Part 36 (1/2)
”You mustn't think of it,” he exclaimed. ”You will spoil everything. I want you to come with me to--D--n! Come back, I say; come back! Curse the woman!”
He stood on the pavement, fuming. She had glided from his grasp, and his words had fallen upon deaf ears. Already she was half across the road. The door of Sir Allan's house stood open, and a servant was hurrying down to meet her. At that moment Mr. Benjamin Levy felt distinctly ill-used.
”D--d old fool!” he muttered to himself angrily. ”Hi, hansom, Scotland Yard, and drive like blazes! The game's getting exciting, at any rate,”
he added. ”It was mine easy before that last move; now it's a blessed toss up which way it goes. Well, I'll back my luck. I rather reckon I stand to win still, if Miss Thurwell acts on the square.”
CHAPTER XL
A STRANGE BIRTHDAY PARTY
It was close upon midnight, and one of the oldest and most exclusive of West-end clubs was in a state of great bustle and excitement. Sir Allan Beaumerville was giving a supper party to his friends to celebrate his sixtieth birthday, and the guests were all a.s.sembled.
Sir Allan himself was the last to arrive. The final touches had been given to the brilliantly decorated supper table, and the _chef_, who had done his best for the greatest connoisseur and the most liberal member in the club, had twice looked at his watch. As midnight struck, however, Sir Allan's great black horses turned into Pall Mall, and a few minutes later he was quietly welcoming his guests, and leading the way into the room which had been reserved for the occasion.
As a rule men are not quick at noticing one another's looks, but to-night more than one person remarked upon a certain change in their host's appearance.
”Beaumerville's getting quite the old man,” remarked Lord Lathon, as he helped himself to an ortolan. ”Looks jolly white about the gills to-night, doesn't he?”
His neighbor, a barrister and wearer of the silk, adjusted his eyegla.s.s and looked down the table.
”Gad, he does!” he answered. ”Looks as though he's had a shock.”
”Not at all in his usual form, at any rate,” put in Mr. Thurwell, _sotto voce_, from the other side of the table.
”Queer thing, but he seems to remind me of some one to-night,” Lord Lathon remarked to the Home Secretary, who was on the other side. ”Can't remember who it is, though. It's some fellow who's in a devil of a sc.r.a.pe, I know. Who the mischief is it?”
”You mean Maddison, don't you?” Sir Philip Roden answered. ”Plenty of people have noticed that. There is a likeness, certainly.”
”By Jove, there is, though!” Lord Lathon a.s.sented; ”I never noticed it before. I'm devilish sorry for Maddison, Roden, and I hope you won't let them hang him.”
The conversation turned upon the Maddison case and became general.
Everybody had something to say about it except Sir Allan. He himself, it was noticed, forbore to pa.s.s any opinion at all, and at the first opportunity he diverted the talk into another channel.
The quality of his guests spoke volumes for the social position and popularity of their entertainer. Probably there were not half a dozen men in London who could have got together so brilliant and select an a.s.sembly. There were only twenty, but every man was a man of note.
Politics were represented by the Home Secretary, Sir Philip Roden, and the First Lord of the Treasury; the peerage by the Duke of Leicester and the Earl of Lathon. There were two judges, and a half a dozen Q.C.'s, the most popular novelist of the day, and the most renowned physician. A prince might have entertained such a company with honor.
It had been arranged that the advent of cigars should be the signal for the Duke of Leicester to rise and propose their host's health. But to the surprise of every one, whilst his grace was preparing for the ordeal, and was on the point of rising, Sir Allan himself slowly rose to his feet, with a look in his still, cold face so different from anything that might be expected of a man who rises at two o'clock in the morning after a capital supper to make a speech to his guests, that every one's attention was at once arrested.
”I am given to understand, gentlemen,” he said slowly, ”that his grace the Duke of Leicester was about to propose my health on your behalf. I rise to prevent this for two reasons. First, because to a dying man such a toast could only be a mockery; the second reason will be sufficiently apparent when I have said what I have to say to you.”
Every one was stupefied. Had their host suddenly gone mad, or had those empty bottles of Heidseck which had just been removed from his end of the table anything to do with it? Several murmurs for an explanation arose.
”I had forgotten for the moment,” Sir Allan continued, ”that none of you are yet aware of what I have only known myself during the last few days.
I am suffering from acute heart disease, which may terminate fatally at any moment.”
A sudden awed gloom fell upon the party. Cigars were put down, and shocked glances exchanged. A murmur of condolence arose, but Sir Allan checked it with a little gesture.
”I need scarcely say that I did not ask you to meet me here this evening to tell you this,” he continued. ”My object is a different one. I have a confession to make.”