Rufus Van Aldin had just finished the sparse breakfast of coffee and
dry toast, which was all he ever allowed himself, when Knighton entered
the room.
"Mr. Goby is below, sir, waiting to see you."
The millionaire glanced at the clock. It was just half-past nine.
"All right," he said curtly. "He can come up."
A minute or two later, Mr. Goby entered the room. He was a small,
elderly man, shabbily dressed, with eyes that looked carefully all
round the room, and never at the person he was addressing.
"Good morning, Goby," said the millionaire. "Take a chair."
"Thank you, Mr. Van Aldin."
Mr. Goby sat down with his hands on his knees, and gazed earnestly at
the radiator.
"I have got a job for you."
"Yes, Mr. Van Aldin?"
"My daughter is married to the Hon. Derek Kettering, as you may perhaps
know."
Mr. Goby transferred his gaze from the radiator to the left-hand drawer
of the desk, and permitted a deprecating smile to pass over his face.
Mr. Goby knew a great many things, but he always hated to admit the
fact.
"By my advice, she is about to file a petition for divorce. That, of
course, is a solicitor's business. But, for private reasons, I want the
fullest and most complete information."
Mr. Goby looked at the cornice and murmured:
"About Mr. Kettering?"
"About Mr. Kettering."
"Very good, sir."
Mr. Goby rose to his feet.
"When will you have it ready for me?"
"Are you in a hurry, sir?"
"I'm always in a hurry," said the millionaire.
Mr. Goby smiled understandingly at the fender.
"Shall we say two o'clock this afternoon, sir?" he asked.
"Excellent," approved the other. "Good morning, Goby."
"Good morning, Mr. Van Aldin."
"That's a very useful man," said the millionaire as Goby went out and
his secretary came in. "In his own line he's a specialist."
"What is his line?"
"Information. Give him twenty-four hours and he would lay the private
life of the Archbishop of Canterbury bare for you."
"A useful sort of chap," said Knighton, with a smile.
"He has been useful to me once or twice," said Van Aldin. "Now then,
Knighton, I'm ready for work."
The next few hours saw a vast quantity of business rapidly transacted.
It was half-past twelve when the telephone bell rang, and Mr. Van Aldin
was informed that Mr. Kettering had called. Knighton looked at Van
Aldin, and interpreted his brief nod.
"Ask Mr. Kettering to come up, please."
The secretary gathered up his papers and departed. He and the visitor
passed each other in the doorway, and Derek Kettering stood aside to
let the other go out. Then he came in, shutting the door behind him.
"Good morning, sir. You are very anxious to see me, I hear."
The lazy voice with its slightly ironic inflection roused memories in
Van Aldin. There was charm in it--there had always been charm in it. He
looked piercingly at his son-in-law. Derek Kettering was thirty-four,
lean of build, with a dark, narrow face, which had even now something
indescribably boyish in it.
"Come in," said Van Aldin curtly. "Sit down."
Kettering flung himself lightly into an arm-chair. He looked at his
father-in-law with a kind of tolerant amusement.
"Not seen you for a long time, sir," he remarked pleasantly. "About two
years, I should say. Seen Ruth yet?"
"I saw her last night," said Van Aldin.
"Looking very fit, isn't she?" said the other lightly.
"I didn't know you had had much opportunity of judging," said Van Aldin
drily.
Derek Kettering raised his eyebrows.
"Oh, we sometimes meet at the same night club, you know," he said
airily.
"I am not going to beat about the bush," Van Aldin said curtly. "I have
advised Ruth to file a petition for divorce."
Derek Kettering seemed unmoved.
"How drastic!" he murmured. "Do you mind if I smoke, sir?"
He lit a cigarette, and puffed out a cloud of smoke as he added
nonchalantly:
"And what did Ruth say?"
"Ruth proposes to take my advice," said her father.
"Does she really?"
"Is that all you have got to say?" demanded Van Aldin sharply.
Kettering flicked his ash into the grate.
"I think, you know," he said, with a detached air, "that she's making a
great mistake."
"From your point of view she doubtless is," said Van Aldin grimly.
"Oh, come now," said the other; "don't let's be personal. I really
wasn't thinking of myself at the moment. I was thinking of Ruth. You
know my poor old Governor really can't last much longer; all the
doctors say so. Ruth had better give it a couple more years, then I
shall be Lord Leconbury, and she can be châtelaine of Leconbury, which
is what she married me for."
"I won't have any of your darned impudence," roared Van Aldin.
Derek Kettering smiled at him quite unmoved.
"I agree with you. It's an obsolete idea," he said. "There's nothing
in a title nowadays. Still, Leconbury is a very fine old place, and,
after all, we are one of the oldest families in England. It will be
very annoying for Ruth if she divorces me to find me marrying again,
and some other woman queening it at Leconbury instead of her."
