THE COMPACT
Wearily Bertrand de Montville turned his head upon the sofa-cushion, and
opened his heavy eyes. He seemed to be listening for something, but
evidently he considered that he had listened in vain, for his eyelids
began to droop again almost immediately. He seemed to drift into a state
of semi-consciousness.
The evening sunlight was screened from his face by blinds, but even so
its deep shadows were painfully distinct. He looked unutterably tired.
There came a slight sound at the door, and again his eyes were open. In a
moment, with incredible briskness, he was off the couch and half-way
across the room before, seized with sudden dizziness, he began to falter.
Trevor Mordaunt, entering, made a dive forward, and held him up.
"Now, my friend, lie down again," he said, "and stay down till further
orders."
"Ah, pardon me!" the Frenchman murmured, clutching vaguely for support.
"I am strong, more strong than you think. I--I--"
"Lie down," Trevor reiterated. "You don't give yourself a chance, man.
You forget you have been a helpless invalid for the past ten days. There!
How's that? Comfortable?"
"You are always so good--so good!" panted de Montville very earnestly. "I
know not how to thank you--how to repay."
"Just obey orders, that's all," said the Englishman, faintly smiling. "I
want to get you well. No, you are not well yet--say what you like, you're
not. I've let you get up for an experiment, but if you don't behave
yourself back you go. Now lie still, quite still, while I open my
letters. When you have quite recovered your breath we will have a talk."
He had assumed this tone of authority from the outset, and de Montville
had submitted, in the first place because he was too ill to do otherwise,
and later because, somewhat to his surprise, he found himself impelled
thereto by his own inclination. It did not in any fashion wound his
pride, this kindly mastery. He wondered at himself for tolerating it, and
yet he offered no resistance. It was too great a thing to resist.
So, still panting a little, he subsided obediently upon Mordaunt's sofa
while the latter busied himself with his correspondence.
There was a considerable pile of letters. Mordaunt opened one after
another with the deliberation that marked most of his actions, but the
pile dwindled very quickly notwithstanding. Some letters he dropped at
once into a waste-paper basket, upon others he scribbled a few notes;
two or three he laid aside for further consideration.
The last of all he held in his hand for several seconds unopened. The
envelope was a large one and stiff, as if it contained cardboard. It was
directed in an irregular, childish scrawl. Mordaunt, sitting at his
writing-table, with his back to his guest, studied it gravely,
thoughtfully. Finally very quietly he broke the seal.
There was a crackle of tissue-paper, and he drew out a photograph--the
photograph of a laughing girl with a diminutive terrier of doubtful
extraction clasped in her arms. Without any change of countenance he
studied this also.
He laid it at last upon his table, and turned in his chair. "Have you had
anything to drink?"
De Montville looked slightly disconcerted by the question. "But no!" he
said. "I have not--that is to say, I would not--"
Mordaunt stretched a hand to the bell. "Holmes should have seen to it.
What do you drink? Afraid I can't offer you absinthe."
"But I never drink it, monsieur."
"No? Whisky and soda, then?"
"What you will, monsieur."
"Very well. Whisky and soda, Holmes, and be quick about it." Mordaunt
glanced at the clock, looked again at the photograph at his elbow,
finally rose. "I want a talk with you, M. de Montville," he said, "if you
feel up to it. Don't get up, please. There is no necessity."
But de Montville apparently thought otherwise, for he drew himself to a
sitting position and faced his benefactor.
"I also," he said, "have desired to talk with you since long."
Mordaunt pulled up a chair. "Do you mind if I talk first?" he said.
"But certainly, monsieur." With quick courtesy the Frenchman made reply.
His dark eyes were very intent. He fixed them upon the Englishman's face
and composed himself to listen.
"It's just this," Mordaunt said. "I think we know each other well enough
to dispense with preliminaries, so I will come to the point at once. Now
you have probably realized by this time that I am a very busy man--have
been for several years past. In my profession there is not much time for
sitting still, nor, till lately, have I wanted it. But there comes a time
in most men's lives when they feel that they would like to get out of the
rash and enjoy a little leisure, take it easy--in short, settle down and
grow old in comfort."
De Montville nodded several times with swift intelligence. "_Alors_,
monsieur contemplates marriage," he said.
Mordaunt laughed a little. "Exactly, _mon ami_, and that speedily."
He broke off at the entrance of his servant, and for the next few seconds
busied himself with the mixing of drinks. De Montville continued to watch
him with keen interest. As Mordaunt handed him his glass he clutched the
sofa-head and stood up.
"I drink to your future happiness," he said, with a sudden smile and bow,
"and to the lady who will be so fortunate as to share it!"
