|DURING the next few days Harold had numerous visitors. A man cannot
have his father murdered without attracting a considerable amount of
attention to himself. Cards “_With deepest sympathy_” were left upon him
by the hundred, and the majority of those sympathizers drove away to
say to their friends at their clubs what a benefactor to society was the
person who had run that knife into the ribs of Lord Fotheringay. Some
suggested that a presentation should be got up for that man; and when
someone asked what the police meant by taking so much trouble to find
the man, another ventured to formulate the very plausible theory that
they were doing so in order to force him to give sittings to an eminent
sculptor for a statue of himself with the knife in his hand, to be
erected by public subscription outside the House of Lords.
“Yes; _pour encourager les autres!_” said one of the sympathizers.
Another of the sympathizers inquired where were the Atheists now?
It was generally admitted that, as an incentive to orthodoxy, the tragic
end of Lord Fotheringay could scarcely be over-estimated.
It threw a flood of light upon the Ways of Providence.
The Scotland Yard people at first regarded the incident from such a
standpoint.
They assumed that Providence had decreed a violent death to Lord
Fotheringay, in order to give the detective force an opportunity of
displaying their ingenuity.
They had many interviews with Harold, and they asked him a number of
questions regarding the life of his father, his associates, and his
tastes.
They wondered if he had an enemy.
They feared that the deed was the work of an enemy; and they started the
daring theory that if they only had a clue to this supposititious enemy
they would be on the track of the assassin.
After about a week of suchlike theorizing, they were not quite so sure
of Providence.
Some newspapers interested in the Ways of Providence, declared through
the medium of leading articles, that Lord Fotheringay had been murdered
in order that the world might be made aware of the utter incapacity of
Scotland Yard, and the necessity for the reorganization of the detective
force.
Other newspapers--they were mostly the organs of the Opposition--sneered
at the Home Secretary.
Mr. Durdan was heard to affirm in the solitude of the smoking-room of
his club, that the days of the Government were numbered.
Then Harold had also to receive daily visits from the family lawyers;
and as family lawyers take more interest in the affairs of the family
than any of its members, he found these visits very tiresome; only he
was determined to find out what was his exact position financially, and
to do so involved the examination of the contents of several tin boxes,
as well as the columns of some bank books. On the whole, however, the
result of his researches under the guidance of the lawyers was worth the
trouble that they entailed.
He found that he would be compelled to live on an income of twelve
thousand pounds a year, if he really wished--as he said he did--to make
provision for the paying off of certain incumbrances, and of keeping in
repair a certain mansion on the borders of a Welsh county.
Having lived for several years upon an allowance of something under
twelve hundred pounds a year, he felt that he could manage to subsist on
twelve thousand. This was the thought that came to him automatically, so
soon as he had discovered his financial position. His next thought was
that, by his own folly, he had rendered himself incapable of enjoying
this sudden increase in revenue.
If he had only been patient--if he had only been trustful for one week
longer!
He felt very bitterly on the subject of his folly--his cruelty--his
fraud; the fact being that he entertained some preposterous theory of
individual responsibility.
He had never had inculcated on him the principles of heredity, otherwise
he would have understood fully that he could no more have avoided
carrying out a plan of deception upon a woman, than the pointer
puppy--where would the Evolutionists be without their pointer
puppy?--can avoid pointing.
Whether the adoption of the scientific explanation of what he had done
would have alleviated his bitterness or not, is quite another question.
The philosophy that accounts for suffering does not go the length of
relieving suffering. The science that gives the gout a name that few
persons can pronounce, does not prevent an ordinary gouty subject from
swearing; which seems rather a pity.
Among the visitors whom Harold saw in these days was Edmund Airey. Mr.
Airey did not think it necessary to go through the form of expressing
his sympathy for his friend’s bereavement. His only allusion to the
bereavement was to be found in a sneer at Scotland Yard.
Could he do anything for Harold, he wondered. If he could do anything,
Harold might depend on his doing it.
Harold said, “Thank you, old chap, I don’t think I can reasonably ask
you to work out for me, in tabulated form, the net value of leases that
have yet to run from ten to sixty years.”
