“Hugh, old man, you’re growing as close as an oyster. This is twice
this week you have dined out, leaving me solitary, and refused to tell
me what you are up to. I wonder what it is you have got up your
sleeve?”
Two young men were strolling down the lovely Promenade des Anglais at
Nice. The elder, the Honourable Hugh Craig, was twenty-seven; Leonard
Lydon, his companion, about six months younger.
They had been fast friends at Harrow, where Craig had risen to be the
Head of the School, and afterwards at Balliol, and the friendship had
continued after they left Oxford till the present time.
Craig, the youngest son of Viscount Clandon, was a member of an old
aristocratic family which, for generations, had been closely connected
with the government of the country. Several of the heads of it had sat
in the Cabinets of their day and generation; other members had filled
high civil and military posts in England and its Dependencies. Hugh
himself was in the diplomatic service, and was enjoying a brief
holiday with his friend on the lovely Côte d’Azur.
Leonard Lydon was of humbler stock than his aristocratic companion.
His father, a wealthy Liverpool merchant, had risen from small
beginnings. He had laid the foundations of his fortune very early in
his career, so that he was able to give his numerous family the
advantage of a liberal education. Each of his five sons was sent to a
public school, and subsequently either to Cambridge or Oxford.
The Liverpool merchant had died a couple of years ago, leaving behind
him a handsome fortune, half of which was left to his widow for life,
the other half divided between the five sons and four daughters.
The two elder sons inherited the business, as well as their share of
the private fortune. As there were nine persons to divide the half of
the total amount, nobody received a very huge sum, but enough to bring
in a comfortable income.
After taking his degree at Oxford, Leonard had become deeply
interested in wireless research, and had studied until he became a
full-blown radio engineer, a profession which he followed in the
Admiralty during the later years of the War. After peace he joined an
American Wireless Communication Company which had a branch in England.
At the time this story opens, he had been appointed this Company’s
chief engineer and designer. As he was in receipt of a handsome
salary, his financial position was a very comfortable one.
His friend, Hugh Craig, was not so well off as himself. His family,
though very ancient, was poor for its position. He was still in the
lower grades of the diplomatic service, and his private income was a
small one. But the Clandon influence would later on be sure to secure
for him a snug post. He was, however, better off than a good many
members of impoverished families, as he had been left a moderate
legacy of a few thousands by a near relative.
When his friend rallied him upon his secretive mien, Hugh gave one of
his disarming and diplomatic smiles.
“I expect you’ll learn all about it in good time, my dear fellow. You
know I was always rather a reticent sort of chap, fond of making a
mystery of small things.”
Lydon laughed. “That’s one of the truest things you have ever said,
Hugh, and nobody who didn’t know you thoroughly, like myself, would
ever guess it. On the surface, you give the impression of being one of
the frankest men living. That appearance of yours will be one of the
greatest assets to you in your career. How easily it will enable you
to hoodwink people when you want to!”
Hugh Craig smiled in his turn. “From all I can learn this peculiar
characteristic has run in the Clandon family for generations. I
suppose that is why so many of us have taken so readily to statecraft
and diplomacy.”
That evening, Leonard Lydon dined by himself at the Hôtel Royal, as
he had done a couple of nights ago. During the progress of his
solitary meal, he speculated a good deal upon the cause of his
friend’s absence. Of an ordinary man, the man whose type he had met in
scores, he would have said there was undoubtedly a woman at the bottom
of it.
But Hugh Craig, good-looking, self-possessed and _débonnaire_, with
that smiling, charming manner, was by no means an ordinary man. Even
as a boy he had been a complex character, and the transition to
manhood had deepened the complexity.
Intimately associated as they had been all these years, Lydon was
forced to confess that he knew very little of the inner personality of
his friend, the part which he hid so successfully from the world under
that smiling, _débonnaire_ mask.
Did he care greatly about women? Did he care at all about them? For
the life of him, Leonard could not give a definite answer to that
question. As was natural on the part of such young men, they had often
lightly discussed the other sex together. But out of these
conversations nothing of a hidden vein of romance had been revealed by
Craig. His comments might have been those of a rather cynical
philosopher of twice his age.
Only once had he made any remark bearing directly upon himself, which
might be taken to represent his well-considered opinions on the
subject, and on this occasion he had spoken with more gravity than was
his wont when the conversation touched upon the themes of love and
marriage.
