thoughts were not pleasing as he returned to the dining-room. Already he
was beginning dimly to comprehend the far-reaching effects of his
impulsive action, but his heart smote him as he noted the pathetic droop
of Kate Charlock's shoulders as she sat toying with her lunch. Lady
Strathmore was right. It was necessary to go away at once. It might be
possible to reach Devonshire before night, and, on the whole, it would
be better to say nothing to Kate about the impending visit of Mrs.
Bromley-Martin and her frivolous friends.
"What did she want?" Kate asked wearily.
"Really, I can hardly tell you," Rent stammered. "I don't think she
meant to be unkind, though she is a bit hard. The gist of our
conversation was that I should get away at once."
Kate Charlock smiled in her sweet, melancholy way, though her heart was
hot within her and passionate words trembled on her lips.
"We must try to forgive her," she said gently, "though she was very
cruel to me. But she is right about leaving, and the sooner we set out
for Devonshire the better. If you will pay the bill, I will go up--what
is the matter?"
"Upon my word, I am very sorry," Rent stammered, "but I have only a few
shillings in my pocket. In the excitement of yesterday I forgot all
about money. Of course, I could telegraph to my solicitors, but even
then I could not hear till the morning. Still, I know one or two people
here, and I will go out at once and see if I can borrow a few pounds. I
sha'n't be long."
She sat there till a waiter came into the room with an envelope in his
hand. With some agitation she noticed that the handwriting was that of
Rent. She waved the waiter from the room and, in a frenzy of eagerness,
tore open the envelope. There were only a few words hurriedly scrawled
on the back of a visiting card.
"There is no help for it," the missive ran, "but I must go back to Cowes
at once. The business is urgent and admits of no delay. Stay where you
are until I return. At the very most I cannot be longer than two
hours."
There was passion as well as hate in Kate Charlock's eyes as she tore
the card into fragments.
"What does this mean?" she asked. "Can he intend to leave me here?
But, no, I cannot possibly believe anything of the kind. And yet, how
very awkward!"
*CHAPTER XII*
*A CRIME OR NOT?*
It was the day following the dramatic disappearance of Kate Charlock,
and once more Tanza and his companion were on board the yacht. The
Italian had been away most of the morning, and had only arrived in time
for lunch. He appeared to be on excellent terms with himself. There
was a merry twinkle in his eye as he contentedly sucked his cigarette.
"You are not going to tell me anything, then?" he asked.
"My dear sir, there isn't anything to tell you," Malcolm Grey replied.
"I won't say that I haven't made a discovery or two, because that
wouldn't be true. At the same time, I stick to my original idea of
keeping what I know to myself. We will both go our own way and see what
we can make of it. But I am more or less convinced that your original
suggestion is correct, and that there was foul play in the matter of the
French maid."
Tanza's eyes sparkled brightly.
"I have never had the slightest doubt of it," he said. "I have an
instinct for that kind of thing. I knew that we had to deal with a
scoundrel above the common. The whole thing is most fascinating. I
suppose you have heard the latest development?"
"Indeed, I haven't," Grey said. "Tell me."
"Mrs. Charlock has left her husband. There are a good many versions as
to the cause of the quarrel. But, at any rate, she has gone, apparently
leaving no trace behind her. I dare say there are faults on both sides;
he is a hard man, and she is an extravagant, thoughtless woman. One
never knows what a man of the artistic temperament is going to do. It
seems that Charlock has disposed of his household goods and has made up
his mind to spend the next year or two in a cottage."
"Posing, I presume," Grey said cynically.
"No, I don't think so," Tanza went on. "He is too great a genius to
indulge in childish follies. He can afford to leave that kind of thing
to the log-rollers. I understand that he has outrun the constable, and
that he has every desire to get on terms with the world again. Anyway,
his wife wouldn't go with him, and I believe they have separated. As
the man is a friend of yours, I thought you might have heard about
this."
But Grey shook his head. The information was news to him. He was a
little annoyed, too, because there were certain facts which he expected
to gather from Charlock. He sat there debating the matter for a short
time in his mind, then announced his intention of seeking out Charlock.
It was possible the artist had not left the neighbourhood yet, and there
was no time to be lost. Tanza raised no objection. He hinted that he
had work to do himself and that he could dispense with Grey's company
for the rest of the afternoon.
