THE POWER OF THE DOG
The accident was inevitable.
Everybody present, except the driver of the green taxi, saw that. And
he was so fearful lest the driver of the red omnibus should lose one
withering participle of the apostrophe he had provoked, that he could
not be bothered with the exigencies of traffic and the Rule of the Road.
Everybody, including Mr. Justice Molehill, shouted impotently; a small
page, on his way to the postoffice, stood agonizedly upon one leg; and
a moment later there was a splintering crash, the blue taxi shed a
cabin-trunk and a suit-case on to the pavement, and then, after a
paralyzing moment of indecision, came heavily to rest against the
panels of its aggressor.
Now, his lordship had no desire to become embroiled in a dispute which
might easily beget a subpoena. Still, because of his elevation to the
Bench, he had not resigned the fellowship of Man, and, since he was the
nearest individual to the blue taxi, he stepped to it quickly and
opened the door.
A man of about sixty years emerged gratefully. His cassock and the
purple about his hat argued him a prelate of the Catholic Church.
"Thank you so much ... No, I'm not hurt at all. I sat still
because----"
"Good heavens!" cried the Judge. "I know you." The other peered at him
in the half-light. "My name's Molehill. We met at Rome--over a
deathbed will."
The prelate started. Then recollection came twinkling into his gentle
eyes.
"Of course," he said, putting out his hand. "I remember perfectly.
Before the War. How very strange that----"
"It's Fate," said the Judge excitedly. "Or Providence. For the last
three months I've been racking my brain for your name, so that I could
get into----".
"Forest," said the other.
Sir Giles Molehill slapped himself upon the thigh.
"That's right!" he cried. "Forest! John Forest!"
The presence of a rapidly increasing crowd and four constables at once
discountenanced any further ebullition of glee, and emphasized the
discretion of withdrawal.
The Judge thought rapidly.
"Look here," he continued, "my club's just over there." He nodded
across the street. "If you'll wait a moment, I'll fetch the
commissionaire. He can take charge of your luggage, and then, if
you'll come in and have some tea with me, I shall be delighted."
"You're very good," said the other.
Mr. Justice Molehill hastened away....
Ten minutes later the two men were seated before a comfortable fire,
absorbed in each other's conversation.
"That will," said the Judge, "which you and I witnessed in 1914 has
never been proved."
"That," said his guest, "is, I fear, my fault. At the present moment
it's lying in a drawer of my writing-table at Rome."
"No?" cried his lordship, twittering.
Monseigneur Forest nodded.
"If you remember," he said, "after you and I had witnessed the old
gentleman's signature, I took charge of it."
"That's right. You were going to take it to the British Consulate, to
see if----"
"They'd stamp it. Exactly. Well, I was too late that day. I attended
the next morning, and, after a little difficulty, they consented, for
what it was worth, to put a seal on it. Then I went back to the hotel.
When I asked whether the testator was still alive, they told me he'd
gone."
"Gone?" cried the Judge incredulously. "But the man was dying."
"Dying or not, he'd left for Paris that morning. To the amazement of
the manager he had quietly walked into the office, asked for his bill,
and ordered a cab to be sent for and his luggage to be brought down.
Apparently the doctor attending him had tried to protest, and had been
sent away with a flea in his ear. I can only assume that the old
fellow was subject to some violent malady, which comes and goes
suddenly, one of whose attacks he has been warned will prove fatal."
"What an amazing thing!" said his lordship. "It never occurred to me
that he would survive the night. However, as it happens, it doesn't
affect the validity of that will. He's dead now. He died in 1917.
But the will that was proved and is lying at Somerset House was made in
1910."
"You mean to say that the will we witnessed supersedes it?"
"Undoubtedly."
The prelate covered his eyes.
"Dear me," he said. "Dear me. I blame myself very much. I should
have sent the document after him, of course. His address was there. I
quite intended to. But I had to leave for Vienna very suddenly upon
the next day. Instead of the days I had expected, I was away for
months. I only returned upon the eve of the explosion----"
"And, naturally, you forgot all about it. So did I. The merest
accident brought the whole thing to my mind."
"Accidents all the way," said the priest.
The Judge smiled.
"It looks like it," he agreed. "To be short, I came across the man in
whose favour our will was made. Such a nice-looking fellow--obviously
without a penny. Earning his living as a servant. Lyveden, his name
was--Anthony Lyveden. Don't let me raise your hopes. I've lost him
again--utterly. But everything's happening in the right order. It was
no good finding him just to make his mouth water."
"But the other will," said his guest. "What about that? Haven't its
provisions been given effect to?"
"That," said Sir Giles, tapping him on the shoulder, "is the beauty of
it. We're upsetting nobody. The other will leaves Lyveden every
penny, _provided he becomes a Knight_."
"What an infamous condition!"
"There you have the story. Upon what he believes to be his deathbed,
the old fellow repents his harshness. Recovered, our Pharaoh hardens
his heart and lets the old will stand. 'The Devil was sick, the Devil
a monk would be.'"
"_De mortuis_," said the prelate. "Besides, now we're going to
canonize him, willy nilly."
"With any luck," smiled the Judge. "Can you send for the document?"
Ruefully Monseigneur Forest shook his head.
"I must go for it," he said. "I must return at once. It's the least I
can do. 'Without a penny,' you said? Poor fellow. I was going into
the country to-morrow, to stay with my niece. But that must wait."
"We haven't found him yet," said his lordship.
"That may be the deuce of a business. Of course, now our hands are
free. With the will located, we can advertise. I think, perhaps,
though, we'd better wait till we've produced it to the solicitors."
The priest agreed heartily. Then he counted upon his fingers. After a
moment's calculation--
"I'm not as young as I was," he said, "but, if all goes well, I'll meet
you here a week from to-day with the will in my pocket."
