemed lost in meditation with his eyes fixed immovably upon a lamp that hung from the ceiling and swayed ponderously in the draught.

Then at last there came a definite move, and Bertie Oakes poked him again. ”Are you moonstruck?” he said.

Tommy got up with the rest, still feeling sick and oddly unsure of himself. He pushed his brother-subaltern aside as if he had been an inanimate object, and somehow, groping, found his way to the door and out to the entrance for a breath of air.

It was raining heavily and the odour of a thousand intangible things hung in the atmosphere. For a s.p.a.ce he leaned in the doorway undisturbed; then, heralded by the smell of a rank cigar, Ralston lounged up and joined him.

”Are you looking for a safe corner to catch fever in?” he inquired phlegmatically, after a pause.

Tommy made a restless movement, but spoke no word.

Ralston smoked for a s.p.a.ce in silence. From behind them there came the rattle of billiard-b.a.l.l.s and careless clatter of voices. Before them was a pall-like darkness and the endless patter of rain.

Suddenly Ralston spoke. ”Make no mistake!” he said. ”There's a reason for everything.”

The words sounded irrelevant; they even had a sententious ring. Yet Tommy turned towards him with an impulsive gesture of grat.i.tude.

”Of course!” he said.

Ralston relapsed into a ruminating silence. A full minute elapsed before he spoke again. Then: ”You don't like taking advice I know,” he said, in his stolid, somewhat gruff fas.h.i.+on. ”But if you're wise, you'll swallow a stiff dose of quinine before you turn in. Good-night!”

He swung round on his heel and walked away. Tommy knew that he had gone for his nightly game of chess with Major Burton and would not exchange so much as another half-dozen words with any one during the rest of the evening.

He himself remained for a while where he was, recovering his balance; then at length donned his mackintosh, and tramped forth into the night.

Ralston was right. Doubtless there was a reason. He would stake his life on Everard's honour whatever the odds.

In a quiet corner of the ante-room sat Everard Monck, deeply immersed in a paper. Near him a group of bridge-players played an almost silent game. Sir Reginald and his brother had followed the youngsters to the billiard-room, the Colonel had accompanied them, but after a decent interval he left the guests to themselves and returned to the ante-room.

He pa.s.sed the bridge-players by and came to Monck. The latter glanced up at his approach.

”Are you looking for me, sir?”

”If you can spare me a moment, I shall be glad,” the Colonel said formally.

Monck rose instantly. His dark face had a granite-like look as he followed his superior officer from the room. The bridge-players watched him with furtive attention, and resumed their game in silence.

The Colonel led the way back to the mess-room, now deserted. ”I shall not keep you long,” he said, as Monck shut the door and moved forward.

”But I must ask of you an explanation of the fact which came to light this evening.” He paused a moment, but Monck spoke no word, and he continued with growing coldness. ”Rather more than a year ago you refused a Government mission, for which your services were urgently required, on the plea of pressing business at Home. You had Home leave--at a time when we were under-officered--to carry this business through. Now, Captain Monck, will you be good enough to tell me how and where you spent that leave? Whatever you say I shall treat as confidential.”

He still spoke formally, but the usual rather pompous kindliness of his face had given place to a look of acute anxiety.

Monck stood at the table, gazing straight before him. ”You have a perfect right to ask, sir,” he said, after a moment. ”But I am not in a position to answer.”

”In other words, you refuse to answer?” The Colonel's voice had a rasp in it, but that also held more of anxiety than anger.