can let you have ten shillings, if you like."
Bark audibly expressed his disappointment.
"Well, perhaps I can do better than that," Grey, said, with a smile.
"Let me give you the ten shillings to go on with, and if you will be on
the landing-stage to-night at nine o'clock I will meet you and give you
the balance of the five pounds. I suppose that will be convenient?"
Bark's eyes gleamed with a greedy light.
"Spoken like a man and a brother," he cried. "Now, there's a pal for
you! There's a friend in need when a poor chap is down on his luck
through no fault of his own! Mr. Grey, you're a gentleman. And it is
evident you know another gentleman when you see him."
"I hope so," Grey said drily.
"That being so," said Bark, ignoring the sarcasm, "I will be on the
landing-stage at nine o'clock. Thank you very much. In my hard-up
state even the half-sovereign is acceptable. You will excuse me if I
leave you, as I have an appointment to keep, a business matter involving
thousands."
So saying, Bark, with another flourish of his hat, swaggered off down
the street. Grey smiled to himself as he saw the flashy little
adventurer turn into a public-house. Then, in a thoughtful frame of
mind, he went back to the yacht in search of Tanza, whom he found
sprawling in a deck chair, deeply engrossed in his eternal cigarettes
and reading a French novel.
"What news?" the Italian asked gaily. "I see you have had an
interesting morning by the expression of your face. At any rate, your
conversation will be more engrossing than this book. Now unbosom
yourself."
"There isn't much to tell you at present," said Grey. "I have been
following up my investigations and have ascertained one or two important
pieces of information. I rather wanted to see Rent, but he is away. I
went down to his place, where I found an old friend of ours in the
person of John Swift."
"Oh, indeed!" Tanza exclaimed, lifting his eyebrows. "Now that is a man
who was made to adorn anything he touched. If he could only keep away
from the infernal drink he might now have been one of our leading
scientists. What is he doing in these parts?"
"Acting as assistant to Rent," Grey explained. "But that isn't what I
wanted to talk to you about. I don't mind telling you I have got hold of
a most important clue, and as all roads are said to lead to Rome, so
everybody I am meeting at present seems to be more or less mixed up with
the matter I have in hand. While I was talking to Swift a man turned up
and demanded to see Arnold Rent. He was very disappointed to find that
Rent wasn't at home and was at no pains to disguise his feelings. His
manner had a suggestion of blackmail about it. Also he seemed to be
pretty sure of his ground. I don't suppose I should have given the
fellow another thought had I not felt sure I had seen him somewhere.
And I thought perhaps that you, with your amazing acquaintance with all
sorts and conditions of scoundrels, might know something about him."
"Have you managed to learn his name?" Tanza asked.
"Well, yes, I did, if he doesn't happen to be passing under some
_alias_. He is called Ephraim Bark. Rather a curious sort of name,
isn't it?"
"I know him quite well," he said. "That is his name. At any rate, I
never heard him called anything else. He is a most plausible and
ingenious rascal, and I should very much like to meet him again. I
suppose you have his address; if so, we will seek him out and entertain
him after dinner."
Grey explained exactly what course he had adopted, and Tanza was pleased
to signify his approval. So it came about that shortly after nine
o'clock the two proceeded to the landing-stage. There they found Bark
arrayed in a somewhat resplendent evening dress, the effect of which,
however, was slightly marred by the fact that the linen was exceedingly
dingy. But he carried it all off with a truculent air. Obviously he
had spent a good deal of the half-sovereign in liquid refreshment, and
was in a condition which in a less seasoned drinker might have been
called an advanced stage of intoxication.
"Well, Bark," Tanza said cheerfully. "So we have met again. No, you
needn't trouble to express your gratification. You are coming on board
my yacht with Mr. Grey to give us certain information we are in need
of."
"Lumme, yes," Bark said, with some emotion. "I'll tell you anything. I
couldn't refuse an old friend."
*CHAPTER XV*
*ILL TIDINGS*
In its modest way, Alton Lee, which stands upon the South Devonshire
coast, was quite a show place. There the Rents had held their sway for
the best part of three centuries, since the founder of the family first
came West and built the old house, which his successors had altered out
of all recognition. The history of the family had been fairly
uneventful. They had married with their neighbours, and more than one
heiress had come along to swell their fortunes. For the most part they
had been people of moderate ideas, clean-living, healthy-minded men and
women, not endowed with too much intellect, and perfectly contented with
their lot. At present the Rents were represented by Arnold himself and
his mother, an elderly lady, who was exceedingly popular with all who
knew her.