Tea and the comparison of notes upon matters of moment, other than the
fortunes of Anthony, occupied another half-hour, when, after exchanging
addresses, the two men parted, pledged to meet again in seven days'
time.
The Judge walked home thoughtfully.
The queer little play was almost over. The strange human document
which it had pleased him to piece together was almost whole. He found
himself wondering why he had shown such solicitude. After all, who was
this Anthony Lyveden? Why had he been at such pains to set this beggar
upon horseback? Perhaps Fate had meant him to walk.... If she had,
she was playing a curious game. Thanks to her efforts, the fellow's
toe was practically in the stirrup. And he himself--Lyveden--had no
idea of it....
Mr. Justice Molehill smiled.
It was really an entertaining little play. Until it was time for his
entrance, the leading character would not even know that he was taking
part. There he was----
The smile died suddenly, as the reflection lost its savour.
Where? Where was the leading character? Supposing, when the time
came, he could not be found.... Into what a dismal fiasco the play
would turn. All his interest would have been thrown away. His
solicitors would have been investigating a lost cause. Forest would
have been sent packing back to Rome upon a fool's errand....
Mr. Justice Molehill gnawed at his lower lip.
There was no doubt about it. For some reason which, for all his
prudence, he could not perceive, this Hecuba was a great deal to him.
His bewilderment may be excused. The reason was out of his ken. The
truth is, there was a ghost to be laid, and Fate had chosen him for the
job. Judge or corner-boy, the man himself did not matter. The lot
falling upon him, he had become in this adventure the particular agent
of Fate.
King or herdsman, jester or sage, croupier or harridan--lend her what
personality you please--Fate hath the reins and so the laugh of the
universe. Ever at its rump, her pricks are insensible alike to kicks
or kisses. Folly, sceptre or rake in hand, she stands or sprawls upon
Eternity, bending the ages to her whim. And we, poor things, at once
her instruments and butts, stumble about her business, thinking it
ours, setting each other up, bringing each other low, spoking each
other's wheels and all the time, wise in our own conceit, basking in
the sunshine of our fine free-will, like lack-brains toasting their
shanks before an empty cage.
A Napoleon is still-born; a Medici never survives his
swaddling-clothes. Into the tiny graves are huddled a million
destinies. The sexton's shovel smothers up a Renaissance; soon the
daisies will blow above History. Those eyebrows are lifted, that lip
curls, and two fair homes go down in sorrow. This man misses a train,
to travel with Fortune in the one that follows. A horse is beaten on
the post, and the frantic clerk who has backed it goes for five years
to gaol. Five years.... What are five years to Fate? A
cable-operator nods over the Wheatstone, and a king loses his crown. A
witness hesitates, and an estate passes to the bastard and to his heirs
for ever....
And so the game goes on.
The living grains of sand go slipping and sliding into place in that
gigantic hour-glass, striving and fretting in their vanity, but always
impotently falling towards that thin neck, where days are numbered and
the punctilious turnstile ushers to those mysterious marches where
there is no more Time.
Look at them here.
Judge and maiden jostling a prelate--one upon either side--each of them
in a toss about the same Anthony Lyveden, yet neither aware of the
other's existence, and all four falling, while they fret, first into
place and presently, one by one, towards that thin neck where days are
numbered....
What? Have I whipped up a puppet without advising you? Bear with me,
sirs. 'Tis but the rustle of a gown--a silk knee against satin--upon
the staircase. In another moment I shall have opened the door.
The more Monseigneur Forest thought upon the matter, so suddenly thrust
smoking before him, the more uneasy he became. The kindest of men, he
found the picture of the poor legatee fighting for existence when, but
for another's remissness, he would have had a goodly heritage,
inexpressibly distressing. Indeed, could he have started for Rome that
night he would have done so. But for the knowledge that he was about
to do all in his power to rectify the wrong, he could not have slept.
As it was, the reflection that Anthony Lyveden had yet to be found
worried him greatly. It was, of course, most unfortunate that the
business had not cropped up before. Here he was on his way to
Hampshire, in response to a cry so instant that he had set everything
on one side, and now, however sore her need of him, his niece, Miss
Valerie French, would have to wait. Blood might be thicker than water,
but the poor pinched ghost that had been knocking so long upon his door
took vaulting precedence of any flesh and blood. In the good man's
eyes this stranger, Anthony Lyveden, had earned and must be accorded
the privileges of the dead.
Directly he reached his hotel he sat down at his bed-room table and
indited a letter.
_1st March, 1921._
_My DEAR VALERIE,_
_I am, as you see, in London._
_Till an hour ago I was on my way to you. Now I must leave again for
Rome to-morrow morning._
_By accident there has come to me the knowledge of a grievous wrong,
for which I am largely responsible. This, mercifully, it may be in my
power to repair. To attempt to do so, however, necessitates my
immediate return in quest of a paper which none but I can procure._
_You can guess, my dear, how very much distressed I am that I must keep
you waiting, but, if I told you the case, you would be the first to
hale me to the station._
_I shall return straightway to England--that is, so soon as my years
permit--and, all being well, I shall be here again one week from
to-day, and with you at Bell Hammer one week from to-morrow._
_You did not tell me the nature of your trouble, so that I can offer no
counsel; if, as I suspect, it concerns the man of whom you have already
written to me, remember, for what it is worth, that my faith in him has
never wavered from the moment you told me that he had won your love._
_Your affectionate uncle,
JOHN FOREST._
To the prelate, who framed it, that letter was the best he could do: to
Miss Valerie French, who received it, it was a great disappointment:
and to an eminent brain-specialist, who had never heard of it, it was
worth exactly three guineas.
