Part 25 (1/2)

”The case will be extremely unpleasant,” resumed Sir Thomas who was quite unconscious of the ignorance which he had just displayed. ”It will be hateful for you, and quite impossible for Louisa.”

”Always supposing,” retorted the other, ”that Luke is guilty, which neither I nor Louisa will admit for a moment.”

”That,” rejoined Sir Thomas, ”is as you please.”

He put down his cigar, crossed one leg over the other, leaned back in his chair, and folded his tapering hands together, putting finger to finger, with the gesture of one who is dealing with a youthful mind, and has much to explain.

”Look here, Will,” he resumed, ”I have three men standing in my outer office at the present moment. Two of them have come back after having questioned the past servants of the Grosvenor Square household. There was the butler Parker, and an elderly housekeeper, both of whom are in service in the West End. The woman tried to screen Luke and to make light of the many quarrels which broke out between the cousins on all possible occasions; but she broke down under our fellows' sharp questions. She had to admit that the arrogance of the one man often drove the other to unguarded language, and that she had on more than one occasion heard the men servants of the house say that they would not be astonished if murder ensued one day. Well, we have these two witnesses, and can easily get hold of the two or three footmen who expressed those particular views. So much for the past six months. Now for last night. The third man who is out there waiting for me to see him is Frederick Power, hall porter at the Veterans' Club. The story which he told to our Mr. Travers is so important in its minutest detail, that I have decided to question him myself so that I may leave no possible loop-hole to doubt or to inaccuracy in the retelling. I am going to send for the man now. You come and sit round here, the other side of my desk; from this position you will be able to watch the man's face, as well as hear what he has got to say. Now, would you like that?”

”Right you are, Tom,” was Colonel Harris's brief method of acknowledging his brother-in-law's kindness, in thus breaking a piece of red tape, and setting aside a very strict official rule. He did as Sir Thomas directed, and sat down in the recess behind the chief's desk, in a comfortable arm-chair with his back to the curtained window.

He would not acknowledge even to himself how deeply stirred he was by all that he had heard, and now by the antic.i.p.ation of what was yet to come. Emotion--like he was experiencing now--had never come his way before now. He had lost his only son on the Modder River--that had been sorrow of an acute kind; he had laid a much loved wife to rest in the village churchyard close to his stately home in Kent; and he had escorted his late beloved sovereign to her last resting place on that never-to-be-forgotten day close on five years ago now; those three events in his life had been the great strains to which his nerves and sensibilities had been subjected in the past.

But this was altogether different. The sensations which the good man experienced were such that he scarcely knew them himself; he had faced sorrow before, never dishonour--some one else's dishonour, of course--still it touched him very nearly, for, though he might not be a very keen observer, he dearly loved his daughter, and dishonour seemed to be touching her, striking at her through Luke.

CHAPTER XX

AND THAT'S THE TRUTH

Frederick Power was shown in.

I won't have you think that there was anything remarkable about the man, or anything that would--even momentarily--distinguish him from any number of other hall porters, who wear a uniform and peaked cap, have the air of having seen military service, and wear a couple of medals on a well-developed chest.

He was perfectly respectful, all the more so because Sir Thomas was General Sir Thomas Ryder, K.C.B.--a fact which impressed the ex-soldier far more than any other exalted t.i.tle, non-military in character, would have done.

He saluted and stood at attention, and as he gave answer to Sir Thomas's preliminary questions his words rang out clear and direct, obviously truthful, as if echoing in the barrack yard at 6 A.M. of a frosty spring morning.

”Your name is----?”

”Frederick Power, sir.”

”You are hall porter at the Veterans' Club in Shaftesbury Avenue?”

”Yes, sir.”

”You were in the lobby of the club last night as usual?”

”Yes, sir.”

”And Mr. Philip de Mountford, who is a member of the club, was in the smoking room at eight o'clock yesterday evening?”

”Yes, sir.”

”He came almost every evening, I understand?”

”That's right, sir.”

”Alone mostly?”