Ever since Arnold Rent had left school his mother had been more or less
afraid of him. That she was passionately devoted to her only son goes
without saying; but she herself had been brought up in the simple,
narrow way. She had an almost morbid horror of anything that was in the
least unconventional and a mighty regard for her neighbours.
And her boy was totally different in every respect. The knowledge that
he had an inclination for work had filled her with tranquil happiness
and a sense of security, which, however, was not destined to last.
There being several livings in the family gift, there had been no reason
why Arnold Rent should not settle down to the career of a country
parson. But from the first he had other plans which in Mrs. Rent's
opinion were almost revolutionary. The limited field did not appeal to
a man of his views and restless energy, and with many misgivings his
mother had seen him start an entirely different career of his own
choosing in London. That he was squandering money on this did not
matter. The past three or four generations of Rents had not spent
anything like half their income, so there was money enough and to spare.
There was no anxiety on that score.
From time to time Mrs. Rent had reports of her son's progress. She was
convinced that knighthood was within his grasp if he could only control
some of his advanced ideas and bow to the voice of authority. At any
rate he was strong and good and in earnest. On the whole, it seemed to
Mrs. Rent that Providence had been more than kind to her.
She was in the garden now busy among her roses. The rose gardens at
Alton Lee were famous. Even in that well-favoured spot there was
nothing like them. And the lady of the house fitted well in with the
picture. She walked with a slight stoop; one long, slender hand was
closed upon an ebony crutch-stick; her delicate features were half
hidden by a large, shady hat. For the rest, her hair was grey and
abundant, and her blue eyes beamed with a kindly expression. She was
the embodiment of an elderly lady of the old school, which is fast
becoming extinct. With all beneath her she had the widest sympathy. No
tale of distress found her unmoved, but she had undemonstrative pride,
for all that. There were people in the neighbourhood who said that Mrs.
Rent was haughty and distant, but most of these were newcomers whose
money had been derived from trade. As to the wealthy financiers who
play so prominent a part in Society to-day, not one of them would have
been permitted to cross the threshold of Alton Lee, though Mrs. Rent was
always pleased to see the little curate's wife to dinner.
She cut the last of a basketful of large, dark, red-hearted roses and
dropped into a garden seat with a sigh of placid satisfaction. It was a
perfect afternoon, with just the suspicion of a breeze rustling the
great oaks in the park. Across the middle distance a herd of deer moved
slowly and gracefully. Away to the west the blue sea lay placid in the
sunshine. From one of the side paths a girl came along, carrying a huge
mass of sprays of maidenhair fern in her hand. She was not particularly
tall or strikingly beautiful, but there was a rare attraction about
Ethel Margrave's face that grew upon one the more her features were
studied. But the eyes of deep blue were the chief attraction. No one
ever failed to notice these liquid azure lakes which drew to her every
man and woman of her acquaintance. She came gaily along and dropped
into the seat by Mrs. Rent's side.
"My dear auntie, how busy you have been!" she exclaimed. "I thought I
should have been in time to cut at least half those roses for you; but I
suppose I stayed too long in the greenhouses admiring the orchids. I
won't get the drawing-room flowers done before tea-time, at this rate."
Mrs. Rent smiled indulgently at the speaker. Next to her son, there was
nobody in the world whom she loved as deeply and sincerely as her niece,
Ethel Hargrave. If she had one wish left ungratified, it was that
Arnold and Ethel might some day be master and mistress of the old house.
The dream had gradually deepened till it had become almost a passion,
but it looked now as if the elderly lady was going to be disappointed.
Perhaps the young people had been too much together to fall in love with
one another. At any rate, Arnold Rent had always looked upon Ethel as a
sister. And there was something in Mrs. Rent's disappointment that had
a touch of pain in it. Those kindly blue eyes could look keenly enough
at human nature sometimes, and Mrs. Rent had more than a suspicion that
Ethel cared deeply for her son. There were moments when this knowledge
filled her with anxiety.