“No man who intends to make a career for himself should ever commit
the folly of falling in love,” he had said. “Because the chances are
ten to one that he will fall in love with the wrong person. Marry for
sound, sensible reasons perhaps. Even then I think I should postpone
the step as long as possible, so far as I am individually concerned.”
Lydon, whose temperament was rather of the romantic kind, looked the
surprise he felt.
“But surely you will marry some day, Hugh? Not too early perhaps, but
when you have got a comfortable post?”
The answer came very deliberately. “It might be an absolute necessity
of the position. But putting that on one side, I feel no great
yearning for the married state. If I were the eldest son, it would be
necessary for me to provide an heir; but the Clandons are so prolific,
they are not likely to die out for want of representatives.”
On the whole, Lydon would have said, from these and other remarks
dropped by the calm, smiling young diplomatist, that Hugh Craig was
very little attracted by women, and the last man in the world to be
capable of a grand passion.
But he was not at all sure. During the long term of their friendship,
Hugh had so often surprised him by sudden revelations of a side of his
character totally unsurmised, that he could not reckon upon him with
any degree of certainty.
It was just on the cards that he had suddenly met a woman who had the
power to stir his languid pulses. And Lydon had always suspected that,
deep down under that placid exterior, there was something volcanic
slumbering which would one day burst into flame. If Hugh ever did
love, it was more than probable he would love with an unreasoning
ardour.
If there was a woman, who was she? Where had they met? The two young
men had been so much together during their stay at Nice, that
opportunity did not seem to have offered itself very abundantly. And
one thing was quite certain. If Hugh had a serious love affair, nobody
would be told about it till the very last moment. Secretiveness about
his personal concerns was the keynote of his character.
Having finished his dinner, Lydon went into the lounge. He had not
been there long when the Stormont family came in. It consisted of
Howard Stormont, a stout, rubicund, clean-shaven man of about fifty,
who bore his years gaily; his niece, Gloria, a pretty, blue-eyed,
fair-haired girl with a slender, graceful figure, and his widowed
sister, Mrs. Maud Barnard, a woman who dressed in a rather extravagant
style.
They had struck up a slight acquaintance with the two young men,
chiefly with Lydon, who was a very cosmopolitan fellow. Craig had not
taken greatly to the party, being a person of very fastidious taste.
When he talked them over with his friend, he admitted that Gloria was
a remarkably pretty girl, “would have been quite worth cultivating if
she had possessed different relatives.” The rubicund Howard Stormont
he declared to be an aggressive type of profiteer, and Mrs. Barnard he
evidently considered to be an unrefined, over-dressed woman.
Lydon did not take this severe view of the uncle and aunt. Mrs.
Barnard was a trifle flamboyant in dress perhaps, but she was also
exceedingly amiable and good-natured. Stormont’s manners were possibly
too hearty for perfect refinement, but he was a genial, cheery fellow,
and full of a shrewd wit.
As for Gloria, Leonard though he had never come across a more charming
girl. In the few chats they had enjoyed together when Craig happened
to be absent, she had told him a good deal about herself. Her parents
lived in China, where her father held a high position in one of the
European banks. As the climate did not suit her, she had made her home
with her uncle, the rubicund Howard Stormont and his widowed sister,
at Effington in Surrey.
He also learned that, like many modern young women, she was an
athletic girl, passionately fond of all outdoor games and sports. As
he was no mean athlete himself, he admired her the more for this fact,
which rather surprised him, as her appearance did not suggest any
particular robustness, but rather the reverse.
Presently Mr. Stormont went away to write some letters, and soon after
Mrs. Barnard followed him. The young people were left alone.
“What has become of your friend, Mr. Craig?” the girl asked him. “This
is the second time this week he has left you to dine in solitary
state. I feel quite sorry for you.”
She had a very sweet, musical voice. In fact Lydon thought everything
about her was dainty and refined, far above the average.
The young man smiled. “Yes, Craig has been very mysterious the last
few days. He goes off on his own, and he won’t tell me a word about
it. He parries all hints with his usual diplomatic ability and
sang-froid. You can’t ruffle him, you know.”
