Part 13 (1/2)

CHAPTER XX.

FROM A DIM WORLD.

Wolfenden was in no particularly cheerful frame of mind when, a few moments after the half hour was up, Mr. Sabin appeared upon the pavilion tee, followed by a tall, dark young man carrying a bag of golf clubs. Mr. Sabin, on the other hand, was inclined to be sardonically cheerful.

”Your handicap,” he remarked, ”is two. Mine is one. Suppose we play level. We ought to make a good match.”

Wolfenden looked at him in surprise.

”Did you say one?”

Mr. Sabin smiled.

”Yes; they give me one at Pau and Cannes. My foot interferes very little with my walking upon turf. All the same, I expect you will find me an easy victim here. Shall I drive? Just here, Dumayne,” he added, pointing to a convenient spot upon the tee with the head of his driver. ”Not too much sand.”

”Where did you get your caddie?” Wolfenden asked. ”He is not one of ours, is he?”

Mr. Sabin shook his head.

”I found him on some links in the South of France,” he answered. ”He is the only caddie I ever knew who could make a decent tee, so I take him about with me. He valets me as well. That will do nicely, Dumayne.”

Mr. Sabin's expression suddenly changed. His body, as though by instinct, fell into position. He scarcely altered his stand an inch from the position he had first taken up. Wolfenden, who had expected a half-swing, was amazed at the wonderfully lithe, graceful movement with which he stooped down and the club flew round his shoulder. Clean and true the ball flew off the tee in a perfectly direct line--a capital drive only a little short of the two hundred yards. Master and servant watched it critically.

”A fairly well hit ball, I think, Dumayne,” Mr. Sabin remarked.

”You got it quite clean away, sir,” the man answered. ”It hasn't run very well though; you will find it a little near the far bunker for a comfortable second.”

”I shall carry it all right,” Mr. Sabin said quietly.

Wolfenden also drove a long ball, but with a little slice. He had to play the odd, and caught the top of the bunker. The hole fell to Mr. Sabin in four.

They strolled off towards the second teeing ground.

”Are you staying down here for long?” Mr. Sabin asked.

Wolfenden hesitated.

”I am not sure,” he said. ”I am rather oddly situated at home. At any rate I shall probably be here as long as you.”

”I am not sure about that,” Mr. Sabin said. ”I think that I am going to like these links, and if so I shall not hurry away. Forgive me if I am inquisitive, but your reference to home affairs is, I presume, in connection with your father's health. I was very sorry to hear that he is looked upon now as a confirmed invalid.”

Wolfenden a.s.sented gravely. He did not wish to talk about his father to Mr. Sabin. On the other hand, Mr. Sabin was politely persistent.

”He does not, I presume, receive visitors,” he said, as they left the tee after the third drive.

”Never,” Wolfenden answered decisively. ”He suffers a good deal in various ways, and apart from that he is very much absorbed in the collection of some statistics connected with a hobby of his. He does not see even his oldest friends.”

Mr. Sabin was obviously interested.

”Many years ago,” he said, ”I met your father at Alexandria. He was then in command of the Victoria. He would perhaps scarcely recollect me now, but at the time he made me promise to visit him if ever I was in England. It must be--yes, it surely must be nearly fifteen years ago.”

”I am afraid,” Wolfenden remarked, watching the flight of his ball after a successful bra.s.sy shot, ”that he would have forgotten all about it by now. His memory has suffered a good deal.”

Mr. Sabin addressed his own ball, and from a bad lie sent it flying a hundred and fifty yards with a peculiar, jerking shot which Wolfenden watched with envy.

”You must have a wonderful eye,” he remarked, ”to hit a ball with a full swing lying like that. Nine men out of ten would have taken an iron.”

Mr. Sabin shrugged his shoulders. He did not wish to talk golf.

”I was about to remark,” he said, ”that your father had then the reputation of, and impressed me as being, the best informed man with regard to English naval affairs with whom I ever conversed.”

”He was considered an authority, I believe,” Wolfenden admitted.

”What I particularly admired about him,” Mr. Sabin continued, ”was the absence of that c.o.c.ksureness which sometimes, I am afraid, almost blinds the judgment of your great naval officers. I have heard him even discuss the possibility of an invasion of England with the utmost gravity. He admitted that it was far from improbable.”

”My father's views,” Wolfenden said, ”have always been pessimistic as regards the actual strength of our navy and coast defences. I believe he used to make himself a great nuisance at the Admiralty.”

”He has ceased now, I suppose,” Mr. Sabin remarked, ”to take much interest in the matter?”

”I can scarcely say that,” Wolfenden answered. ”His interest, however, has ceased to be official. I daresay you have heard that he was in command of the Channel Fleet at the time of the terrible disaster in the Solent. He retired almost immediately afterwards, and we fear that his health will never altogether recover from the shock.”

There was a short intermission in the conversation. Wolfenden had sliced his ball badly from the sixth tee, and Mr. Sabin, having driven as usual with almost mathematical precision, their ways for a few minutes lay apart. They came together, however, on the putting-green, and had a short walk to the next tee.

”That was a very creditable half to you,” Mr. Sabin remarked.

”My approach,” Wolfenden admitted, ”was a lucky one.”

”It was a very fine shot,” Mr. Sabin insisted. ”The spin helped you, of course, but you were justified in allowing for that, especially as you seem to play most of your mas.h.i.+e shots with a cut. What were we talking about? Oh, I remember of course. It was about your father and the Solent catastrophe. Admiral Deringham was not concerned with the actual disaster in any way, was he?”

Wolfenden shook his hand.

”Thank G.o.d, no!” he said emphatically. ”But Admiral Marston was his dearest friend, and he saw him go down with six hundred of his men. He was so close that they even shouted farewells to one another.”

”It must have been a terrible shock,” Mr. Sabin admitted. ”No wonder he has suffered from it. Now you have spoken of it, I think I remember reading about his retirement. A sad thing for a man of action, as he always was. Does he remain in Norfolk all the year round?”

”He never leaves Deringham Hall,” Wolfenden answered. ”He used to make short yachting cruises until last year, but that is all over now. It is twelve months since he stepped outside his own gates.”

Mr. Sabin remained deeply interested.

”Has he any occupation beyond this hobby of which you spoke?” he asked. ”He rides and shoots a little, I suppose, like the rest of your country gentlemen.”

Then for the first time Wolfenden began to wonder dimly whether Mr. Sabin had some purpose of his own in so closely pursuing the thread of this conversation. He looked at him keenly. At the moment his attention seemed altogether directed to the dangerous proximity of his ball and a tall sand bunker. Throughout his interest had seemed to be fairly divided between the game and the conversation which he had initiated. None the less Wolfenden was puzzled. He could scarcely believe that Mr. Sabin had any real, personal interest in his father, but on the other hand it was not easy to understand this persistent questioning as to his occupation and doings. The last inquiry, carelessly though it was asked, was a direct one. It seemed scarcely worth while to evade it.

”No; my father has special interests,” he answered slowly. ”He is engaged now upon some work connected with his profession.”

”Indeed!”