A little time afterwards Grey walked up the drive of Charlock's house.
There was nothing in the condition of the grounds to indicate that the
place was empty. The lawns had been freshly cut, the flower-beds were
trim and neat as usual. It was only the blank, staring windows and the
litter of straw on the front door which told the story. As Grey stood
there the door opened, and Charlock himself came out. There was a grim,
significant smile on his face.
"You are astonished to see this?" he asked.
"Not in the least," Grey said. "I should not be astonished at anything
you did. But, if it isn't an impertinent question, why are you acting
in this fashion? It seems almost a sacrilege to strip a beautiful place
like this. And if you must leave it, why not have let it furnished?"
A cynical laugh broke from Charlock's lips.
"It takes time to let a furnished house," he said, "even a little
paradise like this. And the lesson loses nothing of its force because
it is administered promptly and speedily. When I bark, I bite. And I
don't want to give warning. Ah, you don't know what it is to be mated
to an extravagant wife who has no consideration for any one but herself.
I should be, at the present moment, a rich man. I have no vices. My
personal expenditure is nothing. But I do love to be surrounded by
things that are good and beautiful. That is why I spent so much in
furnishing this house. I thought I was one of the happiest of men. I
thought I was going to lead an ideal existence. But I found I was tied
to a woman whose one idea was fashion, who thought nothing of playing at
gardening in a Paris frock that cost fifty or sixty pounds. And one day
I awoke to the fact that I was on the verge of bankruptcy. Great Scott!
how those bills came rolling in! There was only one thing to be
done--to act at once. There are no half measures with me. I cut
everything adrift. I have taken a labourer's cottage. I told my wife
she would have to live there with me and do everything till every
farthing was paid. And now she has gone."
Charlock spoke harshly and bitterly. It was rarely, indeed, that he
mentioned his own feelings. But the wound was too recent. And there was
something in Grey's manner that invited confidence.
"Your wife will think better of it," the latter murmured.
"Will she? Yes, perhaps, when the leopard changes his spots and the
Ethiopian his skin, but not till then. Oh, everybody will side with
her, of course. Everybody knows that I am hard and harsh and difficult
to live with. She will pose as an injured woman, and the blame will be
mine; indeed, she has begun to do so already. What do you think of her
making a convert of Arnold Rent? Fancy that cynical man of the world,
who would stick at nothing to gratify his ambition, forfeiting his
future for the sake of my injured wife! That is the idea. He has
become her champion. I presume he is going to look after her welfare
till I am forced to make her a proper allowance. Probably you will hear
of the thing again in the law courts--the well-known artist and his
outraged wife, and all that kind of thing. Well, let them take what
steps they like; I sha'n't trouble to defend it. And yet behind it all
there is a comedy so amusing that I feel inclined to laugh in spite of
myself. What do you think of my wife's going down to Devonshire to seek
an asylum under the roof of Rent's mother? And what do you think of me
as an honoured guest in the same house? I am not joking. The thing is
in my own hands; indeed, it is more or less imperative, especially as I
am not very busy, and an early commission is essential. There is a
situation in a play for you! Think what Pinero would make out of it!
But why should I bore you with these sordid details? They cannot
interest you."
Before Grey could make a suitable reply Charlock held out his hand and
bade his companion a blunt good-day. He turned back to the house and
banged the door behind him, as if ashamed at this display of feeling.
It was not often that the strong man cried aloud so that the world might
know of his hurt. He was furious with himself that he had done so now.
And it seemed to Grey that it would be in bad taste to attempt to follow
his friend and clear up the points which had been the object of his
journey.
He walked out of the gates and down the road to the outskirts of the
town to the newly erected buildings where, until the past day or two,
Arnold Rent had been conducting a series of experiments in wireless
telegraphy. The office was close to the shore. One or two workmen were
engaged with some apparatus the like of which Grey had not seen before.
It was only natural that he should be interested in what was going on,
that he should linger for a moment or two, until the office door opened
and a clerk emerged. With some directness of manner, but civilly
enough, he asked Grey's business. The scientist turned to face the man,
abnormally thin and tall--a man with a face like faded yellow parchment,
lighted by a pair of sombre, smouldering eyes.
"You seem to have forgotten me, Swift," Grey said. "Have I altered so
much during the last two years?"
