Part 3 (1/2)
Lord Camborne, Lord Hayle, and Lady Constance stared at the duke in amazement as he read the extraordinary telegram from Colonel Simpson.
Lady Constance was the first to speak. ”And you were just getting the book of photographs!” she said in a bewildered voice, ”the photographs of Paddington House, and now----”
”Read the wire again, John,” said Lord Hayle.
The duke did so; it was quite clear:
”'Large portion front west wing Paddington House destroyed by explosion an hour ago. Bomb filled with picric acid discovered intact near gateway. The smaller Gainsborough and the Florence vase destroyed. Please come up town immediately.
”'SIMPSON.'”
”The smaller Gainsborough--that's the famous portrait of Lady Honoria FitzTracy,” said Lord Hayle suddenly. ”Why, it's the finest example of Gainsborough in existence!”
He grew pale with sympathy as he looked at his friend.
”It isn't in existence any more, apparently,” said the duke. ”I wish the Florence vase had been saved. My father gave ten thousand pounds for it--not that the money matters--but, you see, it was the only one in the world, except the smaller example in the Vatican.”
The bishop broke in with a slight trace of impatience in his voice. ”My dear young men,” he said, ”surely the great question is: Who has perpetrated this abominable outrage? What does it all mean? What steps are being----”
He stopped short. Gardener had entered with another telegram.
”Man arrested on suspicion, known to belong to advanced socialist or anarchist group. Can you catch the fast train up? There is one at six. I will meet you with car.
”SIMPSON.”
”Well, here is a sort of answer,” said the duke, handing the telegram to the bishop. ”It appears that the thing is another of those kindly and amiable protests which the lower cla.s.ses make against their betters from time to time.”
”Just what I was saying,” young Lord Hayle broke in eagerly, ”just what I was saying a few minutes ago. It's all the result of educating the lower cla.s.ses sufficiently to make them discontented and to put these scoundrelly socialists and blackguards into Parliament. They'll be trying Buckingham Palace or Marlborough House next! Probably this is the work of those unemployed gentry whom I heard Constance defending just now.”
”It's a bad business,” said Lord Camborne gravely; ”a very black, bad business indeed. Paddington, you have my sincerest sympathy. I am afraid that in the shock of the news we may have been a little remiss in expressing our grief, but you know, my dear boy, how we all feel for you.”
He went up to the duke as he spoke, a grand and stately old man, and shook him warmly by the hand.
”Yes, John,” said Lord Hayle, ”we really are awfully sorry, old chap.”
Lady Constance said nothing, but she looked at her host, and it was enough. He forgot the news, he forgot everything save only the friends.h.i.+p and kindliness in her eyes.
”I suppose you will go up to town by the six o'clock train?” Lord Hayle said.
”I suppose I must, Gerald,” the duke replied. ”I must go and get leave from the dean later on. I expect I shall have to stay the night. It's not an inviting day for London, is it?”
”Do you know, duke, that I think you are taking it remarkably well,”
Lady Constance said with a sudden dazzling smile. ”I should have been terribly frightened, and then cried my eyes out about the vase and the picture. And as for Hayle--well, I think I can imagine the way Hayle would have behaved.”
”Well, of course, I'm horribly angry,” the duke said, ”and such a thing means a great deal more to society in general than its mere personal aspect to me. But I can't somehow feel it very nearly; it seems remote.
I should realize it far more if any one were to steal or break anything in these rooms here--things I constantly touch and see, things I live with. I have so many houses and pictures and things that I never see; they don't seem part of one.”
”I can quite understand that,” said the bishop; ”but that will all be changed some day, please G.o.d, before very long. You are only on the threshold of life as yet, you know.”