"Let us sit here and talk a little longer," she said. "There will be
plenty of time for your drawing-room flowers. Did I tell you that I had
a letter from your father this morning? He hopes that he will be able
to get away from Australia for a long holiday at the beginning of next
year. What a long time it is since you saw him! And what a pity it is
that you photograph so badly! I have been thinking it over lately and I
am going to give my brother a surprise. I have been in communication
with one of the most famous artists of the day, and he is coming here to
paint your portrait."
"What a distinguished honour!" the girl laughed. "My dear, you are
making quite a Society woman of me. Will the picture be exhibited in
next year's Academy and be reproduced in the ladies' papers? Really, I
ought to be quite angry with you for such extravagance."
"Oh, I am glad to find you don't mind," Mrs. Rent replied. "Besides, I
want a proper picture of you myself. We were only talking about it the
last time Arnold was here. By the way, have you heard from him lately?"
The girl flushed at the mention of Rent's name.
"Oh, dear, no," she said. "Arnold is much too busy to trouble about a
simple country girl like myself. The last time I heard from him his
letter was one of tirade and abuse of the doings of Society. I
understood he was moving in it himself, so that he would be able to
speak from personal knowledge. Do you know, my dear aunt, I wish Arnold
wouldn't be so dreadfully serious. One feels a poor creature by
comparison. I should like to see him do something foolish. You know
what I mean."
"Oh, I think I do," Mrs. Rent smiled. "It would be nice if he made a
mistake or two and came down here for us to sympathise with him. But one
never feels sure of Arnold. I expect to hear every day that he has gone
over to the Rationalists, or taken monastic vows, or some equally
dreadful thing. But you may be sure that Arnold would never do anything
to make one blush for him."
The mother spoke with a serene pride that brought an answering smile to
Ethel's face. Attached as she was to Arnold Rent, she would have
preferred him to be a little more human. Like most girls who live a
good deal alone, she had her imaginative moods, and was fond of
picturing Arnold as wounded in a conflict and coming home for her
support and sympathy. She dismissed the mental picture now with a sigh
of impatience. There was not the least likelihood of Arnold stepping
from the straight path. He would go to high honours in the world. He
would marry some noble woman of great intellectual attainments to help
him in his work.
"I think we spoil him," she said. "However, it is no use talking about
it. But, surely, my eyes don't deceive me. That must be Mr. Westlake
coming down the drive. What brings him here? Something dreadful must
have happened to induce him to leave his beloved London."
Mrs. Rent rose with a sudden feeling of approaching trouble. It was
rare, indeed, for the old family solicitor to come to Devonshire,
especially without warning. The elderly man approached the garden-seat
and raised his hat. Nothing could be gathered from his austere features
except a trace of anxiety on his brow. He murmured something in reply
to Mrs. Rent's question, then glanced significantly at Ethel.
"Very well," the girl said. "I see you have come on affairs of state,
so I'll run away and finish my flowers. Don't forget that it is very
nearly tea-time."
*CHAPTER XVI*
*THE HONOUR OF THE FAMILY*
Arnold Rent's mother waited for the lawyer to speak. She scented
trouble.
"And now, my dear old friend, what is it?" Mrs. Rent said quietly. "I
see you are in great anxiety about something. I suppose it has to do
with money. But, in any case, I am sure you are in no way to blame."
"It has nothing to do with money at all," Mr. Westlake replied. "From
that point of view, things were never better. Before I go any further,
have you had any news of your son lately? Have you heard this morning?
I thought, perhaps, possibly----"
"Arnold!" Mrs. Rent exclaimed. "Something has happened to him! You are
keeping me in suspense."
"Indeed, I am not," Westlake protested. "So far as I know, there is
nothing wrong with your son, who was perfectly well last night. But it
is to consult you about Arnold that I have hurried here to-day. I
learnt something yesterday and immediately went out to Southampton last
night, where my worst suspicions were confirmed. It struck me as
strange that a young man in his position should be telegraphing for
money, and I heard one or two rumours in the early part of the week.
You must not be too hard upon the boy, because one never knows what
temptations unscrupulous women put in the way of impressionable men.
And, if I may be allowed to say it, in worldly matters Arnold is a
little lax."