“I should say it would be quite impossible,” was Miss Stormont’s
answer. “You are very great friends, are you not? I have often
wondered why.”
“What is it that causes you to wonder?” asked Leonard.
Miss Stormont blushed a little at being called upon to explain her
rather unguarded remark.
“You seem such exact opposites. You are perfectly open, impulsive, not
to say impetuous. If asked for your opinion, you blurt it out at once,
sometimes without very deep thought, if you will forgive me for saying
so, as I have often known you to alter or modify it as you go along.
Mr. Craig is so different. Behind that smiling urbanity is an intense
reserve, a profound caution. Somehow, if you ask him a straightforward
question, his answer is so fenced about with subtleties that you don’t
feel satisfied.”
Lydon laughed heartily. The girl was very frank, even to the point of
indiscretion. But she had certainly judged his friend pretty shrewdly.
Even those who loved him and admired his very considerable gifts were
forced to admit that there was a good deal of the Jesuit about this
young descendant of diplomatic ancestors.
They had the longest talk they had ever enjoyed together that evening
in the almost empty lounge.
As she prattled gaily along, with that frankness which was natural to
her, he learned a good deal about the rubicund Howard Stormont
himself. He was engaged in business, a very busy man and possessed of
boundless energy. He was not fond of London life, and so far as was
compatible with his business interests, played with great gusto the
rôle of country gentleman. He had purchased a charming place some
five years ago, and was never happier than when strolling around
Effington village in his country tweeds, and chatting familiarly with
the inhabitants.
This estate had been acquired from an impoverished and hard-living
young sprig of the nobility, a grandson of the Earl of Sedgemere, who
had originally owned the fine seat known as Effington Hall. Under his
short tenure, the revenues which should have gone to the upkeep of the
property had been diverted to gambling and riotous living. The once
big estate had been disposed of bit by bit.
Stormont, the wealthy man of business, had soon altered this. The
mansion and estate had been vastly improved, and pretty Effington
village had been renovated out of all recognition. Upon the completion
of his purchase, he had given a donation of five hundred pounds
towards the restoration of the exquisite thirteenth-century church
with its grey square tower, such a well-known landmark in the Surrey
landscape. In the “county” he was highly respected for his generosity
and magisterial work, for very soon after his purchase of Effington he
had been put upon the roll of Justices of the Peace for the county of
Surrey.
So, somewhat to his surprise, Lydon learned that this homely, rather
commonplace-looking man, whom his friend Craig described as an
aggressive profiteer, was a person of importance in business circles,
and not altogether undistinguished in the more select sphere of county
life.
“I enjoy travelling very much,” she told the young man, after she had
furnished him with these details of her uncle’s biography. “But my
happiest time is at Effington with the dear dogs and horses. I know
everybody in the place, and the hours seem to go as if they were
minutes.”
“You seem to me rather a lucky girl,” remarked her companion, “and I
expect you are spoiled by both uncle and aunt.”
Miss Stormont admitted with a pretty smile that he was not very far
out in his guess. Howard Stormont was one of the most generous and
easy-going men alive, and nobody could be more indulgent towards youth
than Mrs. Barnard. She was very young in spirit herself, and preferred
the society of her juniors to more staid company. They indulged her in
every reasonable wish, and kept open house and practised an almost
lavish hospitality.
No wonder, thought Lydon, that the county had taken them to its bosom.
And although Craig had conceived a quite pronounced dislike for both
the man and his sister, Lydon, less fastidious and critical, thought
them very delightful people. Stormont was probably a self-made man,
but he detected in neither him nor his sister any offensive signs of
the newly-rich. He was not a snob, as affable to a waiter as he would
have been to a duke, and never bragged. Mrs. Barnard was perhaps a
trifle too flamboyant and juvenile in her attire for a woman of her
years, but this, after all, was a very venial weakness.
The tall, elegant girl he considered perfection; he could not see in
her anything that he would have wished altered. And so she was the
adopted daughter of a wealthy man! It was not much use allowing his
feelings to stray in that direction. Howard Stormont would certainly
have different views for her future. His friend Craig perhaps, with
that fine old family record behind him, might have been considered
favourably. But what had he, Leonard Lydon, a man of moderate income
and no particular position, to offer such a peerless girl? Better put
the idea out of his head with the least possible delay.
