That evening Carstairs went to call on Mrs Darwen to ascertain if the
girl had got back again. She had. He almost ran into her just
outside the house, she was going towards the town.
He turned and walked beside her. "How's your mother?" he asked.
"Better," she said coldly. She kept very far away from him.
"I'm sorry I had to run away and leave you the other night."
"It didn't matter in the least. I was rather glad."
Carstairs had a momentary impulse to turn on his heel and leave her
for good and all without any more words, but he was by nature an
inquirer, he liked to get to the bottom of things, besides he was in
love with this girl and he felt there must be some vital
misunderstanding somewhere.
"I see," he said, "that sweep has been telling you some of his cursed
lies with his music lessons."
She stopped and faced him. "Will you kindly tell me which way you
are going? Because I'll go a different way. Or is it necessary to
make a fuss?"
He stared at her in amazement for a moment, then he stepped a little
closer and looked into her eyes. "I am going back to my diggings in
Clere Road. I shall never come this way again. I wish I could leave
this rotten town and these rotten people for ever. But let me tell
you that that man is a rogue, how great a rogue only God knows. And
if you think he's going to marry you, you're greatly mistaken. He's
deceived two girls in this town, and the Lord only knows how many
more elsewhere. He could paper his room with girls' photographs and
girls' letters."
"Thanks," she said in icy politeness; she had studied the manners of
her superiors to some purpose, but in her they did not seem a
burlesque as is usually the case with the superior servant.
He looked at her steadily for some moments in silence, and she
returned his gaze quite calmly. "I was in love with you," he said,
"and I felt I had done your friend Sam Lee an injustice. Now I feel
that I have done him a kindness in saving him from a very exceptional
fool."
"I am honoured," she said. "Your friend and benefactor, Mr Darwen,
has at least the manners of a gentleman."
"I'll take your word for it. I imagine you know, the penny
novelettes describe the article very minutely." He looked into her
eyes and saw that they blazed with anger; the sight reminded him of a
similar occasion in Scotland when she carried a big stick and they
stood facing each other at the door of his diggings. His anger faded
at once. "I'm sorry, I've behaved like a cad, but the issues were so
important, to me. An apology, I suppose, is all the reparation I can
offer." He turned and walked away, leaving her there.
She stood and watched him till he was out of sight, but he never
looked back. He was not built that way. On his way to the works
next morning, Carstairs heard the news-boys shouting, "mysterious
murder of Councillor Donovan." He bought a paper and read the
account.
"At an early hour this morning Police Constable Garret observed a
body floating down the river near the High Street Bridge. On being
dragged ashore, it was at once recognized as that of Councillor
Donovan, proprietor of the Blue Anchor Hotel, Dock Street. The
unfortunate gentleman's neck was dislocated, and his ribs squashed in
as though by some powerful animal."
Carstairs did not read any more, but hurried on down to the works; he
searched out Bounce in the engine-room.
"You saw that man who was killed in the garden at Chilcombe, didn't
you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, that looks like the same thing, doesn't it?" Carstairs handed
him the paper.
Bounce read it with a serious face. "Looks like the same," he said.
"Look here," Carstairs looked at his watch. "Come on down to the
mortuary with me, we'll have a look at it, and you can tell the
police what the other chap was like."
So they went off together, and on the way Bounce explained. "When we
was on the China station, we called at Borneo once, some of our chaps
went ashore and went up country a bit. They seen the niggers come
running out of the woods, shouting like hell, so they goes in to see
what the trouble was. There was a monkey there. He wasn't so very
big, an' one of our chaps went in to capture him--well, when they
brought 'im back to the ship, 'e looked just like that bloke I seen
at Chilcombe."
A policeman let them into the mortuary, and as Bounce gazed on the
dead body of Councillor Donovan, he shook his head in mystification.
"Just the same," he said. "Exactly the same."
Carstairs was very serious. "This is damnable," he said. "I must
see Darwen."
The policeman took profuse notes from Bounce, and then they returned
to the works together. Carstairs proceeded at once to Darwen's
office.
He held out a paper. "Have you seen that?" he asked.
Darwen read it thoughtfully and slowly, then he whistled softly.
"Poor old Donovan," he said. He seemed lost in thought for a moment
or so, then he repeated, "Poor old Donovan. And only yesterday he
got us our rises, Carstairs."
"What do you make of it?" Carstairs was watching him closely.
"Oh, murder, of course. Singular resemblance to that chap who was
killed over at your place."
