Part 20 (1/2)

”Strange!” and Brown began to feel chill again.

”What time is it?” he asked with an effort.

”It is half-past six, sir.”

”So late as that? You may go, Simmonds. Leave me the keys. I will be here for some time. Good-evening.”

”Mad as a coot,” muttered Simmonds to himself; ”must break the news to M'ria to-night. Oh, Lor'!” and his eyes were very wet as he went out into the Strand, and got into a blue omnibus.

When he was gone, Brown turned to the fire, poker in hand. To his surprise he saw that the black paper was still there, burning red hot, and the wax of the seals was still intact--the seals themselves s.h.i.+ning like orange glow-lights. He beat at the paper with the poker; but instead of crumbling to ashes it yielded pa.s.sively to the stroke, and came back to its original shape. Then a fury came on Brown. He raked at the fire, threw more coals over the paper, and blew at the flames with his bellows until they roared up the chimney; but still the coppery glare of the packet-cover never turned to the grey of ashes. Finally, he could endure it no longer, and, putting the ma.n.u.script into the safe, turned off the electric light, and stole out of his office like a thief.

CHAPTER II.

THE RED TRIDENT.

When Beggarman, Bowles & Co., of Providence Pa.s.sage, Lombard Street, called at eleven o'clock on the morning following De Bac's visit, their representative was not a little surprised to find the firm's bills met in hard cash, and Simmonds paid him with a radiant face.

When the affair was settled, the clerk leaned back in his chair, saying half-aloud to himself, ”By George! I am glad after all M'ria did not keep our appointment in the Camden Road last night.” Then his face began to darken. ”Wonder where she could have been, though?” his thoughts ran on; ”half sorry I introduced her to Wilkes last Sunday at Victoria Park. Wilkes ain't half the man I am though,” and he tried to look at himself in the window-pane, ”but he has two pound ten a week--Lord! There's the guv'nor ringing.” He hurried into Brown's room, received a brief order, and was about to go back when the publisher spoke again.

”Simmonds!”

”Sir.”

”If M. De Bac calls, show him in at once.”

”Sir,” and the clerk went out.

Left to himself, Brown tried to go on with the ma.n.u.script; but was not able to do so. He was impatient for the coming of De Bac, and kept watching the hands of the clock as they slowly travelled towards twelve. When he came to the office in the morning Brown had looked with a nervous fear in the fireplace, half expecting to find the black paper still there; and it was a considerable relief to his mind to find it was not. He could do nothing, not even open the envelopes of the letters that lay on his table. He made an effort to find occupation in the morning's paper. It was full of some absurd correspondence on a trivial subject, and he wondered at the thousands of fools who could waste time in writing and in reading yards of print on the theme of ”Whether women should wear neckties.” The ticking of the clock irritated him. He flung the paper aside, just as the door opened and Simmonds came in. For a moment Brown thought he had come to announce De Bac's arrival; but no--Simmonds simply placed a square envelope on the table before Brown.

”Pa.s.s-book from Bransom's, sir, just come in;” and he went out.

Brown took it up mechanically, and opened the envelope. A type-written letter fell out with the pa.s.sbook. He ran his eyes over it with astonishment. It was briefly to inform him that M. De Bac had paid into Brown's account yesterday afternoon the sum of five thousand pounds, and that, adjusting overdrafts, the balance at his credit was four thousand seven hundred and twenty pounds thirteen s.h.i.+llings and three pence. Brown rubbed his eyes. Then he hurriedly glanced at the pa.s.s-book. The figures tallied--there was no error, no mistake. He p.r.i.c.ked himself with his penknife to see if he was awake, and finally shouted to Simmonds:

”Read this letter aloud to me, Simmonds,” he said.

Simmonds' eyes opened, but he did as he was bidden, and there was no mistake about the account.

”Anything else, sir?” asked Simmonds when he had finished.

”No--nothing,” and Brown was once more alone. He sat staring at the figures before him in silence, almost mesmerizing himself with the intentness of his gaze.

”My G.o.d!” he burst out at last, in absolute wonder.

”Who is your G.o.d, Brown?” answered a deep voice.

”I--I--M. De Bac! How did you come?”

”I did not drop down the chimney,” said De Bac with a grin; ”your clerk announced me in the ordinary way, but you were so absorbed you did not hear. So I took the liberty of sitting in this chair, and awaiting your return to earthly matters. You were dreaming, Brown--by the way, who is your G.o.d?” he repeated with a low laugh.

”I--I do not understand, sir.”