Part 15 (1/2)

”I heard by chance that you were in town. I suppose your regiment will be going out at once. It is your cousin, John Ardayre, speaking, we have not met since you were a boy. I have something rather vital I want to say to you. Could you possibly come round?”

The two voices were so alike in tone it was quite remarkable, each was aware of it as he listened to the other.

”Where are you, and what is the time?”.

”I am in our house in Brook Street, number 102, and it is nearly seven.

Could you manage to come now?”

There was a second or two's pause, then Denzil said:

”All right. I will get into a taxi and be with you in about five minutes,” and he put the receiver down.

John Ardayre grew paler still, and sank into a chair. His hands were trembling, this sign of weakness angered him and he got up and rang the bell and ordered his valet who had come up with him, to bring him some brandy.

Murcheson was an old and valued servant, and he looked at his master with concern, but he knew him too to make any remark. If there was any one in the world beyond the great surgeon, Lemon Bridges, who could understand the preoccupations of John Ardayre, Murcheson was the man.

He brought the old Cognac immediately and retired from the room a moment or two before Denzil arrived. Very little trace of emotion remained upon the face of the head of the family when his cousin was shown in, and he came forward cordially to meet him. Standing opposite one another, they might have been brothers, not cousins, the resemblance was so strong! Denzil was perhaps fairer, but their heads were both small and their limbs had the same long lines. But where as John Ardayre suggested undemonstrative stolidity, every atom of the younger man was vitally alive.

His eyes were bluer, his hair more bronze, and exuberant perfect health glowed in his tanned fresh skin.

Both their voices were peculiarly deep, with the p.r.o.nunciation of the words especially refined. John Ardayre said some civil things with composure, and Denzil replied in kind, explaining how he had been most anxious to meet John and Amaryllis and heal the breach the fathers had made.

John offered him a cigar, and finally the atmosphere seemed to be unfrozen as they smoked. But in Denzil's mind there was speculation. It was not for just this that he had been asked to come round.

John began to speak presently with a note of deep seriousness in his voice. He talked of the war and of his Yeomanry's going out, and of Denzil's regiment also. It was quite on the cards that they might both be killed--then he spoke of Ferdinand, and the old story of the shame, and he told Denzil of his boyhood and its great trials, and of his determination to redeem the family home and of the great luck which had befallen him in the city after the South African War--and how that the thought of worthily handing on the inheritance in the direct male line had become the dominating desire of his life.

At first his manner had been very restrained, but gradually the intense feeling which was vibrating in him made itself known, and Denzil grew to realise how profound was his love for Ardayre and how great his family pride.

But underneath all this some absolute agony must be wringing his soul.

Denzil became increasingly interested.

At last John seemed to have come to a very difficult part of his narration; he got up from his chair and walked rapidly up and down the room, then forced himself to sit down again and resume his original calm.

”I am going to trust you, Denzil, with something which matters far more than my life.” John looked Denzil straight in the eyes. ”And I will confide in you because you are next in the direct line. Listen very carefully, please, it concerns your honour in the family as well as mine.

It would be too infamous to let Ardayre go to the b.a.s.t.a.r.d, Ferdinand, the snake-charmer's son, if, as is quite possible, I shall be killed in the coming time.”

Denzil felt some strange excitement permeating him. What did these words portend? Beads of perspiration appeared on John's forehead, and his voice sunk so low that his cousin bent forward to be certain of hearing him.

Then John spoke in broken sentences, for the first time in his life letting another share the thoughts which tortured him, but the time was not for reticence. Denzil must understand everything so that he would consent to a certain plan. At length, all that was in John's heart had been made plain, and exhausted with the effort of his innermost being's unburdenment, he sank back in his chair, deadly pale. The quiet, waiting att.i.tude in Denzil had given way to keenness, and more than once as he listened to the moving narration he had emitted words of sympathy and concern, but when the actual plan which John had evolved was unfolded to him, and the part he was to play explained, he rose from his chair and stood leaning on the high mantelpiece, an expression of excitement and illumination on his strong, good-looking face.

”Do not say anything for a little,” John said. ”Think over everything quietly. I am not asking you to do anything dishonourable--and however much I had hated his mother I would not ask this of you if Ferdinand were my father's son. You are the next real heir--Ferdinand could not be; my father had never met the woman until a month before he married her, and the baby arrived five months afterwards, at its full time. There was no question of incubators or difficulties and special precautions to rear him, nor was there any suggestion that he was a seven months' child. It was only after years that I found out when my father first saw the woman, but even before this proof there were many and convincing evidences that Ferdinand was no Ardayre.”

”One has only to look at the beast!” cried Denzil. ”If the mother was a Bulgarian, he's a mongrel Turk, there is not a trace of English blood in his body!”

”Then surely you agree with me that it would be an infamy if he should take the place of the head of the family, should I not survive?”

Denzil clenched his hands.

”There is no moral question attached, remember,” John went on anxiously before he could reply. ”There is only the question of the law, which has been tricked and defamed by my father, for the meanest ends of revenge towards me--and now we--you and I--have the right to save the family and its honour and circ.u.mvent the perfidy and weakness of that one man.