FROM A DIM WORLD
Wolfenden was in no particularly cheerful frame of mind when, a few
moments after the half hour was up, Mr. Sabin appeared upon the pavilion
tee, followed by a tall, dark young man carrying a bag of golf clubs.
Mr. Sabin, on the other hand, was inclined to be sardonically cheerful.
"Your handicap," he remarked, "is two. Mine is one. Suppose we play
level. We ought to make a good match."
Wolfenden looked at him in surprise.
"Did you say one?"
Mr. Sabin smiled.
"Yes; they give me one at Pau and Cannes. My foot interferes very little
with my walking upon turf. All the same, I expect you will find me an
easy victim here. Shall I drive? Just here, Dumayne," he added, pointing
to a convenient spot upon the tee with the head of his driver. "Not too
much sand."
"Where did you get your caddie?" Wolfenden asked. "He is not one of
ours, is he?"
Mr. Sabin shook his head.
"I found him on some links in the South of France," he answered. "He is
the only caddie I ever knew who could make a decent tee, so I take him
about with me. He valets me as well. That will do nicely, Dumayne."
Mr. Sabin's expression suddenly changed. His body, as though by
instinct, fell into position. He scarcely altered his stand an inch
from the position he had first taken up. Wolfenden, who had expected a
half-swing, was amazed at the wonderfully lithe, graceful movement with
which he stooped down and the club flew round his shoulder. Clean and
true the ball flew off the tee in a perfectly direct line--a capital
drive only a little short of the two hundred yards. Master and servant
watched it critically.
"A fairly well hit ball, I think, Dumayne," Mr. Sabin remarked.
"You got it quite clean away, sir," the man answered. "It hasn't run
very well though; you will find it a little near the far bunker for a
comfortable second."
"I shall carry it all right," Mr. Sabin said quietly.
Wolfenden also drove a long ball, but with a little slice. He had to
play the odd, and caught the top of the bunker. The hole fell to Mr.
Sabin in four.
They strolled off towards the second teeing ground.
"Are you staying down here for long?" Mr. Sabin asked.
Wolfenden hesitated.
"I am not sure," he said. "I am rather oddly situated at home. At any
rate I shall probably be here as long as you."
"I am not sure about that," Mr. Sabin said. "I think that I am going to
like these links, and if so I shall not hurry away. Forgive me if I am
inquisitive, but your reference to home affairs is, I presume, in
connection with your father's health. I was very sorry to hear that he
is looked upon now as a confirmed invalid."
Wolfenden assented gravely. He did not wish to talk about his father to
Mr. Sabin. On the other hand, Mr. Sabin was politely persistent.
"He does not, I presume, receive visitors," he said, as they left the
tee after the third drive.
"Never," Wolfenden answered decisively. "He suffers a good deal in
various ways, and apart from that he is very much absorbed in the
collection of some statistics connected with a hobby of his. He does not
see even his oldest friends."
Mr. Sabin was obviously interested.
"Many years ago," he said, "I met your father at Alexandria. He was then
in command of the _Victoria_. He would perhaps scarcely recollect me
now, but at the time he made me promise to visit him if ever I was in
England. It must be--yes, it surely must be nearly fifteen years ago."
"I am afraid," Wolfenden remarked, watching the flight of his ball after
a successful brassy shot, "that he would have forgotten all about it by
now. His memory has suffered a good deal."
Mr. Sabin addressed his own ball, and from a bad lie sent it flying a
hundred and fifty yards with a peculiar, jerking shot which Wolfenden
watched with envy.
"You must have a wonderful eye," he remarked, "to hit a ball with a full
swing lying like that. Nine men out of ten would have taken an iron."
Mr. Sabin shrugged his shoulders. He did not wish to talk golf.
"I was about to remark," he said, "that your father had then the
reputation of, and impressed me as being, the best informed man with
regard to English naval affairs with whom I ever conversed."
"He was considered an authority, I believe," Wolfenden admitted.
"What I particularly admired about him," Mr. Sabin continued, "was the
absence of that cocksureness which sometimes, I am afraid, almost blinds
the judgment of your great naval officers. I have heard him even discuss
the possibility of an invasion of England with the utmost gravity. He
admitted that it was far from improbable."