The tall man gasped. His features twitched convulsively for a moment.
Then the colour of his face changed. A sullen red tinged the parchment
hue, leaving it still more pallid a minute afterwards.
"Mr. Grey," he stammered. "What do you want here?"
There was something embarrassed, almost guilty, in the speaker's manner.
Grey smiled as he replied.
"I am interested in all these kinds of things," he said. "But don't
think I come here to learn your secrets. As a matter of fact, I called
to see Mr. Rent."
"He is away," the tall man explained. "But now a piece of business has
turned up and I am telegraphing him in the course of the day. Is there
anything I can tell him?"
"I don't think so," Grey said thoughtfully. "Anyway, there is no hurry.
And how are you doing? Have you got over the old weakness? For, if so,
you are likely to realise the old ambitions, after all. Don't think me
impertinent."
"I don't," Swift said indifferently. "I am only human, and I begin to
realise that I shall never be able to cope with that accursed thing.
Still, I am better than I was, and I am fairly happy here doing
congenial work. You see----"
What Swift was going to say was cut short by the appearance of a third
party. He was a slight, dapper man, with prominent features and sleek,
glossy hair. His manner was heavily dashed with audacity. He was
ludicrously overdressed, and he carried the fact that he was an
unregenerate scamp written in every line of his face.
"You are wasting your time," Swift said coldly. "Mr. Rent desires me to
say that he does not know you and has no desire to see you. I hope I
make myself plain."
"Oh, very well," the stranger said. "In that case, I will wait till Mr.
Rent comes back and see him personally. I shall find a way to refresh
his memory, and don't you forget it. I don't allow anybody to play the
fool with Ephraim Bark."
*CHAPTER XIII*
*MODERN FRIENDSHIP*
As Kate Charlock sat debating her position with anxiety, the door opened
cautiously and a gaily dressed figure slipped into the room. The place
seemed to be half-filled with billowing draperies and the air was heavy
with subtle perfume. Kate Charlock turned in amazement upon the
intruder.
"Jessica!" she gasped. "What are you doing here?"
"You may well ask that," Mrs. Bromley-Martin tittered. "But a little
bird told me what was going on, and when I had a wire from Lady
Strathmore this morning asking me to bring a mob over to tea this
afternoon, I jumped at the opportunity. My word, what a time we have
had all morning pulling your character to pieces! And just now, when
Belle Langley bet me a dozen pairs of gloves I dare not come up and
interview you, I closed like a shot. Well, what have you to say for
yourself?"
From head to foot Kate Charlock quivered with indignation. She was not
blind to her own folly, but, then, she had so hedged herself in with
self-pity that she did not regard herself as the average woman who has
fallen away from grace. Her case was quite different. But she merely
smiled as she replied.
"I have nothing to say for myself," she responded. "I am content to
leave my character in the hands of those who, like yourself, are
acquainted with my unhappy domestic life. My husband chose to turn me
out of house and home, and the punishment should be his more than mine.
I know that socially my life is finished."
"Terribly sad," Mrs. Bromley-Martin laughed gaily. "I am not going to
blame you. You are no worse than two-thirds of us, as you know very
well. Besides, we ought to be grateful to you for giving us something
fresh to talk about. Still, we shall miss our tall, white saint who was
the connecting link between ourselves and absolute respectability. But
I must not stay longer. One has to be careful, you know."
"Yes, with a reputation like yours, one has to be," Mrs. Charlock said
sweetly. "You may tell your friends that they need not trouble to waste
their sympathy upon me. I am quite happy."
Kate Charlock's looks belied her words as Mrs. Bromley-Martin flitted
from the room like some great gauze butterfly. She had little enough to
be happy about, she told herself; from the bottom of her heart she
resented the patronage of her late visitor. At length she was roused
from her reverie by the entrance of a servant with a telegram on a tray.
It was addressed to Rent, but Kate opened it and glanced carelessly at
the contents. Her face did not move a muscle as she turned to the
waiter and told him that there was no reply.
Yet the few words were calculated to disturb. They were charged with
meaning and called for immediate action. It was clear that the telegram
came from Arnold Rent's mother.
"Have just received your letter," the message ran. "Am terribly
surprised and shocked. On no account come here, as I am travelling to
see you and will call to-morrow afternoon.
"HELEN RENT."
