For the next ten minutes Douglas Briggs paced his study. He kept
repeating to himself that what that woman had said was impossible;
she had come simply to blackmail him; she had supposed him to be an
easy mark. But it was strange that Helen’s discovery of his relations
with West should have followed so closely the night of the ball in
Washington. Could West have been so cowardly as to expose him to her?
It flashed upon Briggs that on the very morning after the ball he had
found Helen reading his scrapbooks. Why had she done that? What had
been a merely commonplace incident now seemed significant. Was she
searching those files for support of West’s charges? The idea seemed
too hideous, too monstrous. For a moment Briggs had a sensation of
having been accused of a crime of which he was innocent. Then he called
himself a fool. West had very little respect for women, but he was
altogether too experienced, too much a man of the world, to insult a
woman like Helen.
The only sensible course to pursue was to ignore Miss Wing altogether.
If she started the story about him it would merely add one more to the
scandals already in circulation. Thus far they did not appear to hurt
him very much. The chances were, however, that the woman would not dare
to carry out her threat. Besides, Briggs thought with satisfaction, the
increased severity of the libel laws was making newspapers more careful
of what they said, even about men running for office. He was himself
used to hearing similar stories about his colleagues in Washington,
and he paid little attention to them. As for Helen, he decided that he
would not degrade his wife even by mentioning the matter to her. He
returned to his work, however, with bitterness in his mind, and when,
an hour later, Helen entered the room, he looked up quickly and said:
“Oh, there’s something I want to ask you.”
He dropped his pen and scanned her face, letting his chin rest on his
hands. “Why is it that you were so dead set against having Franklin
West come here the other day?”
She waited, as if carefully preparing an answer. “I would rather not
speak of that again, Douglas,” she said.
“But I want to speak of it,” he insisted. “And I want you to speak of
it in plain language. You needn’t be afraid of wounding me. Was it
because of my connection with him in that railroad business?”
He saw her face flush. Her hand twitched at her belt. “I never liked
him,” she said. “I told you that.”
“Oh!” he cried, impatiently, “this isn’t a question of your liking
him or disliking him. You dislike a good many people.” She looked at
him reproachfully. “You know perfectly well you do, even if you don’t
say so. Don’t you suppose I can tell?” He felt suddenly ashamed, and
he checked himself. “Excuse me, Helen,” he said. “I didn’t mean to be
disagreeable; but I want you to be open with me in this matter. What’s
your reason for saying you’d leave here if he came to stay?”
“Don’t, Douglas!” Helen’s eyes filled with tears. “Please don’t ask me.
It’s better that you shouldn’t. I’ve tried, oh, I’ve----”
“There _is_ a reason, then,” he declared, with grim triumph.
“Now, I’m going to find out what it is,” he added, with determination.
She sank helplessly to the couch. He leaned forward and kept his eyes
fixed on her. “Well,” he said, “I’m waiting.”
“The last time he was at our house in Washington he--he insulted me.”
Briggs started back, as if someone had aimed a blow at him. “He
insulted you?” he cried, incredulously. “This must be some fancy of
yours. West is the most courteous, the most suave--he’s _too_
suave. What did he say?”
“He said that he was in love with me, he said that he’d been in love
with me for years. He said that was why he’d helped you so much. When I
tried to call the servants he said they were his servants, in his pay,
that you were in his pay--” Helen dropped her head on the couch. Her
lips trembled.
Her husband looked at her, dazed. “The scoundrel!” he exclaimed, under
his breath.
“Perhaps now you can understand why I loathe him so. I always knew what
he was. I’ve always been afraid of him.”
Briggs grew suddenly angry. “Why didn’t you speak of this before? Why
didn’t you?” He clasped his hands over his face. “God!” he exclaimed.
“I couldn’t. He said it would ruin you.”
“Ruin me!” Briggs repeated, savagely. Then he looked pityingly at his
wife. “And you’ve kept silent all these months just to protect me?” He
turned away. “I might have known what this life would lead to,” he went
on, as if speaking to himself. “I’ve dragged myself through the gutter,
and I’ve dragged my family with me.”
Helen rose from the couch.
“You ought to have told me,” he went on, this time without reproach.
“That would have been the only fair thing to do. But it isn’t too
late,” he concluded, grimly.
A look of alarm appeared in her face. “What do you mean, Douglas?”
“Oh, I don’t mean that I intend to kill him,” he replied, with a scorn
that was plainly directed against himself. “We can get along without
any heroics.”