* * * * *
"I should have come to you before," said Valerie, "but I was expecting
my uncle, and wanted to ask his advice before I took such a step. But
now he's delayed, and I can't wait any longer."
Sir Willoughby Sperm leaned forward and picked up a pen.
"One moment," he said, taking a sheet from a drawer. "Now then. What
is the patient's name?"
"Major Anthony Lyveden, D.S.O.," said Valerie. "L-Y-V-E-D-E-N."
The name was entered.
"Yes. Address?"
Valerie hesitated. Then--
"Gramarye, Chipping Norton," she said.
The address went down.
"Age?"
"I think about thirty."
"Wounded?"
"Not that I know of."
"When did you see him last?"
"Eleven days ago."
"And before that?"
"Not for three months."
"And his demeanour had changed in the interval?"
"Exactly."
"Are you engaged to him?"
"No."
"Were you engaged to him?"
"Practically."
"And it was broken off?"
"I broke it off."
"Why?"
"I suspected him of inconstancy."
"Did you tell him so?"
"No."
"And he?"
"He left the neighbourhood."
"That was three months ago?"
"Yes."
"Was your meeting eleven days ago accidental or by arrangement?"
"I visited him unexpectedly."
"In the hope of reconciliation?"
"Yes."
"How did he take it?"
"Most handsomely."
"The reconciliation was effected?"
"Yes."
"But his demeanour has changed?"
"Yes."
"In what way?"
"He seems infatuated with his work."
"To the exclusion of you?"
"Exactly. It's as if in the interval he'd become a priest, and,
although he still loved me, he was no longer free."
"What is his work?"
"Restoring an estate--the place he lives at--Gramarye. It's a very
large estate--nearly all woods--and it's been entirely neglected for a
number of years. He and some others, including the owner, are working
to get it straight--re-making roads, building bridges, cutting down
trees. It sounds Quixotic, but I can see the fascination. Besides, he
took the work of necessity. He's very poor."
"He seemed to consider himself devoted to the service of the estate?"
"Exactly."
"Did he exhibit any one particular mental symptom?"
"He heard things which I could not hear."
"Did he say what they were?"
"Trumpets."
"Anything else?"
"When he heard them, his eyes..."
Valerie hesitated.
"Yes?"
"--were the eyes of a fanatic."
There was a long silence, while the pen was busy upon the broad sheet.
Then--
"He should be seen," said Sir Willoughby, "by a specialist without his
knowing it. I can't go down. Later, I may be of use. I hope you
won't need me. The obvious thing to do is to get him away. But, if
you can't do that, no one can--peaceably. D'you think you could try
again?"
"I feel it would be waste of time," said Valerie. "You say some one
should see him. Can you tell me who to go to?"
"D'you know Dr. Heron?" Valerie shook her head. "He assists me a lot.
If he can go, I know of no one better. Would you like me to speak to
him?"
"I should be very grateful."
Sir Willoughby pressed a bell. To his secretary, who answered the
summons--
"I want to speak to Dr. Heron," he said.
In silence the girl withdrew.
Whilst the two were waiting, the physician spoke very kindly.
"I'm not going to express any opinion, because it would be valueless.
It's clear that there's something wrong, but I've seen so many
recoveries."
"Which you have brought about," smiled Valerie.
"I can never do more than contribute. I can only advise. It is the
executive that works the cure. That's why I'm so hopeful about Major
Lyveden."
"The executive?"
"Such as the devotion of relatives."
"He has no relatives."
"Or, better still," said the doctor, "the love of a great-hearted
lady." The muffled bell of a telephone interrupted. "Excuse me." He
picked up the receiver. "Is that you, Heron? ... Can you see a friend
of mine this afternoon? ... At four-thirty?" Sir Willoughby looked at
Valerie with raised eyebrows. She nodded quickly. "Yes. That'll do
... Miss French. Miss Valerie French ... A case in the country ...
Urgent ... She wants your report. I won't say any more. She'll tell
you better than I. Ring me up, if you like, before you go. Good-bye."
He pushed the instrument away and turned to Valerie. "I'll have
another word with him when you've told him your tale."
"Thank you so very much."
Having laid three guineas upon the table under the decent cover of a
photograph frame, Valerie rose to her feet. Sir Willoughby rose also
and passed to the door. As he held it open, he put out his hand.
Valerie took it and held it.
"Nobody could have been kinder," she said.
The physician smiled.
"Try not to worry," he said. "I haven't seen Gramarye, but I don't
think she'll stay the course. Not if you set the pace...."
* * * * *
It was the following Sunday morning that, after considerable
hesitation, Lyveden issued an order which he could well have spared.
The instruction was addressed to the younger of his two carters, and
was touching the man and the dog-cart and a seven-mile drive. In a
word, it had become expedient that Major Anthony Lyveden should go up
to Town.
His employer had warned him that periodical visits to London would be
found indispensable. For all his dislike of the world, Winchester had
had to pay them from time to time. Now that the latter was gone from
Gramarye, and Anthony reigned in his stead, the duty, when it arose,
fell to his lot. Never relishing the idea, he would not have believed
that it could become so odious. Ere it had taken shape, it loomed
vexatious. Looking it in the face, he found it repulsive. No recluse
could have been more reluctant to leave his hermitage. Major Anthony
Lyveden felt positively nervous.
Since he had been in charge the man had altered.
He, who in the old days had shouldered with a smile responsibilities
which would have set his elders sweating with apprehension, found the
light weight of Gramarye a fardel to make him stagger. This was out of
all order. Had he lain sick for a month, the work would have gone as
steadily. The truth is, he was investing the conduct of a waggoner's
team with the nicety requisite to the control of a tandem of
thoroughbreds. That Lyveden of all men in the world should make such a
costly mistake showed that his nerves were hagridden.
