Part 32 (1/2)

I started up in my bed.

”Lie down!” he snarled, with a sudden fierceness, and with a queer sense of helplessness I obeyed him.

”That's right,” he continued, with a patronising smile. ”Keep quiet and listen!”

For the moment, however, there was nothing for me to listen to, since Marston sat silent, watching with evident enjoyment the concern which I betrayed. He had chosen the easiest way with me. The least hint of condescension in another's voice always made me conscious in the extreme of my own shortcomings, and I felt that I lay helpless in some new toils of his weaving.

At last he spoke.

”You killed Count Lukstein.”

I was prepared for the accusation by his previous words.

”Well?” I asked, in as natural a tone as I could command.

”Well,” he returned, ”I would not be too hard with you. What if you returned to c.u.mberland to-day, and stayed there? Your estates, I am sure, will thrive all the better for their master's supervision.”

”My estates,” I replied, ”have a steward to supervise them. Their master will return to them at no man's bidding.”

”It is a pity, a very great pity,” said he thoughtfully, flicking his switch in the air. ”For not only are you unwise in your own interests, but you drive me to a proceeding which I a.s.sure you is very repugnant and distasteful to my nature. Really, Mr. Buckler, you should have more consideration for others.”

The smooth irony of his voice began to make my anger rise.

”And what is this proceeding?” I inquired.

”It would be my duty,” he began, and I interrupted him.

”I can quite understand, then, that it is repugnant to your nature.”

He smiled indulgently.

”It is a common fault of the very young to indulge in dialectics at inappropriate seasons. It would be my duty, unless you retired obediently to c.u.mberland, to share my knowledge with the lady you have widowed.”

”I shall save you that trouble,” said I, much relieved, ”for I am in the mind to inform the Countess of the fact myself. Indeed, I called at her lodging the other day with that very object.”

”But the Countess had left, and you didn't.” He turned on me sharply; the words were more a question than a statement. I remained silent, and he smiled again. ”As it is, I shall inform her. That will make all the difference.”

I needed no arguments to convince me of the truth of what he said. The confession must come from me, else was I utterly undone. I sat up and looked at him defiantly.

”So be it, then! It is a race between us which shall reach her first.”

”Pardon me,” he explained, in the same unruffled, condescending tone; ”there will be no race, for I happen to know where the Countess is a-visiting, and you, I fancy, do not. I have the advantage of you in that respect.”

I glanced at him doubtfully. Did he seek to bluff me into yielding, I wondered? But he sat on the bedside, carelessly swinging a leg, with so easy a composure that I could not hesitate to credit his words.

However, I feigned not to believe him, and telling him as much, fell back upon my pillow with a show of indifference, and turned my face from him to the wall, as though I would go to sleep.

”You do believe me,” he insisted suavely. ”You do indeed. Besides, I can give you proof of my knowledge. I am so certain that I know the lady's whereabouts, and that you do not, that I will grant you four days' grace to think the matter over. As I say, I have no desire to press you hard, and to be frank with you, I am not quite satisfied as to how my information would be received.” I turned back towards him, and noticing the movement, he continued: ”Oh, make no mistake, Mr.

Buckler! The disclosure will ruin your chance most surely. But will it benefit me? That is the point. However, I must take the risk, and will, if you persist in your unwisdom.”