Part 72 (2/2)

”Well, I dined at Amberley's house--they have a famous dining-room you must know, where every one has been, and it's an experience. There was a party after dinner, and I was introduced to a man called Toftrees--he's a popular novelist and a great person in his own way I believe.”

Julia Daly nodded. She was intensely interested.

”I know the name,” she said. ”Go on.”

”Well, this fellow Toftrees, who seems a decent sort of man, told me that he believed that Gilbert Lothian was killing himself with absinthe and brandy in Paris. Some one had seen him in Maxim's or some such place, a dreadful sight. This was three or four months ago, so, if it's true, the poor fellow must be dead by now.”

”Requiescat,” Julia Daly said reverently. ”But I should have liked to have known that his dear wife's prayers in Heaven had saved him here.”

Morton Sims did not answer and there was a silence between them for a minute or two.

The doctor was remembering a dreadful scene in the North London Prison.

... ”If Gilbert Lothian still lived he must look like that awful figure in the condemned cell had looked--like his insane half-brother, the cunning murderer--” Morton Sims shuddered and his eyes became fixed in thought.

He had told no living soul of what he had learned that night. He never would tell any one. But it all came back to him with extreme vividness as he gazed into the fire.

Some memory-cell in his brain, long dormant and inactive, was now secreting thought with great rapidity, and, with these dark memories--it was as though some curtain had suddenly been withdrawn from a window unveiling the sombre picture of a storm--something new and more horrible still started into his mind. It pa.s.sed through and vanished in a flash. His will-power beat it down and strangled it almost ere it was born.

But it left his face pale and his throat rather dry.

It was now twenty minutes to three, as the square marble clock upon the mantel showed, and immediately, before Julia Daly and Morton Sims spoke again, two people came into the room.

Both were clergymen.

First came Bishop Moultrie. He was a large corpulent man with a big red face. Heavy eyebrows of black shaded eyes of a much lighter tint, a kind of blue green. The eyes generally twinkled with good-humour and happiness, the wide, genial mouth was vivid with life and pleasant tolerance, as a rule.

A fine strong, forthright man with a kindly personality.

Morton Sims stepped up to him. ”My dear William,” he said, shaking him warmly by the hand. ”So here you are. Let me introduce you to Mrs.

Daly. Julia, let me introduce the Bishop to you. You both know of each other very well. You have both wanted to meet for a long time.”

The Bishop bowed to Mrs. Daly and both she and the doctor saw at once that something was disturbing him. The face only held the promise and possibility of geniality. It was anxious, and stern with some inward thought; very distressed and anxious.

And when a large, fleshy, kindly face wears this expression, it is most marked.

”Please excuse me,” the Bishop said to Julia Daly. ”I have indeed looked forward to the moment of meeting you. But something has occurred, Mrs. Daly, which occupies my thoughts, something very unusual... .”

Both Morton Sims--who knew his old friend so well--and Julia Daly--who knew so much of the Bishop by repute--looked at him with surprise upon their faces and waited to hear more.

The Bishop turned round to where the second Priest was standing by the door.

”This is Father Joseph Edward,” he said, ”Abbot of the Monastery upon the Lizard Promontory in Cornwall. He has come with me this afternoon upon a special mission.”

The newcomer was a slight, dark-visaged man who wore a black cape over his ca.s.sock, and a soft clerical hat. He seemed absolutely undistinguished, but the announcement of his name thrilled the man and woman by the fire.

The Priest bowed slightly. There was little or no expression to be discerned upon his face.

But the others in the room knew who he was at once.

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