"I am serious, young man," said Van Aldin.
"Oh, so am I," said Kettering. "I am in very low water financially; it
will put me in a nasty hole if Ruth divorces me, and, after all, if she
has stood it for ten years, why not stand it a little longer? I give
you my word of honour that the old man can't possibly last out another
eighteen months, and, as I said before, it's a pity Ruth shouldn't get
what she married me for."
"You suggest that my daughter married you for your title and position?"
Derek Kettering laughed a laugh that was not all amusement.
"You don't think it was a question of a love match?" he asked.
"I know," said Van Aldin slowly, "that you spoke very differently in
Paris ten years ago."
"Did I? Perhaps I did. Ruth was very beautiful, you know--rather like
an angel or a saint, or something that had stepped down from a niche
in a church. I had fine ideas, I remember, of turning over a new leaf,
of settling down and living up to the highest traditions of English
home-life with a beautiful wife who loved me."
He laughed again, rather more discordantly.
"But you don't believe that, I suppose?" he said.
"I have no doubt at all that you married Ruth for her money," said Van
Aldin unemotionally.
"And that she married me for love?" asked the other ironically.
"Certainly," said Van Aldin.
Derek Kettering stared at him for a minute or two, then he nodded
reflectively.
"I see you believe that," he said. "So did I at the time. I can assure
you, my dear father-in-law, I was very soon undeceived."
"I don't know what you are getting at," said Van Aldin, "and I don't
care. You have treated Ruth darned badly."
"Oh, I have," agreed Kettering lightly, "but she's tough, you know.
She's your daughter. Underneath the pink-and-white softness of her
she's as hard as granite. You have always been known as a hard man, so
I have been told, but Ruth is harder than you are. You, at any rate,
love one person better than yourself. Ruth never has and never will."
"That is enough," said Van Aldin. "I asked you here so that I could
tell you fair and square what I meant to do. My girl has got to have
some happiness, and remember this, I am behind her."
Derek Kettering got up and stood by the mantelpiece. He tossed away his
cigarette. When he spoke, his voice was very quiet.
"What exactly do you mean by that, I wonder?" he said.
"I mean," said Van Aldin, "that you had better not try to defend the
case."
"Oh," said Kettering. "Is that a threat?"
"You can take it any way you please," said Van Aldin.
Kettering drew a chair up to the table. He sat down fronting the
millionaire.
"And supposing," he said softly, "that, just for argument's sake, I did
defend the case?"
Van Aldin shrugged his shoulders.
"You have not got a leg to stand upon, you young fool. Ask your
solicitors, they will soon tell you. Your conduct has been notorious,
the talk of London."
"Ruth has been kicking up a row about Mirelle, I suppose. Very foolish
of her. I don't interfere with her friends."
"What do you mean?" said Van Aldin sharply.
Derek Kettering laughed.
"I see you don't know everything sir," he said. "You are, perhaps
naturally, prejudiced."
He took up his hat and stick and moved towards the door.
"Giving advice is not much in my line." He delivered his final thrust.
"But, in this case, I should advise most strongly perfect frankness
between father and daughter."
He passed quickly out of the room and shut the door behind him just as
the millionaire sprang up.
"Now, what the hell did he mean by that?" said Van Aldin as he sank
back into his chair again.
All his uneasiness returned in full force. There was something here
that he had not yet got to the bottom of. The telephone was by his
elbow; he seized it, and asked for the number of his daughter's house.
"Hallo! Hallo! Is that Mayfair 81907? Mrs. Kettering in? Oh, she's
out, is she? Yes, out to lunch. What time will she be in? You don't
know? Oh, very good; no, there's no message."
He slammed the receiver down again angrily. At two o'clock he was
pacing the floor of his room waiting expectantly for Goby. The latter
was ushered in at ten minutes past two.
"Well?" barked the millionaire sharply.
But little Mr. Goby was not to be hurried. He sat down at the table,
produced a very shabby pocket-book, and proceeded to read from it
in a monotonous voice. The millionaire listened attentively, with
an increasing satisfaction. Goby came to a full stop, and looked
attentively at the wastepaper-basket.
"Um!" said Van Aldin. "That seems pretty definite. The case will go
through like winking. The hotel evidence is all right, I suppose?"
"Cast iron," said Mr. Goby, and looked malevolently at a gilt arm-chair.
"And financially he's in very low water. He's trying to raise a
loan now, you say? Has already raised practically all he can upon
his expectations from his father. Once the news of the divorce gets
about, he won't be able to raise another cent, and not only that, his
obligations can be bought up and pressure can be put upon him from that
quarter. We have got him, Goby; we have got him in a cleft stick."