Kate crushed the flimsy paper into a ball and tossed it contemptuously
into the fireplace. A moment later and she was reading the words again
thoughtfully. Doubtless some enemy had done this thing, and the words
brought the reader no sort of comfort. Kate Charlock recognised courage
and stern determination of purpose on the part of the sender of the
message. Her ready wit saw that it was necessary to strike a
counter-blow without delay. It was evident that Mrs. Rent would adopt a
firm attitude and could carry out her part far better in the Royal
Solent Hotel than under her own roof. She must start for Devonshire
instantly as the only possible way of saving the situation.
Would Arnold Rent really return? It was getting on towards five o'clock
and he had been gone for two hours. With a sigh of mingled impatience
and surprise, she heard him coming along the corridor. He looked
uncomfortable.
"Upon my word, I am very sorry," he said, "but, as luck would have it, I
have not been able to find a single friend. We must wait till I get
money from my solicitors to-morrow morning. The delay is maddening!"
"Meanwhile, what are we to do about this?" Kate asked, as she held out
the telegram. "This is from your mother."
"Perhaps it is a good thing," Rent said. "It will save us a journey, at
any rate. You must not be annoyed with my mother. It is only natural
that she should feel like that, till the case is explained to her. When
she has seen us and heard everything she _must_ be on our side. We can
have dinner here and spend the evening together."
For a moment a gleam of anger came into Kate Charlock's eyes. She felt
a wild desire to lay her hand upon Rent, to box his ears, to do anything
as an outlet for her rage at his crass stupidity. She schooled herself,
though as she stood there her finger nails were cutting into the white
flesh of her palms.
"You don't understand," she said. "Your mother may forgive you, but she
will never forgive me. If we meet here, there will be an end of
everything. But under her own roof she will be bound by the dictates of
hospitality to listen to what we have to say. I have been looking out
the trains, and if we start within an hour we ought to reach our
destination this evening."
"It shall be as you please," Rent said tenderly. "I will go with you
now, if you choose. There is one little thing you have forgotten--I
have no money, and the railway people won't give credit----"
"Oh, please don't raise these obstacles," Kate Charlock cried wearily.
"I suppose you carry a watch?"
"Oh, no, my dear, I never carry one. And if I did, what use would it be
to us just now?"
In spite of herself a laugh broke from Kate Charlock's lips. Would this
man never improve? She crossed the room to her dressing-case and took
out a diamond bangle.
"There!" she said. "You are going to have a new experience. I daresay
you will have no difficulty in raising twenty pounds on that. You
understand what I mean? I have nothing else to spare."
Arnold Rent inclined his head shamefully.
"Oh, I am speaking of a pawnbroker. There is no need to flush and look
uncomfortable, because the thing has to be done, whether you like it or
not. And, besides, there is no disgrace in the transaction. The
pawnbroker keeps open his shop to do business and is as anxious for your
patronage as the butcher or the grocer. Ask the first policeman you
meet where you can find a respectable shop, and the rest will be easy."
"My dear girl," Rent said, with a hardening of his lips, "I couldn't do
it. We must wait."
Kate Charlock shot one glance at him. Then she laid her head upon the
table and burst into a flood of tears. The strategy was successful, for
Rent jumped in agitation to his feet and slipped the bangle into his
pocket.
"For Heaven's sake, don't cry," he said. "For your sake I will do
anything. I had quite forgotten----"
His voice trailed away in an incoherent manner. He grabbed at his hat
and left the room. The woman's eyes dried like magic. A smile trembled
on her lips. But the anxious feeling did not leave her. Her heart
would not lighten till the express train pulled out from the station on
its long journey to the West. The fight was coming and Kate Charlock
did not mean to fail.
Despite the extent of his infatuation, the pill was none the less a
bitter one for Rent to swallow. He was back again at the hotel
presently, with the sovereigns jingling as he came in.
"I am glad that is all right," she said. "And now tell me why you
behaved so badly just now? Surely you could not have had business of so
great importance as to take you away from me in a crisis like this! It
is not as if you were engaged in trade. Now tell me what it was. You
can trust me."
An ingenious prevarication trembled upon Rent's lips, when the waiter
entered the room with a further telegram. Rent glanced at it more or
less carelessly, but, though he was conscious his colour changed, he
managed to drop the telegram coolly in the fire.