For all his dread of it, however, the visit to London could not
conveniently be postponed. The need of some of the items upon his
little list of accessories had become urgent, imperilling the work upon
the estate. A few hours in the Metropolis would be enough. He knew
where to go. Two addresses in the City and another in Drury Lane would
see the whole of his pilgrimage....
With a sigh, the ex-officer had locked up the safe and, leaving the
cold grey parlour, whence he administered, passed out of the echoing
mansion into the careless frolic of a fine March morning.
As he had expected, the younger of the two carters was in the stables,
and Anthony gave his order without more ado. Then he whistled to his
Sealyham and started for home.
After a wild night the unrepentant winds were full of mischief. A
monstrous dignity of fleecy clouds scudded undignified across the blue.
The precious park became a tossing waste of woodland, teased into
flurried liveliness, full of false starts and misdirection, instantly
buffeted for every blunder and bellowing good-natured protests at every
cuff. Respectable brown leaves chased one another down the tracks;
dark sober pools slapped their confining banks; the steady flow of
brooks faltered irresolute.
Nature herself being so roughly used, be sure that man and beast were
plagued unconscionably. Anthony's hat was sent whirling, and his
terrier's ears were flicked inside out at the first corner. Not that
they cared--either of them--for the sunlight leapt with a joy that took
the sting out of the horseplay and turned the edge of the devilment.
The day was as good as a tonic. By the time they had sighted their
cabin the two were revelling.
Not until he was on the point of entering the cottage did Anthony
notice the artist. Seated upon the traditional camp-stool, the latter
was sketching busily some twenty-five paces away. Apparently absorbed
in his work, he never so much as threw the newcomers a glance, and
Lyveden was more than half minded to let him be. Patch, however,
thought differently. Even as his master turned to the door, there was
a low growl, and a moment later the Sealyham was baying the intruder as
if he had been a convict.
Calling the dog sharply, Lyveden advanced to apologize.
The lazy brown eyes hardly looked at him, and the slender fingers never
left their work for an instant; but a pleasant smile leapt into the
stranger's face, and, ere the apology was voiced, he spoke with the
utmost good humour.
"Please don't scold him. He's perfectly right. I'm a trespasser and a
vagabond. I have no visible means of subsistence, and, if these things
are crimes, I'm an habitual criminal. If you really don't want me to
draw your cottage, I'll stop. But you must say so right out. And it
isn't the cottage so much as the background I'm after. To be frank,
this looks a promising place. I'm out for woodland--something that's
not too tidy."
Anthony smiled grimly.
"Orderliness," he said, "is hardly our forte at present. The park's
been Nature's playground for over a century, and she's made the most of
her time."
"You sound," said the other, "as if you had authority. Am I free of
the place, or not?"
For a second Anthony hesitated. Strangers were not to his taste.
There was, however, a quiet careless indifference about the fellow's
manner which was reassuring. Moreover, he liked the look of him, there
was nothing monstrous about his attire--he might have stepped off a
golf-course--and there was a kindly expression upon the intellectual
face. Somehow the droop of a fair moustache subscribed to the
suggestion of laziness which the eyes had put forward. Indeed, his
whole demeanour argued the simple creed "Live, and let live."
Lyveden had just decided to give the required encouragement when the
other knocked out his pipe.
"That's all right," he said lightly. "I never take offence. And I'm a
rare believer in privacy. If I had a place in the country I should
have a ten-foot wall about it and a guard-room at every lodge. It's
not that I'm a misanthrope, but to my mind there's not much point in
ownership if you don't----"
"I expect you'd issue some passports," said Anthony. "Any way, please
don't go. And, if Gramarye's what you want, you're free to come and
work whenever you like. Nobody'll say anything to you; but if they
did--I'm going to Town to-morrow--my name's Lyveden, and I'm the--the
agent here."
"You're very good," said the artist; and with that he filled his pipe
and set to work again.
Anthony went about his business.
By the time he had washed Patch, the stranger was gone.
Dusk was falling ere Lyveden saw him again--a tall, thin figure
striding up the track from the depths of Gramarye. As he passed the
cottage, the ex-officer hailed him, offering to house his paraphernalia
for the night. After a moment's hesitation, the other accepted....
With the interior of the cabin he was plainly delighted, pointing his
host a score of engaging features which only an antiquary would have
recognized. Anthony gave him some tea, and the two sat smoking for the
inside of an hour.
At length the artist rose.
"I must get back to Girdle," he said. "About two miles, isn't it?"
"About that. I won't say 'Good-bye.' If Gramarye suits you, perhaps I
shall see you again."
"Thanks to your _laisser passer_, you may. I want to get on to
Woodstock, really; but your woods are worth a day or two. Good night."
He swung off into the darkness, and a minute later Anthony heard his
steps upon the metalling of the London road.
It was upon the following afternoon that Lyveden swore under his
breath. At the time in question he was standing in a large
efficient-looking shop which smelt strongly of cordage and was situate
in Drury Lane.
The manager was nervously apologetic.
"They've bin on order a week now, sir, but I can't honestly say as I
expects them under three. You know what labour is now. In the ole
days it was a matter o' 'phonin', an' hanythin' you liked 'd be 'ere by
special messenger in 'alf an hour. But now...."
He threw up his hands helplessly.
"Where else can I try?" said Lyveden.
The man mentioned two or three stores--each of them in the City.
"But I don' think you'll get 'em, sir. You might get an hodd one, but
'alf a dozen o' 'Lightnin'' mattocks at the moment is worth their
weight."
With a sigh Anthony bowed to the inevitable.
"There's my address," he said, handing the man a slip of paper. "Send
me a card the moment they come in."
"I'll set six aside for you, sir."
"All right."
He paid for the goods he had purchased, had them placed in a taxi, and
drove to Paddington.
