Part 95 (2/2)

”Well, that's consistent!” he exclaimed, ”after entreating me to leave the place!”

”This is not the only peaceful spot in the world,” she said with a little sigh; ”and I would rather live in London even than have you here in an invidious position. Dan, give it up, there's a good fellow!

and learn to look on life from this newer, wider point of view. You will find interests and pleasures in it you have never even suspected, I a.s.sure you, and you will never regret it.”

”For the life of me,” he said again, throwing the end of his cigar into the bushes with an irritated jerk of his arm,--”for the life of me, I cannot see what you have to complain of; and I shall certainly not give up any bird in the hand for two such birds in the bush as you promise me.” He rose as he spoke, and shook out first one leg and then the other to straighten his trousers. ”I'm going out,” he added.

”I've a patient to see. Ta! ta! Take care of yourself.”

Some little time after Beth's return, they were sitting at lunch together, and Maclure was reading a daily paper.

”Matters look bad for that fellow, Cayley Pounce,” he observed.

”Why, what has he been doing?” Beth asked.

”Poking a fellow's eye out with his umbrella,” Dan answered. ”He was talking to a girl in the street one night, and got into a row with some roughs, and jabbed one in the eye with his umbrella, and the fellow died. The inquiry is now going on, and it's likely the coroner's jury will bring in a verdict of manslaughter against Mr.

Cayley Pounce. His defence is that he wasn't anywhere near that part of London on that particular night, and it's a case of mistaken ident.i.ty; but as he refuses to say where he was, and produces no evidence by way of an alibi, that story won't avail him much.”

”What night was it?” said Beth.

”On the 30th, just after midnight,” Dan read out of the paper.

”Why, that was the night he insisted on escorting me home from the theatre,” Beth exclaimed. ”He did not leave the Kilroys' until four o'clock in the morning.”

”Then why on earth doesn't he say so?” Dan asked.

”I can't imagine,” Beth said. ”I let him out myself; everybody else had gone to bed. And I'm sure of the time, because I thought he was never going away, and I was tired; and I looked at the clock and said, 'It's four o'clock, and I must go to bed.'”

Dan's face had darkened. ”Do you mean to say you were sitting up with him alone?” he demanded.

”Yes, for my sins!” Beth answered in a tone of disgust. ”The Kilroys were out when I returned from the theatre, and did not come in till very late; and they went straight upstairs, supposing I had gone to bed. As a rule they come into the library first. So Mr. Cayley Pounce was left on my hands.”

”Then,” said Dan, pus.h.i.+ng his plate away from him with a clatter, ”it is obvious why he is holding his tongue. He is determined not to compromise you.”

”Thank you!” said Beth, bridling. ”I should think I am not so easily compromised.”

”Gad!” Dan e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, ”I don't know what you call easily compromised!

A man takes you home from a theatre, and stays with you alone till four o'clock in the morning; if that isn't compromising I don't know what is. No jury in the world would acquit you, and the fellow knows that perfectly well, and is holding his tongue to screen you.”

”I should think it's a great deal more likely he's holding his tongue in order to get the credit of it,” Beth observed drily. ”It is a mere pose. He knows I shall have to come forward to clear him if he doesn't explain himself. I suppose I must go at once and stop the case; but if it were not for his wife I declare I should hesitate. What is the form of procedure? You will come with me, of course?”

”_I_ go with you!” Dan exclaimed brutally, ”and see you make a public exhibition of yourself, and bring disgrace on my name in a court of justice! I'm d.a.m.ned if I do! And what's more, if you go, you don't return to this house. I've too much self-respect for that. You hadn't much of a reputation when I married you, and if you lose the little you've got, you can go and I shall divorce you. My wife must be above suspicion.”

Beth folded her serviette slowly while he was speaking, and, when he stopped, she rose from the table.

”It is unfortunate for me,” she said, ”that the Kilroys have gone abroad. They know the man and the facts of the case, and would have advised me. In their absence I must do what seems right without advice. I cannot see that I have any choice in the matter. You could make it perfectly easy for me by supporting me; if you do not support me I must go alone. I shall pack up and go to town at once in order to appear in court to-morrow morning, and I shall telegraph to Roberts, the Kilroys' butler, to meet me there, and confirm my story. There are the coachman and footman too, and the police constable--witnesses enough, in all conscience.”

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