All the colour left Mrs. Rent's cheeks. She sat for a moment with her
hand pressed to her heart. Then her dignity and courage came back to
her. Her voice was tranquil as she spoke.
"Perhaps you had better begin at the beginning, my dear friend," she
said. "A mother is always anxious about her child. She has gloomy
moments when she fears the worst. I won't say that Arnold has never
given me any anxiety, because that would not be true, but I never dreamt
he would so far forget himself as to tarnish his good name and honour.
Do you mean to say that he allowed himself to get entangled?"
"That would be hardly fair," Westlake said, with lawyer-like caution.
"I am told that the lady is exceedingly beautiful and that she has been
very unhappy in her married life. She has been described to me as a
sweet saint, a kind of Madonna--just the sort of creature who would be
likely to appeal to a chivalrous, romantic man like your son. I believe
that the husband turned his wife out of the house, or that he sold the
house over her head, which comes to much the same thing. Unfortunately,
Arnold appeared on the scene at that very moment, and that is how the
trouble began. At any rate, the mischief is done and nothing we can say
can alter it. The worst feature is that Arnold's career is seriously
checked. He will have to delay matters. He will have to abandon his
experiments till this fancy is forgotten. No one would listen to a man
who had been god in the car to another man's wife. Of course, this
sounds very cruel, but, then, you are always so rational and reasonable
that I can speak to you the more freely. Believe me, I would have given
half I possess if I could have saved the situation before it was too
late."
"I know it," Mrs. Rent said quietly. "My dear Richard Westlake, this is
a bitter blow to me. As yet I can hardly realise it. He must have been
mad. He must have been carried away by impulsive good-heartedness. But
we are wasting time. I must see Arnold. I suppose I shall even have to
see the woman. I shall have to sit down in the same room with her."
"That is the point I was coming to," Westlake said, almost eagerly. "I
want to prevent those misguided people from coming here. That must be
avoided at any cost."
"Here!" Mrs. Rent murmured. "Do you mean to say that that woman would
have the audacity to come to Alton Lee?"
"I think you will find that that will be the programme," Westlake said
shrewdly. "Unless I am mistaken, Mrs. Charlock will pose as a martyr,
driven to despair by the brutality of a cruel husband. If she gets a
footing here the whitewashing process will be half complete. It will be
held that she has the support and sympathy of so great a lady as Mrs.
Rent. And even if the other man takes proceedings, as he is sure to do,
half the people who read the case will come to the conclusion that Mrs.
Charlock is an injured woman. She may be a saint, of course. But that
is not a synonym for a fool."
Mrs. Rent looked despairingly across the park. She was beginning to
appreciate the full force of the disaster. Her pride was in arms. The
strong side of her character began to show uppermost, and there was a
depth and force in her moral nature that few people dreamt of. Her duty
was plain. If it wounded her to the heart, she must do that which was
right and proper.
"I begin to see my way," she said quietly. "I will go and see my
unhappy boy and this woman. I will go up with you to-day. It may be
that there are extenuating circumstances. Indeed, I shall only be too
glad to be able to take a lenient view of this disgraceful affair. But
if you will give me Arnold's address I will telegraph to him that on no
account is he to come here. It would be an outrage."
"To tell the truth," Westlake confessed, "I have already taken the
liberty of sending a telegram in your name. I did it directly I got the
news. You see, there was no time to be lost, and they might already be
on their way."
"Quite right," Mrs. Rent murmured. "By the way, what did you say was
the name of this woman? It sounded familiar."
"Charlock," Westlake explained. "I believe her husband is an artist, or
something of that kind."
"I wonder if he is any relation to _the_ Charlock?" Mrs. Rent mused. "I
have been in correspondence with him. But I suppose that is out of the
question, especially as there are two or three Charlocks who are
artists."
Westlake glanced at the speaker. She was taking the blow with far
greater resignation and courage than he had expected. The colour had
crept back into her cheeks. Her face was strong and resolute. Come what
might, she would do the right and proper thing; she would vindicate the
honour of the family. She rose now and suggested that it was time for
tea.
"It seems strange to mention the meal," she said, "but I suppose the
world will go on the same, even though this black disgrace has fallen on
the family. But fancy having to tell Ethel! My heart sinks at the mere
thought of it. And the servants, too, every one of whom was born on the
estate. But the thing will have to be done, bitterly as one resents it.