He was so ridiculously glad to see the station again that the
ordinarily provoking discovery that he had lost the return half of his
ticket but twitched the hem of his temper. With a rueful smile he
determined to deduct the price of his carelessness from his next week's
wages.
The fact that he had broken no bread since breakfast never occurred to
him. His one idea was to get back to Gramarye. Not that the dreaded
visit had proved exacting. Indeed, as was to be expected, London had
roared as gently as any sucking dove. It was with no true sense of
relief that he watched the bustling platforms recede. Them and their
fellows, the streets, he bore no grudge. Hideously crowded as they
were, he felt almost kindly disposed towards them. He could afford to
be magnanimous. He was on his way back. An hour or so, and he would
stand once more under the grateful shadow of his sanctuary....
He had no newspaper, nor any need of one. The flitting landscape, the
regular pounding of the wheels were declaring tidings precious beyond
price. A hundred times he wished the compartment empty save for
himself, that he might have exulted openly. As it was, he was reduced
to hugging himself surreptitiously, to staring upon the window and
winking at his elusive reflection, which he could dimly focus in the
stout pane. After a while he became pitiful of his fellow-travellers.
As like as not, poor devils, they thought they were well off. And here
beside them sat one who was bound for Gramarye. Anthony hugged himself
anew. Then another station flashed by, before his feverish eyes could
read the name, to set him twittering with speculation....
By the time the train steamed into Chipping Norton, the ex-officer was
trembling all over.
To Patch, who had spent the day in the wood-shed, his master's return
to the cottage was the signal for an undisguised explosion of ecstasy.
Herein, as the noise of the roan's hoofs died away, he was unexpectedly
joined by Anthony, and for a long two minutes the two wallowed in a
pure paroxysm of glee.
It is to be noted, however, that while the terrier presently dispatched
a generous supper with every indication of relish, his master left his
untasted. Of the cold well-water the latter was undeniably glad,
drinking great draughts and presently drawing more and washing
luxuriously. Then he drew more and drank again, but he could touch no
food. Neither, tired as he was, could he sit still before the fire....
Two hours later he stumbled across his threshold like a drunken man.
Another draught of water revived him somewhat, and, after resting a
little in the Windsor chair, he mounted the tiny staircase and went
shakily to bed.
* * * * *
Eight days later the artist with the lazy eyes rose from his
leather-topped table to greet Miss Valerie French.
Handing her to a chair, he resumed his seat, and, after a word or two
upon the weather, turned straight to the point.
"I saw Major Lyveden for the first time last Sunday week. We met in
the morning, and he gave me tea the same afternoon. The next day he
went up to London--on business of some sort--but I saw him on Tuesday
and again on Friday and Saturday.
"I don't propose to trouble you with technical terms. All the same,
it's not always possible for a medical man to render his language
literally into the King's English. Now and again I shall give you
rather a free translation, so you mustn't hold me too tight to anything
I may say. I tell you this, because I'm going to state facts and not
hand you mere expressions of opinion."
Valerie nodded intelligently, and the speaker cleared his throat.
"Now, Miss French, one thing is manifest. If Major Lyveden remains at
Gramarye, he will lose his reason." The doctor paused, and for the
first time Valerie noticed the sober, methodical tick of a
grandfather's clock. This, so far from spoiling, served to enrich the
silence investing the latter with an air of _couchant_ dignity which
was most compelling. "He is at present the prey of certain malignant
forces--the more immediate of them natural; some, I believe,
unnatural--and nothing short of his removal from where he is now can
set him free. I'm not certain that even removal will be entirely
effective. But it's obviously the first step. If a man is down with
malaria, the first thing to do is to get him out of the swamp."
Valerie was very pale, but her voice did not tremble.
"And supposing he won't leave...?"
"He must be taken away--forcibly. Listen. At the village inn I picked
up a lot of news. All sorts of rumours are current--all touching
Gramarye. Most of them are nonsense, and I won't repeat them. Others
are founded on hard fact. Have you heard of a Colonel Winchester?"
Valerie nodded.
"Major Lyveden spoke of him as his employer."
"That's right. He owns the estate, and was the working manager of this
restoration business."
"_Was?_" breathed the girl.
"Was. Three weeks ago he went mad." Valerie started violently. "It's
said that he tried to kill Lyveden. That I can't answer for, but he's
in a private asylum for dangerous lunatics."
There was a painful silence. Then--
"Is--is it the place?" said Valerie faintly.
The specialist rose to his feet and started to pace the room.
"As a doctor, I ought to say 'No'; as a man who has spent the inside of
a week there, I'm moved to say 'Yes.' Surroundings can depress or
elevate, of course. That's common knowledge. But there's something
more than that here. In the village they told me the place was
accursed. Nonsense, of course. Yet---- Honestly, Miss French, I
don't know how to tell you... There's--there's a dreadful sinister
attraction about the park: there's an unearthly magnetism about the
woods--a queer, wistful fascination about the wilderness. At Girdle
they swore it was birdless. It may be. There are such places. I
certainly saw neither bird nor beast while I was there. And that's not
natural. But it's not what you see and hear: it's what you feel. It's
terribly hard to explain, but the place appeals most powerfully to the
emotions. You feel an irresistible impulse to go to _Something's_
assistance. Of course my eyes were skinned, so I saw the treachery.
But I felt the appeal." He halted and threw out a hand. "Imagine a
serpent disguised as a beautiful woman in distress--_that's_ Gramarye.
And if I'd been there a month, instead of a week----" He stopped
suddenly, like a man whose tongue has run away and made a fool of its
governor. "And now please forget what I've said. It doesn't affect
the case. I went down to see whether there was reason to fear for
Major Lyveden's sanity. I've found that there is. And I advise that
he be taken away forthwith."
"To a home?"
