Part 25 (1/2)
”Alas, there was!” said Mr Beckett, with a whilance at Lionel, who, despite himself and his suspicions, felt draard the enemy It was a friendly party of three that walked toward the summer-house
On the whole, tea was a successful ht led the conversation--reehtened with pleasure, excitement, or kindred emotions Lionel, who had studied her attentively for no short period, had never seen her in such a , unusually ready with the froth of sparkling s her for the first time would have believed her a clever _flaneuse_, a butterfly with brains and beauty, living solely for the moment But Lionel, who knew her better and had soue and conspiracy, found hi Was she nervous? And if so, of what?
Mr Beckett had little opportunity to display his social gifts The abilities, doubtless great to secure his present office, perforce lay hidden But the few sentences he uttered, by way of confirh to show hiht, some wit, and in close touch with the affairs of nations An old h the mask of frivolity he assumed out of compliment to his environment was occasionally dropped in moments of repose At such moments he appeared tired--not physically, but of mundane trivialities
At last Winifred rose ”You know htly to Lionel: ”I must vanish speedily No! don't move Stay here and smoke I shall escort Mr Beckett----”
”You still, then----” began the a at the hint She interrupted him bruskly
”Still--still--still! Are we not always 'stilling'? I wonder that aremarkable in that Oh, do not interrupt!”--for hehis mouth to speak--”I will hear no excuses for banality 'The ringing grooves of change' is pure fallacy; change is absent; only the grooves re, is now, and--do I shock you?” she asked abruptly, turning to Lionel
”Surprise; not shock,” he sratitude Surprise is one of nature's best gifts, but at our ree, Mr
Beckett?”
He, too, smiled, but mournfully
”I have more need to count my birthdays than you,” he said ”If your surprises are fe many can I hope for?”
”_Nil desperandu him, comrade-like, by the ar--soh the tire!”
”I hope not!” he said more briskly ”As it has only just come from London this afternoon to take me back after ood-by, Mr Morti hands ”No chance of seeing you down here again presently, I suppose?”
”Who knows?” said Miss Arkwright vivaciously, taking the words fro adventurer like Mr Beckett, whose only serious business is golf----”
She did not finish the sentence, but led hi that the slander was ill-deserved Lionel watched theht did not colad of her absence, for he could only think, and think, and think again what it allto find some key to the perpetual problem There were Beatrice, Winifred and the a, perplexing, questioning Where was the clew? If only he could put his hand on so scheme! Beatrice had warned hi Good: that was definite, and the ah politics? The life of Lukos? It seearden, but the facts were stubborn Then he had not heard froht be identical Stay! he had discarded that Let us begin again from another point Why had Winifred invited his amorous interest? She--but Beatrice had warned hiainst the wiles of Winifred Her seductive friendshi+p had been simply a trapbut, no! the reer, the sincerity of her--love? the faith of her eyes--all denied a trap Winifred could not be a conspirator; at worst she un to sympathize with her enemies But if that were so, she must soon be on the side of Beatrice, of whom she would speedily be jealous! His brain reeled
The sus was that he must keep his eyes open,--a poor result for so much mental effort That, however, was all he achieved by dinner-time, and he sucked small comfort therefroloomily as he played with dinner ”I went into this adventure too light-heartedly I thought it a ga now, but I don't seem to havefor so that isn't there,--that's Lionel Mortimer, Esquire Old man, you'd better have a drink”
Sensations were crowding thick upon hiht was to bear a heavy interest within a few brief hours In the library, after further futile pondering, he tried to distract his thoughts with books
It was a failure; he could not concentrate his attention on printed words for ether Always he ca frorunt of dissatisfaction, he got up at last at eleven o'clock and knocked out his pipe upon the hearth As he did this he heard a slight crunch as of a foot upon the gravel He turned quickly toward the Frenchand saw that he had forgotten to dran the blind He saw soliainst the pane, _watching_ The face vanished almost before the retina had tis at once--it was a man's face, and a man he had never seen before
Lionel did exactly what you and I would have done He stood stock-still for a ainst his ribs as if intent on bursting its way through to the light, hahtened, you are badly frightened, you are badly frightened” ”Yes,” said Lionel, after three seconds' pardonable collapse, ”I _ahten the other chap!” And with laudable swiftness he ran to the , threw it open and called, ”Who's there?”
Of course there was no answer With a thawing of the faculties he ran back, seized the poker and turned off the light Then he stepped outside to look for the night-prowler, longing for soht was starless Not a breath of wind stirred the leaves Not a bird twittered a hint of arass brushed by a spy's foot proerness now that action was possible and a clew at hand, he walked round the house, eyes and ears alert for theto be seen It was only too clear that the watcher by night had escaped the ood purpose could be served by a random pursuit in the dark Lionel went back to the library, secured the s and lighted a fresh pipe
Of course he could not arouse the house If, as seemed certain, this watcher were a Turkish spy, it would be absurd to enlist Miss Arkwright's aid Better to say nothing, still watch--but even o to bed
It was a quarter to twelve when he went up-stairs, still se Anxious not to disturb any one at that unseasonable hour, he took off his slippers at the foot of the stairs and advanced in his ”stocking-feet” Without the slightest noise he tiptoed along the corridor Just before he reached his rooht A line of light cut the blackness, and Lionel stood still involuntarily, without purpose, waiting, expectant of soirl in a pretty pink dressing-gown caht of the waiting Lionel