"My father's views," Wolfenden said, "have always been pessimistic as
regards the actual strength of our navy and coast defences. I believe he
used to make himself a great nuisance at the Admiralty."
"He has ceased now, I suppose," Mr. Sabin remarked, "to take much
interest in the matter?"
"I can scarcely say that," Wolfenden answered. "His interest, however,
has ceased to be official. I daresay you have heard that he was in
command of the Channel Fleet at the time of the terrible disaster in the
Solent. He retired almost immediately afterwards, and we fear that his
health will never altogether recover from the shock."
There was a short intermission in the conversation. Wolfenden had sliced
his ball badly from the sixth tee, and Mr. Sabin, having driven as usual
with almost mathematical precision, their ways for a few minutes lay
apart. They came together, however, on the putting-green, and had a
short walk to the next tee.
"That was a very creditable half to you," Mr. Sabin remarked.
"My approach," Wolfenden admitted, "was a lucky one."
"It was a very fine shot," Mr. Sabin insisted. "The spin helped you, of
course, but you were justified in allowing for that, especially as you
seem to play most of your mashie shots with a cut. What were we talking
about? Oh, I remember of course. It was about your father and the Solent
catastrophe. Admiral Deringham was not concerned with the actual
disaster in any way, was he?"
Wolfenden shook his hand.
"Thank God, no!" he said emphatically. "But Admiral Marston was his
dearest friend, and he saw him go down with six hundred of his men. He
was so close that they even shouted farewells to one another."
"It must have been a terrible shock," Mr. Sabin admitted. "No wonder he
has suffered from it. Now you have spoken of it, I think I remember
reading about his retirement. A sad thing for a man of action, as he
always was. Does he remain in Norfolk all the year round?"
"He never leaves Deringham Hall," Wolfenden answered. "He used to make
short yachting cruises until last year, but that is all over now. It is
twelve months since he stepped outside his own gates."
Mr. Sabin remained deeply interested.
"Has he any occupation beyond this hobby of which you spoke?" he asked.
"He rides and shoots a little, I suppose, like the rest of your country
gentlemen."
Then for the first time Wolfenden began to wonder dimly whether Mr.
Sabin had some purpose of his own in so closely pursuing the thread of
this conversation. He looked at him keenly. At the moment his attention
seemed altogether directed to the dangerous proximity of his ball and a
tall sand bunker. Throughout his interest had seemed to be fairly
divided between the game and the conversation which he had initiated.
None the less Wolfenden was puzzled. He could scarcely believe that Mr.
Sabin had any real, personal interest in his father, but on the other
hand it was not easy to understand this persistent questioning as to his
occupation and doings. The last inquiry, carelessly though it was asked,
was a direct one. It seemed scarcely worth while to evade it.
"No; my father has special interests," he answered slowly. "He is
engaged now upon some work connected with his profession."
"Indeed!"
Mr. Sabin's exclamation suggested a curiosity which it was not
Wolfenden's purpose to gratify. He remained silent. The game proceeded
without remark for a quarter of an hour. Wolfenden was now three down,
and with all the stimulus of a strong opponent he set himself to
recover lost ground. The ninth hole he won with a fine, long putt, which
Mr. Sabin applauded heartily.
They drove from the next tee and walked together after their balls,
which lay within a few yards of one another.
"I am very much interested," Mr. Sabin remarked, "in what you have been
telling me about your father. It confirms rather a curious story about
Lord Deringham which I heard in London a few weeks ago. I was told, I
forget by whom, that your father had devoted years of his life to a
wonderfully minute study of English coast defences and her naval
strength. My informant went on to say that--forgive me, but this was
said quite openly you know--that whilst on general matters your father's
mental health was scarcely all that could be desired, his work in
connection with these two subjects was of great value. It struck me as
being a very singular and a very interesting case."
Wolfenden shook his head dubiously.
"Your informant was misled, I am afraid," he said. "My father takes his
hobby very seriously, and of course we humour him. But as regards the
value of his work I am afraid it is worthless."
"Have you tested it yourself?" Mr. Sabin asked.
