Part 23 (1/2)

”Come and play me a game, Wolf,” he cried out cheerfully. ”You'll have to give me a few, I'm so out of practice. We'll make it a hundred, and you shall give me twenty. Which will you have, spot, or plain?”

Wolfenden gulped down his amazement with an effort.

”I'll take plain,” he said. ”It's a long time, isn't it, since we played?”

His father faced him for a minute and seemed perplexed.

”Not so very long, surely. Wasn't it yesterday, or the day before?”

Wolfenden wondered for a moment whether that blow had affected his brain. It was years since he had seen the billiard-room at Deringham Hall opened.

”I don't exactly remember,” he faltered. ”Perhaps I was mistaken. Time goes so quickly.”

”I wonder,” the Admiral said, making a cannon and stepping briskly round the table, ”how it goes at all with you young men who do nothing. Great mistake to have no profession, Wolf! I wish I could make you see it.”

”I quite agree with you,” Wolfenden said. ”You must not look upon me as quite an idler, though. I am a full-fledged barrister, you know, although I do not practise, and I have serious thoughts of Parliament.”

The Admiral shook his head.

”Poor career, my boy, poor career for a gentleman's son. Take my advice and keep out of Parliament. I am going to pot the red. I don't like the red ball, Wolf! It keeps looking at me like--like that man! Ah!”

He flung his cue with a rattle upon the floor of inlaid wood, and started back.

”Look, Wolf!” he cried. ”He's grinning at me! Come here, boy! Tell me the truth! Have I been tricked? He told me that he was Mr. C. and I gave him everything! Look at his face how it changes! He isn't like C. now! He is like--who is it he is like? C.'s face is not so pale as that, and he does not limp. I seem to remember him too! Can't you help me? Can't you see him, boy?”

He had been moving backwards slowly. He was leaning now against the wall, his face blanched and perfectly bloodless, his eyes wild and his pupils dilated. Wolfenden laid his cue down and came over to his side.

”No, I can't see him, father,” he said gently. ”I think it must be fancy; you have been working too hard.”

”You are blind, boy, blind,” the Admiral muttered. ”Where was it I saw him last? There were sands--and a burning sun--his shot went wide, but I aimed low and I hit him. He carried himself bravely. He was an aristocrat, and he never forgot it. But why does he call himself Mr. C.? What has he to do with my work?”

Wolfenden choked down a lump in his throat. He began to surmise what had happened.

”Let us go into the other room, father,” he said gently. ”It is too cold for billiards.”

The Admiral held out his arm. He seemed suddenly weak and old. His eyes were dull and he was muttering to himself. Wolfenden led him gently from the room and upstairs to his own apartment. There he made an excuse for leaving him for a moment, and hurried down into the library. Mr. Blatherwick was writing there alone.

”Blatherwick,” Wolfenden exclaimed, ”what has happened this morning? Who has been here?”

Mr. Blatherwick blushed scarlet.

”Miss Merton called, and a gentleman with her, from the Home Office, I b-b-believe.”

”Who let him into the library?” Wolfenden asked sternly.

Mr. Blatherwick fingered his collar, as though he found it too tight for him, and appeared generally uncomfortable.

”At Miss Merton's request, Lord Wolfenden,” he said nervously, ”I allowed him to come in. I understood that he had been sent for by her ladys.h.i.+p. I trust that I did not do wrong.”

”You are an a.s.s, Blatherwick,” Wolfenden exclaimed angrily. ”You seem to enjoy lending yourself to be the tool of swindlers and thieves. My father has lost his reason entirely now, and it is your fault. You had better leave here at once! You are altogether too credulous for this world.”

Wolfenden strode away towards his mother's room, but a cry from upstairs directed his steps. Lady Deringham and he met outside his father's door, and entered the room together. They came face to face with the Admiral.

”Out of my way!” he cried furiously. ”Come with me, Wolf! We must follow him. I must have my papers back, or kill him! I have been dreaming. He told me that he was C. I gave him all he asked for! We must have them back. Merciful heavens! if he publishes them, we are ruined ... where did he come from?... They told me that he was dead.... Has he crawled back out of h.e.l.l? I shot him once! He has never forgotten it! This is his vengeance! Oh, G.o.d!”

He sank down into a chair. The perspiration stood out in great beads upon his white forehead. He was shaking from head to foot. Suddenly his head drooped in the act of further speech, the words died away upon his lips. He was unconscious. The Countess knelt by his side and Wolfenden stood over her.

”Do you know anything of what has happened?” Wolfenden asked.

”Very little,” she whispered; ”somehow, he--Mr. Sabin--got into the library, and the shock sent him--like this. Here is the doctor.”

Dr. Whitlett was ushered in. They all three looked down upon the Admiral, and the doctor asked a few rapid questions. There was certainly a great change in his face. A strong line or two had disappeared, the countenance was milder and younger. It was like the face of a child. Wolfenden was afraid to see the eyes open, he seemed already in imagination to picture to himself their vacant, unseeing light. Dr. Whitlett shook his head sadly.

”I am afraid,” he said gravely, ”that when Lord Deringham recovers he will remember nothing! He has had a severe shock, and there is every indication that his mind has given way.”

Wolfenden drew his teeth together savagely. This, then, was the result of Mr. Sabin's visit.

CHAPTER x.x.xIV.

BLANCHE MERTON'S LITTLE PLOT.

At about four o'clock in the afternoon, as Helene was preparing to leave the Lodge, a telegram was brought in to her from Mr. Sabin.

”I have succeeded and am now en route for London. You had better follow when convenient, but do not be later than to-morrow.”

She tore it into small pieces and hummed a tune.

”It is enough,” she murmured. ”I am not ambitious any longer. I am going to London, it is true, my dear uncle, but not to Kensington! You can play Richelieu to Henri and my cousin, if it pleases you. I wonder----”

Her face grew softer and more thoughtful. Suddenly she laughed outright to herself. She went and sat down on the couch, where Wolfenden had been lying.

”It would have been simpler,” she said to herself. ”How like a man to think of such a daring thing. I wish--I almost wish--I had consented. What a delightful sensation it would have made. Cecile will laugh when I tell her of this. To her I have always seemed ambitious, and ambitious only ... and now I have found out that I have a heart only to give it away. Helas!”

There was a knock at the door. A servant entered.

”Miss Merton would be glad to know if you could spare her a moment before you left, Miss,” the man announced.

Helene glanced at the clock.

”I am going very shortly,” she said; ”she had better come in now.”

The man withdrew, but returned almost immediately, ushering in Miss Merton. For the first time Helene noticed how pretty the girl was. Her trim, dainty little figure was shown off to its utmost advantage by the neat tailor gown she was wearing, and there was a bright glow of colour in her cheeks. Helene, who had no liking for her uncle's typewriter, and who had scarcely yet spoken to her, remained standing, waiting to hear what she had to say.

”I wanted to see Mr. Sabin,” she began. ”Can you tell me when he will be back?”

”He has gone to London,” Helene replied. ”He will not be returning here at all.”