"A private house would be better. If it became necessary, he could be
moved. But he shouldn't be allowed to have an inkling that his mind is
in danger."
"I'd be thankful to have him at Bell Hammer."
"Your home?"
"Yes," said Valerie. "In Hampshire."
The doctor resumed his seat and crossed his legs.
"You're prepared to undertake it?" he said. "I mean, it may be a very
trying responsibility."
"Dr. Heron, I hope to become Major Lyveden's wife."
The specialist nodded.
"Good. Do you wish me to arrange his removal?"
"Oh, please."
"Very well. Have you a closed car?"
"Yes."
"Any brothers?"
Valerie shook her head.
"Why, doctor?"
"Because," said Heron, "he will resist. It doesn't matter."
"I've two friends who will help me."
"Young strong men?"
Valerie shivered.
"Yes."
"Can you trust your chauffeur?"
"Implicitly."
"Good. Now let's see." He turned the page of a diary and then
returned it. "To-morrow's Tuesday. I don't want to waste any time,
but we can't rush things. Please have a room at Bell Hammer ready on
Friday. I'll arrange for two nurses to go to you that afternoon. I
shall go back to Girdle to-morrow evening. I hope I shall want your
two friends and the chauffeur with the car during the week-end, but I
may have to wait. In any event, I shall wire to you at Bell Hammer,
giving them twenty-four hours' notice and telling them where to come.
Please tell the chauffeur to have enough petrol and spares to go from
Girdle to Hampshire without a break."
"Is that everything?" said Valerie.
"Almost. There's just this. We ought to arrive by night; but I want
you to leave all instructions and go to bed."
"I can't do that, doctor. I'll promise not to appear, until you send
for me, but----"
"That'll do. That's what I want. Don't think I'm being professional.
Remember, I've taken Sperm at his word, and spoken more frankly to you
than ever I've done in my life."
"I'm more than content," said Valerie. "You and Sir Willoughby have
been just wonderful."
"That's the epithet he and I keep for you, Miss French." They rose and
shook hands. "And since of your amazing self-control you've asked no
questions, I'll make you a present of an answer. In my opinion, he
will recover completely."
Valerie caught her breath sharply, began to tremble violently, and then
burst into tears.
* * * * *
Order means much to me, gentlemen. Indeed, I believe in the dame. To
fall foul of her ruling does not like me at all. Unless, however, I am
to play the diarist, there are times when I have no choice but to
retrace my steps. This is one of them. Four windy days must be
clapped back on to the hasty calendar--four days, sirs, of which three
do not matter, while the fourth, or first--whichever way you look at
it--concerns us mightily. In a word, it was upon the eleventh day of
March that poor Mr. Slumper was also among the prophets.
_66 Bedford Row,
London, W.C.
11th March, 1921._
_Dear Sir,_
Anthony Lyveden, Esq.
_We understand that this gentleman was recently in your service._
_We have to make to him a communication of the utmost importance, and
one which it will be to his great advantage to receive._
_Since, however, we have already addressed to him one letter c/o
yourself, to which we have had no reply, and since we have reason to
believe that he has quitted your service, we shall be much obliged if
you will be so good as to inform us where he may now be found, or,
failing that, the address to which he proceeded on leaving your house.
If you should be unable to give us this information, we shall be
grateful for any suggestion you may be in a position to make as to the
probability of his present whereabouts._
_We are, dear sir,
Yours faithfully,
BULRUSH & Co._
_Joseph Bumble, Esq.,
The Shrubbery,
Hawthorne,
Hants._
Mr. Slumper was in the act of preparing to fold the letter before
inserting it in the envelope which he had carefully addressed, when he
saw the words "Anthony Lyveden."
For a moment he stared at them. Then, glancing furtively round, for it
was no business of his to read the letters for whose dispatch he was
responsible, he subjected the sheet to a hurried perusal.
What he read excited him. There was no doubt about that. In a moment
his nerves were at leapfrog. Fingers and lips and eyelids all
flickered and fidgeted in a manner painful to see. Twice he half rose
from his chair, only to sink back upon the edge, twittering.... Here
was an intention with no drive behind it. The truth is, the back of
Mr. Slumper's will was broken in twain.
The exact moment at which the fracture had occurred cannot be stated
with any certainty. A sentence of three months' imprisonment in the
second division was not responsible. The smash was before that.
Probably it came with the realization that he stood beneath the shadow
of the Criminal Law. Be that as it may, the ex-financier emerged from
prison a broken man. But for the interest of Mr. Blithe, the senior
partner of Bulrush & Co., who had had him met at the gates and
straightway sent him for a month to the seaside, poor Mr. Slumper must
have sunk like a stone. When he was fit to follow an occupation, he
was encouraged to accept a living wage, the work of an office-boy, and
a tiny room to himself....
Here, then, it was that Mr. Slumper was doing battle. How much it cost
the poor sinner to pick up the letter, emerge from his closet, and make
his way upstairs to Mr. Blithe's ante-chamber will never be known.
That it reduced his overdraft in Heaven goes without saying. Curiously
enough, the penetration of the barrier erected upon the obnoxious
personality of a managing clerk proved a less formidable business than
Mr. Slumper had expected. The very truculence of the fellow stung the
derelict to a sudden defiance. This was but a flash in the pan--yet
enough for a bully.... After a moment's delay, Mr. Slumper was
admitted into the senior partner's room.
Blithe looked up with a kindly smile.
"Yes, Mr. Slumper? You want to see me?"
All his nervousness returned with such a rush as to make the
ex-financier break into a sweat. But he found his voice somehow, and
fell a-wondering who it was that was speaking his thoughts.
"If you please, sir. It's--it's about this letter."