"That's what struck me." He caught just a quick glance from Darwen's
dark, penetrating eyes.
"There's no doubt, of course, between ourselves, that Donovan got
entangled in his own web, some of the particularly sharp tools he
employed have eventually cut him." He looked Carstairs steadily in
the eyes as he spoke.
"Ye--es, I suppose that's it. This is a damn funny place. I don't
like it a bit."
"You're right, old chap. It is funny. The world's funny. Old
Donovan lived down among the docks with sailors and foreigners; all
sorts, Lascars, Chinamen, and niggers frequented his pub; besides, he
was a bookmaker. God only knows how he met his end. Poor devil!"
"He's not much loss to civilization, that's a certainty, but it seems
to come rather near home, somehow."
"Don't let that worry you, old chap. How about this test?"
"Well, the engine's running, but she won't do her load. That little
fool from the contractors calmly opened the emergency valve, letting
high pressure steam into the low pressure cylinder, when I wasn't
looking. 'How's that?' he said, triumphantly. Of course I knew what
he'd done at once."
Darwen smiled. "You must give 'em a bit, old chap." He leaned back
in his office chair, and looked up at Carstairs, who was standing.
"A bit. By George! If she passes on load, she can't pass, by
pounds, on the steam consumption. However, you're the chief. It's
for you to pass it, not me."
"You mistake, old chap." Darwen's voice was remarkably suave and
silvery. "That's part of your job, to test all the engines."
"Very well, then I don't pass it. I'll stop it at once and tell them
to start taking it down to return to the makers."
"That won't do, old chap, we must have the engine, can't get on
without it much longer. You know that better than I do."
"Alright, then let us take it at three quarters its specified power.
"That's absurd, old chap."
"Well, I have nothing further to suggest, unless you test the engine
and pass it yourself."
"No, I shan't do that. Perhaps--er--perhaps some other chief
assistant would do it."
"Quite so."
Darwen stood up and going over to Carstairs placed a hand
affectionately on his shoulder. "Look here, Carstairs, we must have
that engine. I'm going to have it, and you're going to pass it.
I'll come down and have a look at it while he's got the by-pass open,
so that I shall be able to say that I saw it doing the load alright,
then you can give me the steam consumption figures for the run. See?"
"Yes, I see very clearly, but I'm not going to do it."
"My dear chap," Darwen beamed with the best of good nature. "Think
what it means! In your position I'd have done it. I've got past
that now. You're getting £250, or you will be next month, and just
waiting to step into my job when I leave, which I can assure you
won't be long. Don't be an ass, Carstairs. I'm going to have that
engine."
"That, of course, is for you to say."
A momentary gleam of anger like a flash of forked lightning shot
across Darwen's face, but he smiled again banteringly. "I can't
understand how such a clever chap as you can be such a fool. You
don't seem able to grasp the fact that the cleverness one is paid for
in this world, is the cleverness to outwit other people, not the
ability to disentangle abstruse problems in the higher mathematics.
Trot on down and get me out the figures for the steam consumption
like a good chap."
"Look here, Darwen, I'm not going to do your dirty work. I'm sick
and tired of you and your roguery. You're a liar, and a cheat and a
thief. God only knows if you aren't worse!"
"Dear boy! The elite of mankind is composed of such people. As long
as you don't call me a fool, you won't offend me. Are you going to
pass that engine?"
"No."
"Alright. Good-bye. Call at the office for a month's screw
to-morrow morning." He sat down again in his chair and leaned over
his table.
Carstairs laughed. "You're calling me a fool," he said, "but I'm not
a bit offended. I know it's the reflection entirely of your own
intellectual shortcoming. What do you think Dr Jameson would say?
What would the council? the whole blooming town say? If I told them
I'd got the sack because I refused to pass an engine which wasn't up
to specification. I imagine, Mr Darwen, you're prepared to
reconsider your decision, for a start, eh? just for a start."
"By Jove, Carstairs, I'm proud of you, and it's all my teaching,
every bit. 'Ye ponderous Saxon swingeth ye sledge hammer.'" Darwen
smiled like the rising sun in June. "God! what glorious weather
we're getting. Look at the sky, Carstairs! Did you ever see a sky
like that in October?"
"The sky's alright. I should have thought the the earth beneath your
feet had more concern with you." He pointed downwards with his
finger. He was feeling rather well pleased with himself.
"Well done, Carstairs. The earth is good. I adore the earth, that
is nature. Earth, Ocean, Air, beloved brotherhood. It's a pity you
don't ready poetry, Carstairs." He smiled, genially.