Mordaunt held out his hand. "Thank you. Much obliged. But sit down, my
dear fellow. I haven't quite finished what I want to say. And you are too
shaky to be bobbing up and down. I was just going to point out where you
come in."
De Montville gripped his hand with all his strength. "I can serve you,
then? You have only to speak."
But Mordaunt would not speak till he was recumbent again. Then very
quietly he came to the point.
"The upshot of it is that I want a secretary to take things off my hands
a bit, and since I would rather have a pal than a stranger in that
capacity I am wondering if you will take on the job."
"I!" Utter amazement sounded in de Montville's voice. He sat bolt upright
for a space of seconds, staring into the impassive British face before
him. "But you--you--joke!" he said at last, his voice very low.
"No, I am quite in earnest." Gravely Mordaunt returned his look. "I
believe we might pull together very well. Think it over, M. de Montville,
and if you feel inclined to give it a trial--"
"I wish that you would call me Bertrand," de Montville broke in
unexpectedly. "It would be more convenient. My name is known in England,
and--I do not like publicity. As for your--so generous--suggestion,
monsieur, I have no words. I am your debtor in all things. I know well
that it is of my welfare that you think. For myself I do not need to
consider for a moment. I would accept with joy and gratitude the most
profound. But, I ask you, are you altogether wise in thus reposing your
confidence in a man of whom you know nothing, except that he was tried
and condemned for an offence of which you had the goodness to believe him
innocent? I repeat, monsieur, are you altogether wise?"
"From my own point of view--absolutely." Mordaunt spoke with a smile. He
held up his glass. "You accept, then?"
"How could I do other than accept?" protested the Frenchman, with
outspread hands.
"Then drink with me to the success of our alliance," said Mordaunt. "I
believe it will work very well."
He prepared to drink, but de Montville made a swift movement to arrest
him. "But one moment! First, monsieur, you will give me your promise that
if in any manner I fail to satisfy you, you will at once inform me of
it?"
Mordaunt paused, regarding him steadily. "Yes, I will promise you that,"
he said.
"Ah! Good! Then I drink with you, monsieur, to the success of our
compact. It will be my pleasure and privilege to serve you to the utmost
of my ability."
He drank almost with reverence, and set down his glass with a hand that
trembled.
Mordaunt got up. "That is settled, then. By the way, the question of
salary does not seem to have occurred to you. I don't know if you have
any ideas upon the subject. Four hundred pounds per annum is what I
thought of offering."
"Four hundred pounds!" De Montville stared at him in amazement. "Four
hundred pounds!" he repeated, in rising agitation. "But no, monsieur! It
is too much! I will not--I cannot--take--even from you--a gift so great.
I--I--"
He waxed unintelligible in his distress, and would have risen, but
Mordaunt's hand upon his shoulder kept him down. Mordaunt bent over him,
very quiet and friendly, very sure of himself and of the man he
addressed.
"That's all right, _mon ami_. It is not too much. It's a perfectly
fair bargain, and--to please me if you like--I want you to accept it.
You will find there is plenty to do, possibly more than you anticipate.
So--suppose we consider it settled, eh?"
De Montville was silent.
"We'll call it done," Mordaunt said. "Have a cigarette!"
He held his case in front of the Frenchman, and after a moment de
Montville took one. But he only balanced it in his fingers, still saying
nothing.
"A light?" suggested Mordaunt.
He made a jerky movement, and glanced up for an instant. "Mr. Mordaunt,"
he said, speaking with evident difficulty, "what is--a pal?"
"A pal," Mordaunt said, smiling slightly, "is a special kind of friend,
Bertrand--the best kind, the sort you open your heart to in trouble, the
sort that is always ready to stand by."
"Such a friend as you have been to me?" questioned de Montville slowly.
"Well, if you like to say so," Mordaunt said. "I almost think we might
call ourselves pals by this time. What say you?"
"I, monsieur?" He reached up and grasped the hand that rested on his
shoulder. "For myself I ask no better," he said, in a voice that quivered
beyond control, "than to be to you what you have been to me. And I will
sooner die by my own hand than give you cause to regret your kindness."
"Which you never will," Mordaunt said. "Come, light up, man! Here's a
match!"
He held it up, and de Montville had perforce to place the cigarette
between his lips. His throat was working spasmodically, but with a
valiant effort he managed to inhale a mouthful of smoke. He choked over
it badly the next moment, however, and Mordaunt patted his back with much
goodwill till he was better.
"There, my dear fellow, lie down now and take it easy. I'm dining out;
but Holmes has special orders to look after you; and if you are wanting
anything, in the name of common-sense ask for it."
With that he turned from the sofa, took up the photograph that lay
upon his writing-table, hesitated an instant, then thrust it into his
breast-pocket, and strolled out of the room.