A MESSAGE FROM THE WHARF.
Christmas was over, and The Beeches had subsided into its normal state
of prosperous tranquility. Max had had a fresh situation discovered for
him, and he was now wasting his time on a stool in a merchant's office,
as he had wasted it in other offices many times before. His father's
chronic state of exasperation with his laziness was growing acute, and
he had informed Max that unless he chose to stick to his work this time
he would have to be shipped off to the Cape. No entreaties on the part
of Mrs. Wedmore or the girls were of any avail against this fixed
resolution on Mr. Wedmore's part, or against the inflexible laziness of
Max himself. He detested office work, and he confessed that if he was
not to be allowed to lead the country life he loved, he would prefer
enlistment in the Cape Mounted Police to drudgery in a dark corner of a
city office.
It was on a foggy evening in January that Max, for the first time in
three weeks (an unprecedented interval), knocked at the door of Dudley
Horne's chambers.
There was a long delay, and Max, after a second knock, was going to
withdraw, in the belief that Dudley was not in, after all, when he heard
slow steps within, and paused.
The door was opened a very little way, and Dudley looked out.
Max stared at him for a moment without speaking. For over his friend
there had passed some great change. Dudley had never been florid of
complexion, but now he looked ghastly. His face had always been grave
and strong rather than cheerful, but now the expression of his
countenance was forbidding.
He looked at Max, glanced down the stairs, and nodded without a smile.
"Hello!" said he, with the letter of familiarity, but without its
spirit. "Haven't seen anything of you for a century. Up in town again,
eh?"
"Yes. Can't I come in?" said Max.
Dudley had come outside instead of inviting his friend in. At these
words, however, he turned abruptly, and himself led the way into the
little ante-chamber.
"Oh, yes, oh, yes, come in, of course. Come in."
Max accepted the cool invitation in silence, shut the door behind him,
and followed his friend into the sitting-room, where the table was laid
for a solitary dinner.
But it was the writing-table which caught the eye of Max and riveted his
attention. For a photograph lay there, a woman's photograph, and as it
was just in front of the chair Dudley had been using, as if he had been
occupied in looking at it, it was not unnatural that the brother of
Doreen should be curious to know whose picture it was.
So Max got around the table quickly by the opposite way to that which
Dudley took, and threw himself into a chair by the writing-table in such
a position that he could see what was on it. And he saw two things: One
was that the photograph was that of Doreen; the other that a postal
order for one pound, which lay beside the photograph, and upon which the
ink was not yet dry, was made out to "Mrs. Edward Jacobs."
Max felt himself blushing as Dudley snatched up the postal orders--there
were two of them--and slip them into an envelope. Then the eyes of the
two men met. And Dudley knew what Max had seen.
He seemed to hesitate a moment, then glanced at Max again, sat down to
the writing-table, and took up a pen. As he directed the letter, he said
quietly:
"Do you know whom I'm sending this money to?"
"Well, I did catch sight of the name," stammered Max, unable to hide the
fact that the question was an embarrassing one to him.
"Yes," went on Dudley, as he showed him the directed letter, "it is to
the widow of the poor devil who was found in the Thames the other
day--man who was once in my late father's employment--Edward Jacobs."
"Oh, yes, I've heard," stammered Max again.
The incident of Dudley sending money to the woman would have seemed to
him trivial and even natural enough, if it had not been for the curious
look of hard defiance which Dudley gave him out of his black eyes. It
was like a challenge; it set his friend wondering again, asking himself
again all those tormenting questions about Edward Jacobs's death which
he had allowed to slip into a back place in his thoughts.
As he looked down at the end of the white table-cloth which touched the
floor a loud laugh from Dudley startled him and made him look up. And
when he did so the conviction that his friend was mad, or, at least,
subject to attacks of insanity, flashed into his mind more strongly than
ever. Dudley was leaning back, tilting his chair till it touched the
dinner table, distending his jaws in a hard, mocking laugh as unlike
mirth as possible.
"Oh, yes, so I've heard--so I've heard!" repeated he, mockingly. "And,
of course, that's all you've heard, isn't it? And you've never taken the
trouble to make any personal inquiries in the matter? Or thought of
taking a journey, say, as far as Plumtree Wharf to make any private
investigations?"
Max was startled. He saw clearly enough that which he would fain have
denied--that Dudley was in communication with the people at the wharf,
from whom he must have obtained this information. For a moment he was
silent. It was not until Dudley's harsh laughter had died away, and he,
rather surprised to see how quietly Max took his accusation, had wheeled
round in his chair to look at his friend, that Max said:
"Well, I did go to the wharf. And I'll tell you why. Doreen is breaking
her heart about you, and she would have me find out what was wrong with
you."
Then there was silence.
"God bless her!" said Dudley at last, in a hoarse whisper.
Another silence.
"What did you tell her?" whispered Dudley.
"What could I tell her? I said you were mad."
"And what did you--_think_?"
"Well, I hardly know myself."
"That's right! That's the proper attitude!" cried Dudley.
And then he laughed again uproariously.
And in the midst of his laughter there was a knock at the door.
For a moment neither man moved. Then Dudley got up slowly and walked out
of the room, closing the door behind him. Max heard him open the outer
door, and then he heard a voice he knew--a young girl's voice--say:
"This is Mr. Dudley Horne's place, and you are Mr. Dudley Horne?"
"Yes."
"Then let me come in. I've come from--"
The voice dropped, and Max did not catch the rest.
"Stop! I'll speak to you here," said Dudley, trying to keep her in the
little ante-room.
But the girl came straight in. It was Carrie.