Carstairs remained silent, impassive. He watched him as he watched
an engine when he tested it; looking at everything, expecting
anything.
"When I was taking my before-breakfast walk this morning, I came
across a slow-worm; rather late for a slow-worm in October, isn't it?"
"Couldn't say."
"Ah! I thought you were an observer of these things. It's rather a
pity. Still, I'll proceed. I touched his tail with my stick,
and--you know the usual result--he promptly waggled it off and left
it on the footpath while the rest of him disappeared in the long
grass. Now the slow-worm thought that was smart, but it was really
only silly. I didn't want his tail, or the rest of him; he thought I
did, he was used to people who did, he thought I was a common or
garden fool. So do you, Carstairs. You can go right now to Dr
Jameson or to the devil himself; in fact, you can do what you damn
well please. I have no further use for you, and that being the case,
I don't intend to carry you around on my back any longer."
"Very well." Carstairs turned without another word and opened the
door.
"Stop a minute."
Carstairs turned.
"Shut the door half a minute. Won't you sit down?"
"No, thanks."
"Ah! the strange uncouth ways of the Saxon. However, it doesn't
matter. You don't want to hit a fellow when he's down, Carstairs?"
"No, but I want to knock him down."
"Ah! the incomprehensible Saxon. You wouldn't see a poor devil with
an old mother and a wife and family chucked out on the streets, or
sent to quod?"
"What are you pulling my leg about now? You haven't got a wife and
family."
"Me! Oh dear, no. I'm not down. Ha! ha! You can't touch me, old
chap. I haven't passed the engine. As a matter of fact I told the
contractor's man yesterday I was afraid she wouldn't do, and I
drafted a letter to the firm, telling them so. It's not sent yet;
the clerks are awaiting my signature to the typed copy."
"Then what have you been playing all this game about?"
"This is the game of life, dear boy, a sort of universal high jinks.
Let me explain. I'm going to have that engine, and if you kick up a
row, either before or after, you won't touch me. All that will
happen will be that half a dozen poor fools, who are at present
earning a precarious living as tools, tools of the inexpensive order,
will be chucked aside."
Carstairs stepped to the door again. "Alright, we shall see."
"Don't be in such a beastly hurry. Sit down."
"No, thanks."
"Alright. In case of a rumpus, the first man to go overboard would
be Winter, poor little helpless Winter. He was rushed into the
council because he was a fool, he accepted a five-pound note because
he was a thundering fool, and his wife was ill and the kids hadn't
got togs, and because everybody else was having five-pound notes.
He'd be the first sacrifice. Poor old Winter, he looks like a thief;
really, he's got a better (or worse) conscience than a nonconformist
minister; that five pounds has pulled him down astonishingly, I've
watched him wither away. And his kids, poor little mites! All
through nature one observes that the small units increase at an
astonishingly high ratio. He only got one five quid."
Carstairs was silent as a carven image.
"You're damned hard, you know, Carstairs. Then there's the
contractor's man there. He'd get the bullet, and two or three
fitters also. Possibly a clerk or two and my chief assistant would
go to quod, even the honest and highly virtuous Mr Carstairs, son of
the vicar of Chilcombe, who would die, with his wife, broken-hearted."
"That'll do, Darwen. I'll go and see Dr Jameson and a solicitor at
once."
"Carstairs, the mater's taken a fancy to you, and I'll admit you
appeal to me more than any man I've ever met. So damned ponderous.
Your moment of inertia must be simply enormous. Isn't it possible to
save you in your own despite." He touched an electric bell. An
office boy appeared.
"Ask Mr Slick if he'll come up here a minute, will you, please."
Darwen was invariably excessively polite, even to the minutest and
most sub-divided portions of humanity.
"Slick and I will endeavour to show you, Carstairs, that you've got
'no case,' as I believe they say in law."
Mr Slick appeared.
"Ah! Here you are!" Darwen shook hands cordially. "Mr Carstairs is
not satisfied with your engine, Mr Slick. Won't come up to
specification, he says."
Mr Slick raised his eyebrows; he was a hard-looking citizen, with
strong prominent jaw and piercing blue eyes. "I understood that he
expressed himself as quite pleased yesterday."
"That's absurd, Slick, you know very well----"
Darwen held up his hand. "Don't wrangle in my office, please,
gentlemen! You have some support for your statement, of course, Mr
Slick?"
"Of course; my two erectors heard him say it."