Everybody must know. There shall be no attempt at deceit or
prevarication. As soon as we have had tea you had better decide to take
a stroll in the garden and smoke a cigar. I shall not be able to rest
till Ethel knows the story. Now give me your arm."
In silence they passed between the rose-bushes, across the velvet lawns
to the drawing-room. The light was subdued, and Mrs. Rent was grateful
for it. She had no desire to be under the scrutiny of Ethel's keen
eyes. The girl came forward from behind a bank of roses and fern.
Something suggested suppressed excitement in her manner.
"Well, are all the secrets told?" she asked gaily. "Or has Mr. Westlake
got a surprise in store for us? But, whether he has or not, I have a
surprise for you. You know you were talking just now of a famous artist
who was to paint my portrait. What would you say if I told you that Mr.
John Charlock is in the library at the present moment?"
Something like a groan escaped Westlake's lips.
"The husband," he murmured. "The husband, for a million. Now, what on
earth is the fellow doing here?"
There was a startled expression on Mrs. Rent's face.
"This had not occurred to me," she murmured. "Strange that I had failed
to notice it. Fancy a thing like this happening in so quiet and
respectable a house as Alton Lee! It reminds one of those dreadful
plays where extraordinary events take place in the most unexpected
quarters. Who could have foreseen the elements of such a drama
four-and-twenty hours ago? I should have said this would be the last
house in the world to entertain anything like this. But perhaps the
misfortune will prove to be a blessing in disguise. Don't you think we
might settle matters, now that Mr. Charlock is here, in such a way that
there shall be no scandal? I cannot possibly believe that my son
is----"
"An ordinary human being," Westlake said cynically. "My dear madam,
when a young man comes in contact with a beautiful woman who is
cold-blooded and playing entirely for her own hand, nobody knows what
will take place. Believe me, this is not the time for weakness or
compromise. It may be that your son is acting from the highest possible
motives. It may be that his soul is full of chivalry and all that kind
of thing. Nevertheless, I should like to hear what you have to suggest."
Mrs. Rent pondered the matter for a moment.
"Cannot you think of anything?" she asked timidly. "Oh, I don't know how
to act. I can't think what to do for the best. And yet it seems as if
this were a direct intervention of Providence. On the other hand, you
may say that it would be far better if Mr. Charlock left the house
without delay."
*CHAPTER XVII*
*"LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG"*
Ethel Hargrave turned with a startled expression on her face.
"What do you mean?" she asked. "Is there anything wrong, aunt? You
both look as though something dreadful had happened."
"Never mind that for a moment," Westlake interrupted. "It so happens
that I am particularly interested in this Mr. Charlock. Tell me, what
is the gentleman like?"
"I like him," Ethel went on, "though he does remind one strongly of a
bulldog. He has a tenacious, fighting face. But I always was fond of
bulldogs. They are such gentle, faithful creatures when you come to
understand them."
"You have been talking to him," Mrs. Rent murmured.
"Oh, dear, yes. We had quite a long conversation. Our introduction was
as unconventional as the most bohemian could have wished. Mr. Charlock
came up the drive carrying a poor little terrier in his arms. I fancy
the dog had been run over, for it was bleeding from a wound in the side,
and making a horrid mess of Mr. Charlock's grey flannel suit, which fact
I ventured to point out to him. He didn't even take the trouble to
reply. He was too busy with the dog. I suppose this incident impressed
me favourably. Only a really kind-hearted man would have taken all that
trouble about a toy-terrier."
Mrs. Rent and Westlake did not appear to be listening. The solicitor
turned to his hostess and elevated his eyebrows.
"This is certain to be the same man," he said. "The circumstance is so
extraordinary that it could not be anybody else. I think there is one
thing we can count upon--he has not come to make any disturbance. I
should not be surprised to find him utterly ignorant of any relations
between that lady and your son. It is unfortunate that he should be
here at this moment, but it can't be helped. Don't you think it would
be as well if I saw him and explained matters?"
"Perhaps you had better," Mrs. Rent murmured. "Naturally, I have a
certain amount of sympathy for Mr. Charlock, and I agree with you that
he has only come here to talk over Ethel's portrait. If you will be so
good as to see him----"