"I have only seen a few pages," Wolfenden admitted, "but they were
wholly unintelligible. My chief authority is his own secretary, who is
giving up an excellent place simply because he is ashamed to take money
for assisting in work which he declares to be utterly hopeless."
"He is a man," Mr. Sabin remarked, "whom you can trust, I suppose? His
judgment is not likely to be at fault."
"There is not the faintest chance of it," Wolfenden declared. "He is a
very simple, good-hearted little chap and tremendously conscientious.
What your friend told you, by the bye, reminds me of rather a curious
thing which happened yesterday."
Wolfenden paused. There did not seem, however, to be any reason for
concealment, and his companion was evidently deeply interested.
"A man called upon us," Wolfenden continued, "with a letter purporting
to be from our local doctor here. He gave his name as Franklin Wilmot,
the celebrated physician, you know, and explained that he was interested
in a new method of treating mental complaints. He was very plausible and
he explained everything unusual about his visit most satisfactorily. He
wanted a sight of the work on which my father was engaged, and after
talking it over we introduced him into the study during my father's
absence. From it he promised to give us a general opinion upon the case
and its treatment. Whilst he was there our doctor drove up in hot haste.
The letter was a forgery, the man an impostor."
Wolfenden, glancing towards Mr. Sabin as he finished his story, was
surprised at the latter's imperfectly concealed interest. His lips were
indrawn, his face seemed instinct with a certain passionate but finely
controlled emotion. Only the slight hiss of his breath and the gleam of
his black eyes betrayed him.
"What happened?" he asked. "Did you secure the fellow?"
Wolfenden played a long shot and waited whilst he watched the run of his
ball. Then he turned towards his companion and shook his head.
"No! He was a great deal too clever for that. He sent me out to meet
Whitlett, and when we got back he had shown us a clean pair of heels. He
got away through the window."
"Did he take away any papers with him?" Mr. Sabin asked.
"He may have taken a loose sheet or two," Wolfenden said. "Nothing of
any consequence, I think. He had no time. I don't think that that could
have been his object altogether, or he would scarcely have suggested my
remaining with him in the study."
Mr. Sabin drew a quick, little breath. He played an iron shot, and
played it very badly.
"It was a most extraordinary occurrence," he remarked. "What was the man
like? Did he seem like an ordinary thief?"
Wolfenden shook his head decidedly.
"Not in the least," he declared. "He was well dressed and his manners
were excellent. He had all the appearance of a man of position. He
completely imposed upon both my mother and myself."
"How long were you in the study before Dr. Whitlett arrived?" Mr. Sabin
asked.
"Barely five minutes."
It was odd, but Mr. Sabin seemed positively relieved.
"And Mr. Blatherwick," he asked, "where was he all the time?"
"Who?" Wolfenden asked in surprise.
"Mr. Blatherwick--your father's secretary," Mr. Sabin repeated coolly;
"I understood you to say that his name was Blatherwick."
"I don't remember mentioning his name at all," Wolfenden said, vaguely
disturbed.
Mr. Sabin addressed his ball with care and played it deliberately on to
the green. Then he returned to the subject.
"I think that you must have done," he said suavely, "or I should
scarcely have known it. Was he in the room?"
"All the time," Wolfenden answered.
Mr. Sabin drew another little breath.
"He was there when the fellow bolted?"
Wolfenden nodded.
"Why did he not try to stop him?"
Wolfenden smiled.
"Physically," he remarked, "it would have been an impossibility.
Blatherwick is a small man and an exceedingly nervous one. He is an
honest little fellow, but I am afraid he would not have shone in an
encounter of that sort."
Mr. Sabin was on the point of asking another question, but Wolfenden
interrupted him. He scarcely knew why, but he wanted to get away from
the subject. He was sorry that he had ever broached it.
"Come," he said, "we are talking too much. Let us play golf. I am sure I
put you off that last stroke."
Mr. Sabin took the hint and was silent. They were on the eleventh green,
and bordering it on the far side was an open road--the sea road, which
followed the coast for a mile or two and then turned inland to
Deringham. Wolfenden, preparing to putt, heard wheels close at hand, and
as the stroke was a critical one for him he stood back from his ball
till the vehicle had passed. Glancing carelessly up, he saw his own blue
liveries and his mother leaning back in a barouche. With a word of
apology to his opponent, he started forward to meet her.