"Yes. I think I understand the Shift Engineer to say he was present
also. The fact is I've written to your firm expressing approval of
the engine, on, as I understand, Mr Carstairs' advice. Now there
seems to be some hitch. However, we will come down and see to that
presently, Mr Slick. Thanks very much for coming up."
The contractor's engineer looked inquiringly at Darwin, then he
disappeared through the door again.
Darwen turned to Carstairs. "Do you comprehend that you're bowled
out, yet."
"No. By Jove! I don't."
Darwen's eyes were wide with admiration. "Ye gods! Ye gods!" he
said. "Look here, Carstairs, you and I must continue to be pals,
I'll share with you. When I came here, the councillors were sharing
the 'profits,' and old Jones was getting an occasional five quid.
Now, I get the profits and the councillors get the occasional five
quid. See? Will you go halves? And I tell you halves is something
pretty good, too!"
"No, I won't. I'll have my market price as an engineer--no more and
no less. I can do for one dollar what any fool can do for two. I
want my share of the dollar I save."
"You won't get it, old chap."
"But I will! I'll tell you what I'll do. If you chuck this sharp
practice and send those engines back, we'll make this place pay well,
and the council shall give us our whack."
Darwen was thoughtful for a minute. "They won't do it," he said.
"The fool in the street, the voter, whose mind runs in shillings per
week, wouldn't let them. In municipal work it doesn't pay to be
honest."
Carstairs stroked his chin in perplexity. "You're an enigma to me.
You seem such a sound sort of chap in most things. Damn it! One
doesn't expect a Clifton man to be a blasted rogue. Can't you run on
straight lines? You know you're bound to get bowled out sooner or
later."
"Don't be such a pessimist, Carstairs. I hate pessimists. Let me
assure you, you are equally an enigma to me. I fail entirely to
comprehend your mind. Why do you worry and dissipate your energies
deciding what is right and what is wrong? What you really want to
know is, what is best. There is nothing wrong in this best of all
worlds, only degrees of rightness. All effort that produces no
tangible personal benefit is so much wasted energy. You're not an
Atlas, you can't carry the world on your shoulders. The whole scheme
of nature was evolved for the benefit of individuals, not classes, or
masses, or groups. The proof of the pudding is in the eating: I'm
always happy, and the keenest source of my pleasure is in out-witting
my fellow-men. Life is a perpetual game of skill, and like the
integral calculus there are no rules. You're a mathematician, you
like mathematics. I've seen you grubbing your snout into 'Salmon's
Conic Sections' just on top of a Sunday's dinner. Why don't you step
up with me into the higher planes of really applied mathematics;
applied as all such things should be, to men and women? We'd have a
rare time, you and I. When we boxed the other day we agreed at the
start that we would slog; we started out to bump each other for all
we were worth; we both got several severe punches; I got a split lip
and you got a black eye, but we enjoyed it, didn't we?"
Carstairs sat down with a heavy plump into a chair. "You ought to be
put in an asylum, not in prison," he said, wearily. "I wonder if I
gave you a good hammering if it would do any good."
"Not a bit, old chap. Besides, I rather doubt your ability to do it."
"There's an element of uncertainty," Carstairs admitted.
They regarded each other with measuring eyes. Carstairs allowed his
gaze to roam slowly over the thick, clean neck, the well-developed,
lissom-looking shoulders, and last of all rested on the clean-cut,
patrician face with the small, neat moustache just shading the
well-moulded, full red lips, quite closed; and the brilliant, clear
eyes that sparkled with a bold, clear intelligence. They were two
splendid animals, these two young men, spotlessly clean, well groomed.
"I tell you what, Darwen. I'll fight you now, to a finish, whether
you keep those engines or whether I get the sack."
"Thanks, old chap, that's a new form of the gamble of our early
youth--'heads, I win; tails, you lose.' But we shall come to a scrap
all the same some day, I know."
"That's so; I'm going away to open the campaign now." Carstairs
picked up his hat. "I'll call for my screw, Monday. By the way, I
suppose it will be at the increased rate?"
"Well, I'm damned."
"It's all in the game, you know. No need to lose your temper over
it."
"Good, jolly good. I see I'm converting you. By Jove, you shall
have it."
"Thanks. Good-bye."
"I say!"
"Hullo!"
"Mind! There are no rules. No rules whatever."
"Thanks for the tip. I see I'm converting you."
"Not at all, old chap. I want a run for my money, that's all."
"Well, I'll do my best. Ta-ta." Carstairs disappeared.