“Therein the patient must minister to himself,” said Edmund. “I suppose
it is, after all, only a question of administration. If you want any
advice--well, you have asked my advice before now. You have even gone
the length of taking my advice--yes, sometimes. That’s more than the
majority of people do--unless my advice bears out their own views.
Advice, my dear Harold, is the opinion asked by one man of another when
he has made up his mind what course to adopt.”
“I have always found your counsel good,” said Harold. “You know men and
their motives. I have often wondered if you knew anything about women.”
Mr. Airey smiled. It was rather ridiculous that anyone so well
acquainted with him as Harold was, should make use of a phrase that
suggested a doubt of his capacity.
“Women--and their motives?” said he.
“Quite so,” said Harold. “Their motives. You once assured me that there
was no such thing as woman in the abstract. Perhaps, assuming that that
is your standpoint, you may say that it is ridiculous to talk of the
motives of woman; though it would be reasonable--at least as reasonable
as most talk of women--to speak of the motives of a woman.”
“What woman do you speak of?” said Edmund, quickly.
“I speak as a fool--broadly,” said Harold. “I feel myself to be a fool,
when I reflect upon the wisdom of those stories told to us by Brian
the boatman. The first was about a man who defrauded the revenue of the
country, the other was about a cow that got jammed in the doorway of an
Irish cabin. There was some practical philosophy in both those stories,
and they put all questions of women and their motives out of our heads
while Brian was telling them.”
“There’s no doubt about that,” said Edmund.
“By the way, didn’t you ask me for my advice on some point during one of
those days on the Irish lough?”
“If I did, I’m certain that I received good counsel from you,” said
Harold.
“You did. But you didn’t take it,” said Edmund, with a laugh.
“I told you once that you hadn’t given me time. I tell you so again,”
said Harold.
“Has she been to see you within the past few days? asked Edmund.
“You understand women--and their motives,” said Harold. “Yes, Miss
Craven was here. By the way, talking of motives, I have often wondered
why you suggested to my sister that Miss Avon would make an agreeable
addition to the party at Abbeylands.”
Not for a second did Edmund Airey change colour--not for a second did
his eyes fall before the searching glance of his friend.
“The fact was,” said he--and he smiled as he spoke--“I was under the
impression that your father--ah, well, if he hadn’t that mechanical
rectitude of movement which appertains chiefly to the walking doll
and other automata, he had still many good points. He told me upon one
occasion that it was his intention to marry Miss Avon. I was amused.”
“And you wanted to be amused again? I see. I think that I, too, am
beginning to understand something of men--and their motives,” remarked
Harold.
“If you make any progress in that direction, you might try and fathom
the object of the Opposition in getting up this agitation about Siberia.
They are going to arouse the country by descriptions of the horrors of
exile in Siberia. They want to make the Government responsible for what
goes on there. And the worst of it is that they’ll do it, too. Do you
remember Bulgaria?”
“Perfectly. The country is a fool. The Government will need a strong
programme to counteract the effects of the Siberian platform.”
“I’m trying to think out something at the present moment. Well,
good-bye. Don’t fail to let me know if I can do anything for you.”
He had been gone some time before Harold smiled--not the smile of a man
who has been amused at something that has come under his notice, but the
sad smile of a man who has found that his sagacity has not been at fault
when he has thought the worst about one of his friends.
There are times when a certain imperturbability of demeanour on the part
of a man who has been asked a sudden searching question, conveys as
much to the questioner as his complete collapse would do. The perfect
composure with which Edmund had replied to his sudden question regarding
his motive in suggesting to Mrs. Lampson--with infinite tact--that
Beatrice Avon might be invited to Abbeylands, told Harold all that he
had an interest to know.
Edmund Airey’s acquaintance with men--and women--had led him to feel
sure that Mrs. Lamp-son would tell her brother of the suggestion made
by him, Edmund; and also that her brother would ask him if he had any
particular reason for making that suggestion. This was perfectly plain
to Harold; and he knew that his friend had been walking about for some
time with that answer ready for the question which had just been put to
him.
“He is on his way to Beatrice at the present moment,” said Harold, while
that bitter smile was still upon his features.
And he was right.