The coachman, who had recognised him, pulled up his horses in the middle
of the road. Wolfenden walked swiftly over to the carriage side. His
mother's appearance had alarmed him. She was looking at him, and yet
past him. Her cheeks were pale. Her eyes were set and distended. One of
her hands seemed to be convulsively clutching the side of the carriage
nearest to her. She had all the appearance of a woman who is suddenly
face to face with some terrible vision. Wolfenden looked over his
shoulder quickly. He could see nothing more alarming in the background
than the figure of his opponent, who, with his back partly turned to
them, was gazing out to sea. He stood at the edge of the green on
slightly rising ground, and his figure was outlined with almost curious
distinctness against the background of air and sky.
"Has anything fresh happened, mother?" Wolfenden asked, with concern. "I
am afraid you are upset. Were you looking for me?"
She shook her head. It struck him that she was endeavouring to assume a
composure which she assuredly did not possess.
"No; there is nothing fresh. Naturally I am not well. I am hoping that
the drive will do me good. Are you enjoying your golf?"
"Very much," Wolfenden answered. "The course has really been capitally
kept. We are having a close match."
"Who is your opponent?"
Wolfenden glanced behind him carelessly. Mr. Sabin had thrown several
balls upon the green, and was practising long putts.
"Fellow named Sabin," he answered. "No one you would be likely to be
interested in. He comes down from London, and he plays a remarkably fine
game. Rather a saturnine-looking personage, isn't he?"
"He is a most unpleasant-looking man," Lady Deringham faltered, white
now to the lips. "Where did you meet him? Here or in London?"
"In London," Wolfenden explained. "Rather a curious meeting it was too.
A fellow attacked him coming out of a restaurant one night and I
interfered--just in time. He has taken a little house down here."
"Is he alone?" Lady Deringham asked.
"He has a niece living with him," Wolfenden answered. "She is a very
charming girl. I think that you would like her."
The last words he added with something of an effort, and an indifference
which was palpably assumed. Lady Deringham, however, did not appear to
notice them at all.
"Have no more to do with him than you can help, Wolfenden," she said,
leaning a little over to him, and speaking in a half-fearful whisper. "I
think his face is awful."
Wolfenden laughed.
"I am not likely to see a great deal of him," he declared. "In fact I
can't say that he seems very cordially disposed towards me, considering
that I saved him from rather a nasty accident. By the bye, he said
something about having met the Admiral at Alexandria. You have never
come across him, I suppose?"
The sun was warm and the wind had dropped, or Wolfenden could almost
have declared that his mother's teeth were chattering. Her eyes were
fixed again in a rigid stare which passed him by and travelled beyond.
He looked over his shoulder. Mr. Sabin, apparently tired of practising,
was standing directly facing them, leaning upon his putter. He was
looking steadfastly at Lady Deringham, not in the least rudely, but with
a faint show of curiosity and a smile which in no way improved his
appearance slightly parting his lips. Meeting his gaze, Wolfenden looked
away with an odd feeling of uneasiness.
"You are right," he said. "His face is really a handsome one in a way,
but he certainly is not prepossessing-looking!"
Lady Deringham had recovered herself. She leaned back amongst the
cushions.
"Didn't you ask me," she said, "whether I had ever met the man? I cannot
remember--certainly I was at Alexandria with your father, so perhaps I
did. You will be home to dinner?"
He nodded.
"Of course. How is the Admiral to-day?"
"Remarkably well. He asked for you just before I came out."
"I shall see him at dinner," Wolfenden said "Perhaps he will let me
smoke a cigar with him afterwards."
He stood away from the carriage and lifted his cap with a smile. The
coachman touched his horses and the barouche rolled on. Wolfenden walked
slowly back to his companion.
"You will excuse my leaving you," he said. "I was afraid that my mother
might have been looking for me."
"By all means," Mr. Sabin answered. "I hope that you did not hurry on my
account. I am trying," he added, "to recollect if ever I met Lady
Deringham. At my time of life one's reminiscences become so chaotic."
He looked keenly at Wolfenden, who answered him after a moment's
hesitation.
"Lady Deringham was at Alexandria with my father, so it is just
possible," he said.