He laid the sheet upon his employer's table. "I was--thanks to your
goodness--addressing the envelope. I take a great interest in the
work, sir: and I don't, of course, read the letters, except to obtain
the addresses. But the heading of this one, sir, happened to catch my
eye. The name being familiar, I took the liberty of reading the text.
And--and--I'm very loth to step out of my place, sir, but, if you are
seeking the whereabouts of a footman called Lyveden, sir, Anthony
Lyveden, I hardly think there can be two of that name. I mean ..."
The solicitor smiled encouragingly.
"Go on, Mr. Slumper," he said.
Mr. Slumper moistened his lips.
"It will seem strange to you, sir, but he--if it is he--was in my
service last summer." He passed a trembling hand across his mouth.
"He left me right at the last. He was very good to--to us.... And I
used to wonder sometimes what had become of him--he was a gentleman,
you know. And then I saw him again...."
Blithe leaned forward.
"Yes?"
"Last Monday, sir. At Paddington Station. I had the pleasure of
fetching a bag for you, sir, from the cloakroom that afternoon." (It
may be mentioned that this particular commission should have been
executed by the commissionaire attached to the office. As, however, it
was raining at the time, that gentleman and the managing clerk
aforesaid had seen no good reason why "old Slumper" should not
satisfactorily perform the duty and save his betters a wetting. Both
paid for their blindness in due season. The principal was dismissed,
with the result that, after a heated argument, the accessory before the
fact was hit first upon the nose and then upon the left eye with all
the principal's might.) "He was having some luggage labelled to go
with him by train. There seemed to be some question of over-weight. I
was quite close to him. Indeed, it was hearing a voice I knew that
made me look at him. I heard him say, 'I'm going to Chipping Norton
and on to Girdle.' I very nearly spoke to him, but----"
"You're quite sure it was he, Mr. Slumper?"
"Oh, yes, sir. I've no doubt at all."
"Splendid," said Blithe. "I'm extremely obliged to you. I shall write
to Girdle at once. If, as I verily believe, you've found us our man,
we shan't forget it. Of course I'll let you know as soon as I hear."
The speaker rose to his feet. "So you're getting on all right, are
you? I'm so glad. And keeping fairly well? That's right. Come out
this way." He opened a private door. "Good morning, and thank you so
much."
With a full heart Mr. Slumper passed humbly down the stairs....
Within the hour another letter came to his desk for direction. This he
read without any hesitation. Indeed, the pleasurable glow of
achievement which it induced ushered a gleam into the dull brown eyes
such as they had not known for many a day.
_CONFIDENTIAL._
_66 Bedford Row,
London, W.C.,
11th March, 1921._
_Dear Sir,_
_We have reason to believe that a gentleman of the name of "Anthony
Lyveden" is residing in your neighbourhood. We are anxious to obtain
his address in order that we may make to him a communication of the
highest importance, and one which it will be to his great financial
advantage to receive._
_If you can furnish us with his address by return of post we shall be
greatly obliged; but, if you are unable to do so, kindly cause
immediate inquiries to be instituted with a view to locating him, and
advise us accordingly._
_Our information is that Mr. Lyveden left London for Chipping Norton en
route for Girdle on Monday last, the 7th inst._
_Yours faithfully,
BULRUSH & Co._
_S. Plowman, Esq.,
Solicitor,
Girdle,
Oxon._
If to be told that the Probate Divorce and Admiralty Division of the
High Court of Justice will be prepared to award you a mansion in Town,
an estate in Dorsetshire--each of them, as they say, ready to walk
into--and nearly three-quarters of a million of money, is to receive a
communication to your great financial advantage, then Bulrush & Co. had
not overstated their case.
There was no doubt about it, Anthony's ship was signalled. The pilot
was going aboard. Very soon the galleon would be in the stream.
If the double journey had proved too much for John Forest, so that the
prelate was compelled to rest before returning to England, at least he
had sent the will by registered post. This in due season had been
produced to the testator's solicitor, a benevolent gentleman of the Old
School, who, after an interview with Sir Giles Molehill and Blithe at
the Royal Courts of Justice, was entirely satisfied regarding its
validity. Indeed, his anxiety to wash his hands of the usurper was
almost voluble.
"And I may say, my lord, that I more than once spoke very warmly to my
client about that iniquitous proviso which he made me insert. But, as
your lordship knows, a testator has always been permitted to indulge
his utmost eccentricity, and my words fell upon deaf ears. He was a
difficult man, sir, was Jonathan Roach. But when the time came, and I
had to break the news to young Lyveden, it was a sorry business. I'm
heartily thankful it's going to be put right."
"I hope it is, Mr. Orphan," had replied the Judge. "But we've still
got to find our protégé. That I must leave to you and Blithe to pull
off. I've done my part. But you must keep me informed, for I'm
determined to be in at the death."
The two attorneys had promised faithfully, and left the Judge smiling.
Benevolence and shrewdness seldom go hand-in-hand, and his lordship's
words had contained a subtle instruction to Blithe to shepherd his
elderly brother and not to retire from the case. The flick of an
eyelid had disclosed Blithe's reception of the hint.
With what result, we know.
And that is the sum of my arrears, gentlemen. Henceforth, if you
please, you shall find the street of narrative straight as a French
highway, with hill and dale certainly, but none of your hairpin corners
to send you doubling upon your tracks.
* * * * *
It was eleven o'clock of a Sunday morning.
Never was an hour more melodiously announced. The diverse tongues of
Oxford insisted upon its arrival for fully five minutes. Indeed, the
harmonious argument, which had begun as his lordship's car was nearing
Magdalen Bridge, was still in progress when the great grey limousine
swung out of St. Giles's and on to the Woodstock road.