Still, it was very delightful sitting there and chatting to her. She
talked to him as if she had known him for years, and there was not the
faintest symptom of coquetry about her. She seemed a perfectly frank
and open girl and quite free from conceit, unconscious that her
undeniable personal charms were bound to work havoc on the opposite
sex. She was not one of those sophisticated modern maidens who are
always out for conquest and admiration.
They sat there for a long time, as neither Howard nor his sister
reappeared. Presently Craig returned from his mysterious visit and
came into the lounge in search of his friend. It struck Lydon, who
could read him more easily than most people, that, in spite of the
urbane mask which he so rarely removed, he was preoccupied and gloomy.
Craig was too well-bred a gentleman to be absolutely rude to anybody,
much less to an attractive young woman. He addressed a few polite
remarks to Miss Stormont, but it was not difficult to see his mind was
elsewhere while he was making them. His presence seemed to have a
rather chilling influence on both young people. Miss Stormont
evidently was affected by it, for, after a very brief interval, she
rose and bade them good night, saying that she must go and look after
her relatives.
The young men smoked together for about half an hour, and during this
time the conversation between them was desultory and fitful. Lydon was
more sure than ever that his friend had something on his mind, but in
spite of their close intimacy he did not venture to question him.
Craig had a chilling manner of repelling confidences which it required
a very callous man to put up with. If he did not think fit to unbosom
himself, wild horses would not drag anything from him. When he had
finished his cigar, he rose and rather abruptly intimated he was going
to bed. Lydon stayed a little longer, thinking of Gloria Stormont and
her exquisite charm, and then followed his example.
In the morning he came down rather late to breakfast, and was
surprised to see the Stormont family in the hall, in the act of
departure. The portly man addressed him in his usual breezy and genial
manner.
“Glad to have a chance of saying good-bye to you. Amongst my letters
this morning, I found one summoning me back to England on urgent
business that brooks no delay. Very pleased to have come across you.
The world is small, I expect we shall meet again some day. Come along,
Maud. Gloria, hurry up.”
There were hasty hand-shakes. Gloria smiled very sweetly and flushed
just a little as she bade him farewell. Lydon felt his spirits sinking
very low at her departure. He went into the dining-room and found
Craig half-way through his breakfast. He imparted the news to his
friend.
Craig made the very briefest comment. “I suppose you will miss her.
You seemed on very good terms when I came upon you last night. Well,
my dear chap, perhaps it is better. A very undesirable family,
although I admit the girl is vastly different from her uncle and that
overdressed aunt.”
Leonard did not make any reply to this unkind speech. He knew his
friend too well. He was not a man of violent likes or dislikes; but
when once he formed an unfavourable opinion of anybody, nothing would
ever alter or modify it. Howard Stormont and his widowed sister were
anathema to him, and anathema they would remain till the end of the
chapter.
They were staying on for the best part of another week, and during
that period the young men were together the greater part of the time.
But on several occasions Craig absented himself for short intervals,
giving no explanation of his movements.
And one day, by the merest chance, Leonard saw him in a side street,
engaged in conversation with a shabby, rather furtive-looking
foreigner. As they were too occupied to notice him, he soon removed
himself from their neighbourhood.
He had come across a few acquaintances at Nice, and Craig a great
many. But this shabby furtive-looking foreigner was not the sort of
companion suitable for the fastidious young diplomatist. Clearly there
was some mystery going on, which his friend was carefully hiding from
him. Probably it might be connected with his diplomatic business, but
Lydon had an uncanny idea that a woman was at the bottom of it,
whatever it was.
Never did he forget that early morning of the day which they had fixed
for their departure. In the evening, Craig had gone out to dinner for
the third time during their stay. Lydon went to the masked ball at the
Casino, and returned early in the morning. He concluded that Craig had
come home and gone to bed, knowing that his friend would not leave the
Casino till late.
He was about to undress when he was called to the telephone by the
police, who gave him alarming news. Would he go at once to the Villa
des Cyclamens at Mont Boron, as his friend Mr. Craig was dangerously
ill?
He had felt a little nettled the last few days by what he considered
Craig’s unfriendly reticence; but when he received this message, all
his old affection for the staunch comrade of so many years returned in
full force. As soon as possible he was at the Villa des Cyclamens of
which he now heard for the first time.