Part 29 (2/2)

”Hullo!” he said, staring at him. ”Anything wrong?”

Piers stared back with eyes of burning hostility. ”I want a word with you,” he announced curtly. ”Will you come out, or shall I come in?”

”You'd better come in,” said Tudor, suppressing a s.h.i.+ver, ”unless I'm wanted up at the Abbey.”

”You're not,” said Piers.

He stepped into the pa.s.sage, and impetuously stripped off his heavy coat. Tudor shut the door, and turned round. He surveyed his visitor's evening-dress with a touch of contempt. He himself was clad in an ancient smoking-jacket, much frayed at the cuffs; and his carpet-slippers were so trodden down at the heel that he could only just manage to shuffle along in them.

”Go into the consulting-room!” he said. ”There's a light there.”

Piers strode in, and waited for him. Seen by the light of the gas that burned there, his face was pale and set in lines of iron determination.

His eyes shone out of it like the eyes of an infuriated wild beast.

”Do you know what I've come for?” he said, as Tudor shambled into the room.

Tudor looked him over briefly and comprehensively. ”No, I don't,” he said. ”I hoped I'd seen the last of you.”

His words were as brief as his look. It was obvious that he had no intention of wasting time in mere courtesy.

Piers' lips tightened at his tone. He looked full and straight at the baffling gla.s.ses that hid the other man's contemptuous eyes.

”I've come for a reckoning with you,” he said.

”Really?” said Tudor. He glanced again at the clock. ”Rather an unusual hour, isn't it?”

Piers pa.s.sed the question by. He was chafing on his feet like a caged animal. Abruptly he came to the point.

”I told you the other day that I wouldn't put up with any interference from you. I didn't know then how far your interference had gone. I do know now. This scheme to get me out of the country was of your contrivance.”

Fiercely he flung the words. He was quivering with pa.s.sionate indignation. But the effect on Tudor was scarcely perceptible. He only looked a little colder, a little more satirical, than was his wont.

”Well?” he said. ”What of it?”

Piers showed his teeth momentarily. His hands were hard gripped behind him, as though he restrained himself by main force from open violence.

”You don't deny it?” he said.

”Why should I?” Tudor's thin lips displayed a faint sneer. ”I certainly advised your grandfather to go away, and I think the advice was sound.”

”It was--from your point of view.” A tremor of fierce humour ran through Piers' speech. ”But plans--even clever ones--don't always turn out as they should. This one for instance--what do you think you are going to gain by it?”

”What do you mean?” Tudor stood by the table facing Piers, his att.i.tude one of supreme indifference. He seemed scarcely to feel the stormy atmosphere that pulsated almost visibly around the younger man. His eyes behind their gla.s.ses were cold and shrewd, wholly emotionless.

Piers paused an instant to grip his self-control the harder, for every word he uttered seemed to make his hold the more precarious.

”I'll tell you what I mean,” he said, his voice low and savagely distinct. ”I mean that what you've done--all this sneaking and scheming to get me out of your way--isn't going to serve your purpose. I mean that you shall swear to me here and now to give up the game during my absence, or take the consequences. It is entirely due to you that I am going, but--by Heaven--you shall reap no advantage from it!”

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