"The business was not my own," he said, "therefore I cannot tell it you.
But I am afraid you will have to be patient. That telegram came from
the same quarter and admits of no delay. You won't mind very much if I
go back to Cowes now and return in the morning?"
Kate Charlock swallowed her passion. She saw that the time had come to
act and struck accordingly.
"Very well," she said. "In that case I will go back to my husband. It
is not yet too late and I am not ashamed to meet him. It must be one
thing or the other."
Rent stifled what sounded like a groan.
"As you like," he said. "I shall not be the first fool beguiled by a
woman!"
*CHAPTER XIV*
*BARK IS CONFIDENTIAL*
Malcolm Grey stood somewhat uncomfortably outside the little office on
the seashore, hardly knowing what to do. In some vague way the features
of the person who called himself Ephraim Bark were familiar, though he
could not place the man. He would have stayed a little longer, only he
seemed to be in the way; it looked, too, as if he were listening to a
private conversation. He knew Arnold Rent by reputation and personally.
He was aware that the latter had the character of a man about town, not
too scrupulous where his passions and fancies were concerned. One or
two strange tales had come to Grey's ears, though, at the time, he had
paid small heed to them. And here was a man, whom no gentleman would
touch without gloves, actually speaking as if he held some power over
Rent. No man who did not feel positive of his ground would have spoken
in that bullying way, especially as the fellow gave every indication of
being a coward if he came to be tackled.
At any other time Grey would have dismissed the incident with a shrug of
the shoulders, but he had his own reasons now for learning all he could
concerning the past history of Arnold Rent. Therefore he lingered to
see what was likely to be the upshot of the interview.
He saw Swift's hands clenched with passion. He saw the desire to strike
down the intruder gleaming in his eyes. Then Swift restrained himself,
as if suddenly remembering that this was an occasion when diplomacy was
wiser than strength.
"It is useless for you to hang about here," Swift said. "Mr. Rent is
not in the neighbourhood, and I don't suppose he will be back before
morning. You can come and see him if you like, but I should not advise
you to do so."
"That's all very well," the aggrieved Bark burst out. "But what am I to
do in the meantime? And why should he have everything while I've got
nothing? By the time I have had my dinner I sha'n't have a cent to pay
my lodgings. Just hand over a sovereign or two to go on with. Do you
hear?"
"I hear," Swift said coldly. "I regret that I have no money to spare.
And I don't think I should let you have it if I had. Come, clear out,
or I'll have to put you off the premises."
For the moment it looked as if the truculent Bark would show fight, but
he contented himself with vague threats and innuendoes as he turned on
his heel and sauntered away. Grey no longer doubted that the man had a
powerful hold on Arnold Rent. He waited a few moments, discussing
general matters with Swift; then he, too, strode into the road and
followed Bark. There was no occasion to introduce himself to this
individual, for, without a moment's hesitation, Bark raised his curly
brimmed hat with what he believed to be refined and courtly politeness.
Grey pulled up at once.
"You'll excuse me, Mr. Grey," Bark said effusively, "but I hope you
won't mind doing me a little favour?"
"You know my name, then?" Grey said. "I ought to recognise you, but my
memory plays me false."
A look of deep cunning came into Bark's eyes.
"You can't know me, sir," he said, "considering that most of my life has
been passed in Paris. But I know you by sight and reputation, because I
am by way of being a bit of a scientist myself. I came down to see Mr.
Rent, and this is how they treat me! And to think of what I've done for
that man, to think of what I know about him! Why, I have only to raise
my little finger and say the word, and before a day passed our
friend----"
A judicious fit of coughing put an end to further revelations on the
part of Bark. He seemed to realise that he was going too far and
instantly changed his tone. But this did not deceive Grey.
"Ah!" said Bark, "I am talking too fast, as usual. You might think by
my tone that I was threatening Mr. Rent. As a matter of fact, I am only
disappointed at his carelessness. But it is very awkward for me. Here
am I with only a few shillings in my pocket, which would have been fifty
pounds if I had seen Mr. Rent. Now, will you be offended if I ask you
for the loan of a fiver for two or three days?"
Grey hesitated for a moment. Would the expenditure be justified? Then,
by inspiration, it occurred to him that perhaps Tanza might know this
plausible scamp. Certainly it might be worth while to temporise.