Part 16 (1/2)

”Right,” Whitaker agreed steadily. ”And then--?”

”I traced her to the Hotel Belmont, where she stopped overnight, then lost her completely; and so reported to Mrs. Pett.i.t. I must mention here, in confidence, in order that you may understand my subsequent action, that my bill for the investigation was never paid. Mr. Pett.i.t was not in very comfortable circ.u.mstances at the time.... No matter. I didn't press him, and later was glad of it, for it left me a free agent--under no obligation to make further report.”

”I don't understand you.”

”In a moment.... I came into a little money about that time, and gave up my business: gave it up, that is, as far as placing myself at the service of the public was concerned. I retained my devouring curiosity about things that didn't concern me personally, although they were often matters of extreme interest to the general public. In other words, I continued to employ my time professionally, but only for my private amus.e.m.e.nt or in the interests of my friends.... After some time Mr.

Drummond sought me out and begged me to renew my search for Mrs.

Whitaker; you were dead, he told me; she was due to come into your estate--a comfortable living for an independent woman.”

”And you found her and told Drummond--?”

Whitaker leaned over the table, studying the man's face with intense interest.

”No--and yes. I found Mrs. Whitaker. I didn't report to Drummond.”

”But why--in Heaven's name?”

Ember smiled sombrely at the drooping ash of his cigar. ”There were several reasons. In the first place I didn't have to: I had asked no retainer from Drummond, and I rendered no bill: what I had found out was mine, to keep or to sell, as I chose. I chose not to sell because--well, because Mrs. Whitaker begged me not to.”

”Ah!” Whitaker breathed, sitting back. ”Why?”

”This was all of a year, I think, after your marriage. Mrs. Whitaker had tasted the sweets of independence and--got the habit. She had adopted a profession looked upon with abhorrence by her family; she was succeeding in it; I may say her work was foreshadowing that extraordinary power which made her the Sara Law whom you saw to-night. If she came forward as the widow of Hugh Whitaker, it meant renunciation of the stage; it meant painful scenes with her family if she refused to abandon her profession; it meant the loss of liberty, of freedom of action and development, which was hers in her decent obscurity. She was already successful in a small way, had little need of the money she would get as claimant of your estate. She enlisted my sympathy, and--I held my tongue.”

”That was decent of you.”

The man bowed a quiet acknowledgment. ”I thought you'd think so....

There was a third reason.”

He paused, until Whitaker encouraged him with a ”Yes--?”

”Mr. Whitaker”--the query came point-blank--”do you love your wife?”

Whitaker caught his breath. ”What right--!” he began, and checked abruptly. The blood darkened his lean cheeks.

”Mrs. Whitaker gave me to understand that you didn't. It wasn't hard to perceive, everything considered, that your motive was pure chivalry--Quixotism. I should like to go to my grave with anything half as honourable and unselfish to my credit.”

”I beg your pardon,” Whitaker muttered thickly.

”You don't, then?”

”Love her? No.”

There was a slight pause. Then, ”I do,” said this extraordinary man, meeting Whitaker's gaze openly. ”I do,” he repeated, flus.h.i.+ng in his turn, ”but ... hopelessly.... However, that was the third reason,” he pursued in a more level voice--”I thought you ought to know about it--that induced me to keep Sara Law's secret.... I loved her from the day I found her. She has never looked twice at me.... But that's why I never lost interest.”

”You mean,” Whitaker took him up diffidently--”you continued to--ah--?”

”Court her--as we say? No.” Ember's shoulders, lifting, emphasized the disclaimer. ”I'm no fool: I mean I'm able to recognize a hopeless case when it's as intimate to me as mine was--and is. Doubtless Mrs. Whitaker understands--if she hasn't forgotten me by this time--but, if so, wholly through intuition. I have had the sense not to invite the thunderbolt.

I've sat quietly in the background, watching her work out her destiny--feeling a good deal like a G.o.d in the machine. She doesn't know it, unless Max told her against my wish; but it was I who induced him to take her from the ranks of a provincial stock company and bring her before the public, four years ago, as _Joan Thursday_. Since then her destiny has been rather too big a thing for me to tamper with; but I've watched and wondered, sensing forces at work about her of which even she was unsuspicious.”

”What in blazes do you mean?” Whitaker demanded, mystified.