Adrien Leroy dined alone that night--a most unusual occurrence; but the
scene with Lady Merivale moved him, and still troubled his mind. He had
hitherto only regarded his love-making with her as part in the comedy of
life, wherein he played the lover, to her lead; doffing and donning the
character at will. That she had taken either him or herself seriously
had never entered into his mind. Believing also in the hopelessness of
his love for Lady Constance, he regretted bitterly having allowed his
secret to escape him; yet so unaccustomed was he to the conventional and
inevitable lying of the world in which he moved so serenely, that it had
never occurred to him to deny the charge, and swear everlasting devotion
to the countess alone.
Norgate, who waited on him as usual, noticed his abstraction.
"We're getting tired of London again," said that astute servant to
himself, as he changed the dishes. "We're thinking of going East again
or my name ain't what it is." For Adrien had spent the preceding year in
Persia.
After dinner Leroy lingered in the comfortable, luxurious room, as if
loth to start out again on the weary round of amusement. To youth and
the uninitiated, pleasure, as represented by balls, theatres or
feasting, seems to be an everlasting joy; but to those born in the midst
of it, trained and educated only to amuse or to be amused, it becomes
work, and work of a most fatiguing nature. To dance when one wishes to
rest; to stand, hour after hour, receiving guests with smile and bows,
when one would gladly be in bed; to eat, when one has no appetite for
food; all this, continued day in day out, is no longer a pleasure--it
becomes a painful duty.
Unlike the majority of his set, Adrien Leroy was never lonely; indeed,
solitude to him was a pleasure, and one--the only one--which was
difficult to obtain. Endued with a fine intellect and highly cultivated
mind, even at college he had succeeded in studying when his companions
had spent their time in "ragging," and other senseless occupations of a
like nature. Thrown on his own resources, therefore, Leroy could have
become a power in almost any of the artistic professions. Instead, his
time, his youth and his faculties were being wasted in the ordinary
pursuits of the people amongst whom he lived. Had he been a poorer man,
he might have risen to any height by virtue of his own talents; but,
lapped in luxury, lulled by the homage of society, he remained
dissatisfied, discontented, and apathetic.
The clock, striking eight, aroused him. Throwing aside the cigar which
had burnt itself out, he rose. He had promised Jasper to come down to
the Casket Theatre; and, however weary he might be of the tinsel and
glitter, yet he never thought of making an excuse, or of breaking his
word.
He was about to set forth, when Norgate announced "Lord Standon," and
though Adrien's greeting was as courteous as usual, the old genial
warmth was gone. Lord Standon perceived this, and knew that he had not
been mistaken in his belief that he had somehow angered Adrien.
Directly Norgate had closed the door behind him, therefore, he dashed,
as was his wont, straight to the heart of things.
"Leroy," he said abruptly, "what's wrong with you?"
Adrien stared at him.
"Wrong!" he echoed. "What on earth do you mean? What should be wrong?"
"I don't know," returned the other bluntly; "but I seem to have rubbed
you up the wrong way somehow----"
"Nonsense," said Leroy, trying hard to resume his usual warmth of
manner. "What a ridiculous idea! Have you dined, or shall I ring?" He
crossed the room almost hurriedly.
"No, no, thanks," interrupted Lord Standon. "I'm just off again; it was
only a passing idea. Sorry to have mentioned it."
He turned, as if to go; and Leroy made no attempt to restrain him.
"I have to congratulate you, I suppose, on your engagement?" he said
coldly, when the young man had almost reached the door.
Lord Standon turned sharply, and stared at him. He grasped the situation
at once, but was still greatly puzzled, for he knew Leroy was but
slightly acquainted with Lady Muriel Branton.
"Thanks, old man," he returned, rather awkwardly. "But it's a dead
secret, really; I suppose Lady Constance told you?"
Leroy frowned.
"Yes," he said simply, "Why not?"
"Oh, no reason at all," said Lord Standon, flushing like a boy; "only
it's got to be kept quiet, you know--my affairs are in such a beastly
state."