“What--?” She looked at him with the helplessness of a woman in such a
situation. Then she walked toward him. “Please let it all go, Douglas,”
she said. “No harm has been done--to me, I mean. Don’t, don’t----”
“Don’t make a scandal? No, I won’t. I promise you that. You’ve suffered
enough out of this thing.” He had an impulse to go forward and embrace
her, but a fear of appearing too spectacular checked him. He had the
Anglo-Saxon’s horror of acting up to a situation. Besides, in her
manner there was something that stung his pride. He could more easily
have borne reproaches.
When she had left the room he asked himself what he could do. He felt
as helpless as his wife had been a few moments before. Of course, he
would break with West; but this contingency did not affect the real
question between them. He might thrash the fellow; but even that would
be a poor satisfaction. He clearly saw that in this matter there could
be no such thing for him as satisfaction. He alone was to blame; he had
brought the shame on himself by introducing to his wife a man for whom
no honest man or woman could feel respect. He must take his medicine,
bitter as it was.
The medicine grew more bitter as the days passed and he did nothing.
West, he felt sure, would never enter his house again. When they did
meet it would be in Washington, where he would let the fellow know
that their business deals were at an end. There was no reason why they
should not end now; he had done the work, and he had received his pay,
he thought, with self-disgust. In future he should keep himself out of
any such complications. West had taught him a lesson that would keep
him straight for the rest of his life.
Two days before the election Michael announced a visitor. When Douglas
Briggs heard the name the expression of his face changed so completely
that it found a reflection in Michael’s face.
“Where is he?” Briggs asked.
“In the drawing-room, sir. Shall I ask him to step in here?”
“No.” Briggs adjusted the collar of his coat. “I’ll go in there,” he
said.
As he was about to leave the room he met his wife, entering from
the hall. She looked as if she were about to faint. “I saw him as I
came down the stairs,” she said. She laid her hand on her husband’s
shoulder. “Douglas, you won’t be foolish, will you?”
He drew her hand away. She noticed that his arm was quivering. “Don’t
be afraid,” he replied, impatiently. “I’ll make short work of him,
and there’ll be no scene. Think of his coming here!” he added, with a
bitter laugh.
She followed him into the hall. When he entered the drawing-room he
closed the door behind him. West was standing in front of the mantel;
he wore a long frock coat, and a pair of yellow gloves hung from one
hand. On seeing Briggs he came forward, smiling, and offering his hand.
“Glad to catch you in,” he said. “I came over in a tremendous hurry.
I----”
He stopped. Briggs stood in front of him, looking him sharply in the
face, with hands clasped behind his back.
“West!”
Franklin West let his hand drop. His eyes showed astonishment. “What’s
the matter?” he gasped.
Briggs went on, in a lower voice: “West, I have something to say to
you, and I might as well say it without any preliminaries. I want to
tell you that you’re a blackguard.”
“What!” West exclaimed.
“I have heard from my wife how you insulted her at our house last
Spring.”
“_Insulted_ her? It’s--it’s a mistake. I never----”
Briggs drew nearer West. He looked dangerous. “No. There’s no mistake.
My wife isn’t in the habit of lying. Now, I have just one thing to say
to you. That is, get out of here. Don’t ever show yourself in my house
again. If you do, by God, you’ll pay for it!”
West had partly recovered from his bewilderment. “You must be crazy!”
he said.
“I shall be if you don’t take yourself out of my sight pretty quick.”
“You mean to throw me over, then?”
“Yes, you and your whole gang. I’ve had enough of you. You thought you
owned me, didn’t you?”
West did not flinch. “It’s war between us, then; is it?” he said.
“Call it what you please, but get out!”
West smiled. “Very well, then. I think we understand each other. Now
that you’ve got your nomination again you believe you’re strong enough
to stand up against us. After we’ve made you, you’re going to knife us.
And you make your wife the cloak, the pretext--just as you’ve used her
all along!”
Douglas seized West by the throat and hurled him to the floor.
The door opened, and Helen stood on the threshold, her face white, her
figure trembling. “Douglas!” she whispered.
Briggs released his hold and stood up. “Excuse me,” he said, glancing
at his wife. “I forgot myself.” He glanced at the prostrate figure.
“Get out!”
West rose, his face flushed with anger. He walked slowly toward the
door. Then he turned. “You’ll pay for this!” he said.