He hit the table a bang with his fist. His face was grim and triumphant.
"The information," said Mr. Goby in a thin voice, "seems satisfactory."
"I have got to go round to Curzon Street now," said the millionaire. "I
am much obliged to you, Goby. You are the goods all right."
A pale smile of gratification showed itself on the little man's face.
"Thank you, Mr. Van Aldin," he said; "I try to do my best."
Van Aldin did not go direct to Curzon Street. He went first to the
City, where he had two interviews which added to his satisfaction. From
there he took the tube to Down Street. As he was walking along Curzon
Street, a figure came out of No. 160, and turned up the street towards
him, so that they passed each other on the pavement. For a moment,
the millionaire had fancied it might be Derek Kettering himself; the
height and build were not unlike. But as they came face to face, he saw
that the man was a stranger to him. At least--no, not a stranger; his
face awoke some call of recognition in the millionaire's mind, and it
was associated definitely with something unpleasant. He cudgelled his
brains in vain, but the thing eluded him. He went on, shaking his head
irritably. He hated to be baffled.
Ruth Kettering was clearly expecting him. She ran to him and kissed him
when he entered.
"Well, Dad, how are things going?"
"Very well," said Van Aldin; "but I have got a word or two to say to
you, Ruth."
Almost insensibly he felt the change in her; something shrewd and
watchful replaced the impulsiveness of her greeting. She sat down in a
big arm-chair.
"Well, Dad?" she asked. "What is it?"
"I saw your husband this morning," said Van Aldin.
"You saw Derek?"
"I did. He said a lot of things, most of which were darned cheek. Just
as he was leaving, he said something that I didn't understand. He
advised me to be sure that there was perfect frankness between father
and daughter. What did he mean by that, Ruthie?"
Mrs. Kettering moved a little in her chair.
"I--I don't know, Dad. How should I?"
"Of course you know," said Van Aldin. "He said something else, about
his having his friends and not interfering with yours. What did he mean
by that?"
"I don't know," said Ruth Kettering again.
Van Aldin sat down. His mouth set itself in a grim line.
"See here, Ruth. I am not going into this with my eyes closed. I am not
at all sure that that husband of yours doesn't mean to make trouble.
Now, he can't do it, I am sure of that. I have got the means to silence
him, to shut his mouth for good and all, but I have got to know if
there's any need to use those means. What did he mean by your having
your own friends?"
Mrs. Kettering shrugged her shoulders.
"I have got lots of friends," she said uncertainly. "I don't know what
he meant, I am sure."
"You do," said Van Aldin.
He was speaking now as he might have spoken to a business adversary.
"I will put it plainer. Who is the man?"
"What man?"
"_The_ man. That's what Derek was driving at. Some special man who is
a friend of yours. You needn't worry, honey, I know there is nothing
in it, but we have got to look at everything as it might appear to the
Court. They can twist these things about a good deal, you know. I want
to know who the man is, and just how friendly you have been with him."
Ruth didn't answer. Her hands were kneading themselves together in
intense nervous absorption.
"Come, honey," said Van Aldin in a softer voice. "Don't be afraid of
your old Dad. I was not too harsh, was I, even that time in Paris?--By
gosh!"
He stopped, thunderstruck.
"That's who it was," he murmured to himself. "I thought I knew his
face."
"What are you talking about, Dad? I don't understand."
The millionaire strode across to her and took her firmly by the wrist.
"See here, Ruth, have you been seeing that fellow again?"
"What fellow?"
"The one we had all that fuss about years ago. You know who I mean well
enough."
"You mean"--she hesitated--"you mean the Comte de la Roche?"
"Comte de la Roche!" snorted Van Aldin. "I told you at the time that
the man was no better than a swindler. You had entangled yourself with
him then very deeply, but I got you out of his clutches."
"Yes, you did," said Ruth bitterly. "And I married Derek Kettering."
"You wanted to," said the millionaire sharply.
She shrugged her shoulders.
"And now," said Van Aldin slowly, "you have been seeing him
again--after all I told you. He has been in the house to-day. I met him
outside, and couldn't place him for the moment."
Ruth Kettering had recovered her composure.
"I want to tell you one thing, Dad; you are wrong about Armand--the
Comte de la Roche, I mean. Oh, I know there were several regrettable
incidents in his youth--he has told me about them; but--well, he has
cared for me always. It broke his heart when you parted us in Paris,
and now--"
She was interrupted by the snort of indignation her father gave.
"So you fell for that stuff, did you? You, a daughter of mine! My God!"
He threw up his hands.
"That women can be such darned fools!"