Part 42 (1/2)

They looked at each other meaningly, and Mappin responded once again to Stafford's winning smile.

It pleased him prodigiously to feel Stafford lay a firm hand on his arm and say: ”Can you, perhaps, dine with me to-night at the Travellers'

Club? It makes life worth while to talk to men like you who do really big things.”

”I shall be delighted to come for your own reasons,” answered the great man, beaming, and adjusting his cuffs carefully.

”Good, good. It is capital to find you free.” Again Stafford caught the surgeon's arm with a friendly little grip.

Suddenly, however, Mr. Mappin became aware that Stafford had turned desperately white and worn. He had noticed this spent condition when he first came in, but his eyes now rediscovered it. He regarded Stafford with concern.

”Mr. Stafford,” he said, ”I am sure you do not realize how much below par you are.... You have been under great strain--I know, we all know, how hard you have worked lately. Through you, England launches her s.h.i.+p of war without fear of complications; but it has told on you heavily.

Nothing is got without paying for it. You need rest, and you need change.”

”Quite so--rest and change. I am going to have both now,” said Stafford with a smile, which was forced and wan.

”You need a tonic also, and you must allow me to give you one,” was the brusque professional response.

With quick movement he went over to Stafford's writing-table, and threw open the cover of the blotter.

In a flash Stafford was beside him, and laid a hand upon the blotter, saying with a smile, of the kind which had so far done its work--

”No, no, my friend, I will not take a tonic. It's only a good sleep I want; and I'll get that to-night. But I give my word, if I'm not all right to-morrow, if I don't sleep, I'll send to you and take your tonic gladly.”

”You promise?”

”I promise, my dear Mappin.”

The great man beamed again: and he really was solicitous for his new-found friend.

”Very well, very well--Stafford,” he replied. ”It shall be as you say.

Good-bye, or, rather, au revoir!”

”A la bonne heure!” was the hearty response, as the door opened for the great surgeon's exit.

When the door was shut again, and Stafford was alone, he staggered over to the writing-desk. Opening the blotter, he took something up carefully and looked at it with a sardonic smile.

”You did your work quite well,” he said, reflectively.

It was such a needle as he had seen at Glencader in Mr. Mappin's hand.

He had picked it up in Adrian Fellowes' room.

”I wonder who used you,” he said in a hard voice. ”I wonder who used you so well. Was it--was it Jasmine?”

With a trembling gesture he sat down, put the needle in a drawer, locked it, and turned round to the fire again.

”Was it Jasmine?” he repeated, and he took from his pocket the letter which Lady Tynemouth had given him. For a moment he looked at it unopened--at the beautiful, smooth handwriting so familiar to his eyes; then he slowly broke the seal, and took out the closely written pages.

CHAPTER XXVI