"I wonder you----" commenced Leroy.
"Dared to ask her," put in Standon, laughing a little confusedly. "Yes,
it was a bit of cheek on my part, but 'faint heart never won fair lady,'
you know, and by Jove! if I hadn't, some other lucky devil might have
slipped in and carried her off by sheer force!"
Leroy winced; for he himself would have endeavoured to "slip in and
carry her off" had it not been for his friend.
"I don't see the need of secrecy," he said coldly. "Have you spoken to
her guardian?" meaning, of course, Lord Barminster.
Unfortunately, to Lord Standon, being in love, there was only one woman
in the world, and therefore only one guardian, and that one, her father,
the Earl of Croywood.
"Good gracious, no!" he exclaimed. "He's such an old curmudgeon--that
until I get over that beastly race----" He broke off, scarlet with
confusion. Absorbed in his own affairs, he had completely forgotten that
he was speaking to the owner of the unlucky horse.
Leroy was pale with anger; the reference to the race annoyed him, but
still more the expression of "curmudgeon" as applied to his father.
Naturally, if he had stopped to consider, he would have realised that
there must be some mistake; for Standon would hardly have spoken thus of
Lord Barminster in his son's presence. But what lover ever does use his
common sense? He drew himself up sternly, and Standon could have kicked
himself for his unfortunate speech.
"I don't mean--that is--it's not your fault----" he stammered.
"Thank you," said Leroy ironically.
"Oh, you know what I mean. Don't pull me up like that, Adrien. I wasn't
thinking of its being you--and you know what it is when a fellow's in
love with the sweetest, dearest----"
Leroy turned sharply. It was more than any one could be expected to
bear; insult to his father, blame to his horse, and now praise of the
woman he himself loved.
"Excuse me, Standon," he interrupted curtly, "I'm afraid I must ask you
to spare me your rhapsodies--I am due at the theatre."
It was Standon's turn to be offended, and his good-tempered face
hardened.
"Certainly. Pray accept my apologies for having detained you.
Good-night," he said coldly, and before Leroy could even answer, he was
gone.
Adrien strode restlessly up and down. For the first time in all his
easy-going life trouble had touched him. He determined to forget it at
whatever cost; so telling Norgate not to wait up for him, he set out for
the Casket. It was such a lovely night that he dismissed the motor which
was awaiting him, deciding to walk across the park to Victoria Street,
and call in on Shelton, who had a flat there.
The park was beautifully silent, and still stood open to the public.
Absorbed in his reflections, therefore, he left the main track and
wandered down one of the by-paths, in which stood several wooden
benches. Big Ben struck the half-hour. There was just time for another
cigar, and Leroy sat down. He was in no humour yet to endure the heat of
the theatre, or the chaff and vulgarity of Ada Lester.
He lost count of time, in the pleasant quietude of the spot; and his
cigar was burnt down to an inch when, with a half-sigh, he arose to
exchange the hard seat amidst the cool trees for a lounge and a crowd of
ballet girls at the theatre.
As he picked up his stick, he heard a footstep behind him, and turning,
saw an ill-dressed, sullen-looking man. The light from one of the lamps
near by shone full on him; and something about the stout, shambling
figure, or the dirty evil-browed face, seemed dimly familiar.
To his surprise, the man nodded at him with a sulky frown, and said, in
a thick voice:
"Good-evening! Don't remember me, I s'pose?"
"No, I do not," admitted Leroy, as he scanned the bleared, swollen
countenance before him.
"Ah! you swells 'as bad memories; I ain't forgotten you, so don't you
think it!"
Leroy gazed at him calmly; he thought the man was intoxicated.
"Do you want anything of me?" he asked, as he pulled on his glove.
"That depends," responded the man, moving forward so that he stood right
in Adrien's path. "You're Mr. Leroy, ain't you?"
"I am," said Leroy. "What is it you want?"
