Peter was as cool as ice when he came into the drawing-room and
found Emanuel examining the pictures on the wall with the air of a
connoisseur. He turned, and beamed a benevolent smile upon the man he
hated.
“I didn’t think you’d come here again, Legge,” said Peter with
dangerous calm.
“Didn’t you, now?” Emanuel seemed surprised. “Well, why not? And me
wanting to fix things up, too! I’m surprised at you, Peter.”
“You’ll put nothing right,” said the other. “The sooner you recognise
that fact and clear, the better it will be for everybody.”
“If I’d known,” Emanuel went on, unabashed, “if I’d only dreamt that
the young woman Jeffrey had taken up with was your daughter, I would
have stopped it at once, Peter. The boy had been brought up straight
and never had met you. It is funny the number of straight people that
never met Peter Kane. Of course, if he’d been on the crook, he’d have
known at once. Do you think my boy would have married the daughter of
a man who twisted his father? Is it likely, Peter? However, it’s done
now, and what’s done can’t be undone. The girl’s fond of him, and he’s
fond of the girl----”
“When you’ve finished being comic, you can go,” said Peter. “I never
laugh before lunch.”
“Don’t you, Peter? And not after? I’ve come at a very bad time, it
seems to me. Now listen, Peter. Let’s talk business.”
“I’ve no business with you.” Peter opened the door.
“Haste was always your weakness, Peter,” said Emanuel, not budging
from where he stood. “Never lose your temper. I lost my temper once
and shot a copper, and did fifteen years for it. Fifteen years, whilst
you were sitting here in luxury, entertaining the lords and ladies of
the neighbourhood, and kidding ’em you were straight. I’m going to ask
you a favour, Peter.”
“It is granted before you ask,” said the other sardonically.
“I’m going to ask you and Johnny boy to come and have a bit of dinner
with me and Jeffrey, and let us fix this thing up. You’re not going to
have this girl brought into the divorce court, are you? And you’ve got
to get divorced, whether he’s married or whether he isn’t. As a matter
of fact, he isn’t married at all. I never dreamt you’d be such a mug
as to fall for the story that Lila was properly married to Jeff. All
these girls tell you the same thing. It’s vanity, Peter, a human
weakness, if I may so describe it.”
“Perhaps it was the vanity of the registrar who signed their marriage
certificate, and the vanity of the people who witnessed the marriage,”
said Peter. “Your son was married to this girl at the Greenwich
Registry Office; I’ve got a copy of the certificate--you can see it if
you like.”
Still the smile on Emanuel’s face did not fade.
“Ain’t you smart?” he said admiringly. “Ain’t you the quickest grafter
that ever grafted? Married or not, Peter, the girl’s got to go into
the court for the marriage to be--what do you call it?--annulled,
that’s the word. And she can’t marry till she does. And they’ll never
annul the marriage until you get my boy caught for bigamy, and that
you won’t do, Peter, because you don’t want to advertise what a damned
fool you are. Take my advice, come and talk it over. Bring Johnny with
you----”
“Why should I bring Johnny? I can look after myself.”
“Johnny’s an interested party,” said the other. “He’s interested in
anything to do with Marney, eh?” He chuckled, and for a second Peter
Kane had all his work to maintain his calm.
“I’m not going to discuss Marney with you. I’ll meet you and the
Printer, and I don’t suppose Johnny will mind either. Though what you
can do that the law can’t do, I don’t know.”
“I can give you evidence that you can’t get any other way,” said the
other. “The fact is, Peter, my poor boy has realised he’s made a
mistake. He married a girl who was the daughter of a respectable
gentleman, and when I broke it to him, Peter, that he’d married into a
crook family, he was upset! He said I ought to have told him.”
“I don’t know what funny business you’re going to try,” said Peter
Kane, “but I’m not going to run away from it. You want me to meet you
and your son--where?”
“What about the old Highlow?” suggested Emanuel. “What about Room 13,
where a sad accident nearly occurred?”
“Where you shot your son?” asked Peter coolly, and only for a second
did the man’s self-possession leave him. His face turned a dusky red
and then a pale yellow.
“I shot my son there, did I? Peter, you’re getting old and dopy!
You’ve been dreaming again, Peter. Shot my son!”
“I’ll come to this fool dinner of yours.”
“And Marney?” suggested the other.
“Marney doesn’t put her foot inside the doors of the Highlow,” said
Peter calmly. “You’re mad to imagine I would allow that. I can’t
answer for Johnny, but I’ll be there.”
“What about Thursday?” suggested the old man.
“Any day will suit me,” said Peter impatiently. “What time do you want
us?”
“Half-past eight. Just a snack and a talk. We may as well have a bit
of food to make it cheerful, eh, Peter? Remember that dinner we had a
few days before we smashed the Southern Bank? That must be twenty
years ago. You split fair on that, didn’t you? I’ll bet you did--I had
the money! No taking a million dollars and calling it a hundred and
twenty thousand pounds, eh, Peter?”
This time Peter stood by the door, and the jerk of his head told
Emanuel Legge that the moment for persiflage had passed.
“I want to settle this matter.” The earnestness of his manner did not
deceive Peter. “You see, Peter, I’m getting old, and I want to go
abroad and take the boy with me. And I want to give him a chance
too--a good-looking lad like that ought to have a chance. For I’ll
tell you the truth--he’s a single man.”
Peter smiled.
“You can laugh! He married Lila--you’ve got a record of that, but have
you taken a screw at the divorce list? That takes the grin off your
face. They were divorced a year after they were married. Lila got
tired of the other man and came back to Jeff. You’re a looker-up; go
and look up that! Ask old Reeder----”
“Ask him yourself,” said Peter. “He’s in the garden.”
He had no sooner said the words than he regretted them. Emanuel was
silent for a while.
“So Reeder’s here, in the garden, is he? He’s come for a squeak. But
you can’t, because you’ve nothing to squeak about. What does he want?”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“That fellow spends his life wandering about other people’s gardens,”
grumbled Emanuel.
A disinterested observer might have imagined that Mr. Reeder’s passion
for horticulture was the only grievance against him.
“He was round my garden yesterday. I dare say he told you? Came
worrying poor Jeff to death. But you always were fond of busies,
weren’t you, Peter? How’s your old friend Craig? I can’t stand them
myself, but then I am a crook. Thursday will suit you, Peter? That
gives you six days.”
“Thursday will suit me,” said Peter. “I hope it will suit you.”
As he came back on to the lawn Reeder and the girl were coming into
view up the steps, and without preliminary he told them what had
passed.
“I fear,” said Mr. Reeder, shaking his head sadly, “that Emanuel is
not as truthful a man as he might be. There was no divorce. I was
sufficiently interested in the case to look up the divorce court
records.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I think your dinner party
at the Highlow--is that the name?--will be an interesting one,” he
said. “Are you sure he did not invite me?” And again Peter saw that
glint of humour in his eyes.