"I wants to ask you a question," returned the other, bringing his face
closer to Adrien, who recoiled involuntarily--the very smell of the
fustian clothes offending his delicate nostrils.
The man noticed this, and frowned even more heavily.
"You're a gentleman," he said, "leastways I s'pose you calls yourself
such--p'raps you'll act like one."
"Kindly make haste and tell me what you want, my good fellow," said
Adrien impatiently. He did not know but that this was a preliminary to
an attempt to rob him, and he was in no mood for a brawl.
"Oh, I'll be quick enough for you," was the sullen reply. "You don't
remember me, you say; p'raps you'll remember my name--Wilfer--Johann
Wilfer."
"Johann Wilfer," repeated Adrien, thoughtfully and slowly, wondering
where he had heard the name before.
"Yes, Johann Wilfer, Picture Restorer, Cracknell Court, Soho."
"Oh!" said Adrien, as a burst of memory dawned on him. "I remember you
now. What is it you want? But tell me first, has the girl Jessica
returned yet?"
"That's just like you swells," growled the man. "Nothing like getting
your word in first. Has she returned to me? You know jolly well she
ain't. She won't come back to me till you've done with 'er, I'll be
bound."
Adrien started, as the significance of the accusation dawned on him. He
had thought more than once of the girl, with her dark eyes and silken
hair. What had become of her? What, alas! could have been her fate, if
she had not returned to this man, her guardian?
"What do you mean?" he said now, sternly.
"What I say," retorted Mr. Wilfer. "She ain't returned to me, an' that's
my question to you. Where is she, an' what 'ave you done with her?"
"How should know what has become of her?" answered Leroy, genuinely
startled. "Do you dare to insinuate that I know where she is? I have
neither seen her nor heard of her."
"That's a lie," said the man shortly.
Leroy surveyed him for a moment.
"You are impertinent," he said, in his clear tones. "Stand aside, and
let me pass."
Mr. Wilfer thrust his hands into his pockets, and stood his ground.
"That won't go down with me," he said insolently. "I want to know where
my niece is; and by Heaven, I'll know too!"
Leroy stopped short.
"She was your niece, you say?"
"She was," said the man, "though it's no business of yours; she belonged
to me."
"So I presume, or you would not have ill-treated her," retorted Adrien
dryly. "When did you see her last?"
"Over a month ago--as well you know," returned Wilfer coarsely. "She ran
off the morning you came gallivanting after her."
Adrien could have knocked the man down, but he restrained the longing,
and said instead:
"I thought you told me she'd robbed you, and had run away? That was a
lie, I suppose?"
"'Course it was. Who wouldn't lie to save his gal from such as you fine
gentlemen? I know yer, so it's no use coming this talky-talky surprise
with me. You just tell me where she is."
"I tell you," reiterated Adrien, "I have never seen the child since the
night I took her from the cold. Stand out of my path, or I shall hand
you over to the police."
Mr. Wilfer laughed.
"So that's your answer, is it? Call away, my fine gentleman, call away."
He glanced round the deserted path from the corner of his shifty eyes;
then, with a snarl of a savage beast, he sprang upon Leroy, and strove
to bring him to the ground.
But he was no match for Adrien, who beneath all his listless mannerism
possessed a grasp of steel and the strength of a gladiator. Almost
shuddering at the touch of the man's greasy clothes, Leroy seized his
arms, and lifting him off the ground as though he were a terrier, gave
him a good shake; then he dropped him, lightly and easily, over the park
railings, which edged the by-path, where they stood.
Johann Wilfer was too astonished for a moment to do anything but recover
his breath, and Leroy, settling his disarranged cuffs, walked calmly
away.
With a furious oath Wilfer sprang up, jumped back over the railings, and
was about to pursue Leroy, when from behind him a hand was put on his
collar, and he was borne rapidly and silently to the ground.
Meanwhile, Adrien, all unconscious of his deliverance from further
disturbance, pursued his way to the theatre.