All three of its occupants were in a holiday humour. The Judge was
radiant; Orphan proved splendid company; while Blithe, a brilliant
talker, kept the two bubbling with merriment upon a fire of delicate
wit. The miles fairly melted beneath their gaiety. Indeed, it was not
until the Judge's eye caught the message of an odd finger-post that any
one of the three realized that they had passed Blenheim.
"CHIPPING NORTON 8!" cried his lordship. "Gad, gentlemen, we're nearly
there. Blithe, you're a stage-manager in a million. The thing's going
to pan out like a well-written play. What time did you tell Plowman to
expect us?"
"At twelve o'clock," said Blithe. "With any luck we shall just do it
nicely."
"Good!" said the Judge. Then: "I think we'd better pick up Plowman and
take him with us, don't you, Orphan?"
"I think so. For one thing, he knows Lyveden and can introduce us."
"Quite so." His lordship consulted his watch. "We ought to have
landed our fish by a quarter to one. We'd better mark down an hotel
and carry him off to lunch. You'd better speak to him first and just
make sure he's our man."
"Certainly," said Orphan. "I think if I ask him his mother's maiden
name, where he was born, his age, and the name of his uncle's butler,
that ought to do."
"Why the name of the butler?" said Blithe. "Is that a catch?"
"Quite right," said Orphan. "Just to make doubly sure. Old Jonathan
Roach never would have a man-servant in the house. It was a whim of
his. If I get the right answer, I shall be easy for ever. But I don't
want to take any risks with the best part of a million at stake."
"I agree," said Sir Giles. "Have you got some cash for him?"
The other nodded and touched his coat.
"One hundred in notes and a cheque-book. I'll take his specimen
signature, and put a thousand to his credit to-morrow."
"Good!" said the Judge. "That's the style. I wish poor Forest was
here. He'd 've enjoyed it thoroughly. Such a pathetic letter he wrote
me when he sent the will. Blames himself out of all reason for keeping
the document so long. I sent him a line on Friday to say that we'd
found our man. I admit it was rather precipitate, but, all things
considered, I think I was justified. By the time the letter reaches
him it will be a _fait accompli_--and I wanted to ease his mind."
"If you ask me," said Blithe, "it's all over but the shouting. The
talk I had with Plowman over the telephone settled it. In fact, that
was when the shouting began. Which reminds me that the trunk line from
London to Girdle requires attention. It was not a conversation at all.
It was a joint rhapsody."
"Personally," said the Judge, "I detest the telephone. It's a pomp and
a vanity of a wicked world. You can never be sure who you're talking
to, nor how many people are listening; there's no record of what you've
said and no evidence that you've even said it. The invention is a
convenient nuisance, conducive to blasphemy, and should be abated."
The car rolled on.
Presently, though none of them knew it, they slipped past Anthony's
cottage and so down Gallowstree Hill to the village they sought.
To say that Mr. Samuel Plowman was ready and waiting in no way
describes his condition. The little lawyer was wellnigh beside himself
with expectation. The prospect of meeting a Justice of the King's
Bench intoxicated. The possibility of entertaining such a one in the
flesh and the dining-room of The Nook, Girdle, made tales of Paradise
seem tame. A burning discussion with Mrs. Plowman had resulted in a
decision not to offer his lordship lunch. That would be attempting too
much. Cakes and ale, however, flanked by a dish of sandwiches and a
tantalus, made a collation at once independent of service and adaptable
to every appetite. Furniture was moved, rugs were transferred, the
first floor was spoiled to turn the spare bedroom into Mr. Plowman's
conception of a Judge's lavatory. It had been mutually agreed that
Mrs. Plowman's presence would be intrusive, but, in the circumstances,
to go soberly to church was more than the good lady could stomach. An
O. P. was therefore established in the bathroom beside the geyser, to
which point of vantage Mrs. Plowman undertook to repair the moment the
car was heard....
The Nook standing close to a corner of the London road, seven times was
the O. P. occupied and evacuated between half-past eleven and twelve,
and three times did Mr. Plowman actually throw open his door and
advance, nervous but beaming, into the drive, only to hear the
deceitful engine once more gathering speed. The fourth time, however,
the purr of the engine fell to a steady mutter, which was maintained.
The car was not at the gate, but it was not moving. Possibly its
occupants were inquiring for The Nook.... Mr. Plowman tried not to run
down the drive. With her heart in her mouth, Mrs. Plowman peered past
the geyser to where the branches of a monkey-puzzler maddeningly
obstructed her view of the front gate....
Two minutes later the little solicitor reappeared, walking most
delicately and attending a tall, distinguished-looking man with every
circumstance of veneration. Behind them came two other strangers, who
might have been equerries. That, for all his ecstasy, Mr. Plowman
remembered to throw a smile up to the bathroom window, literally
reduced Mrs. Plowman to tears of joy.
It was no desire for refreshment, but pure kindness of heart that moved
Sir Giles Molehill to accept the attorney's invitation. And, as was
his way in life, he did the thing handsomely. Did he see beer?
Splendid. He would have a bottle of beer. Yes, and a sandwich.
Excellent. Just the thing after an eighty-mile run. What excellent
roads they kept in Oxfordshire! He never remembered better. And the
Cotswold air was magnificent. Really, one had to spend one's days in a
stuffy Court in Town to appreciate the country as it deserved.
"Yet we thrive on the atmosphere, bad as it is. Look at the time we
live, Mr. Plowman. Who ever heard of a Judge dying? Yes. I really
must have another sandwich. They're so excellent. And now we want you
to come with us in the car and take us to Mr. Lyveden ... _Major_
Lyveden, is he? Right ... D.S.O.? Good fellow. Wonder what he got
that for. And then you'll come on to lunch...."
By the time they were back in the car, Mr. Plowman was upon the edge of
praying for an occasion of saving his lordship's life at the expense of
his own....
At the south-west corner of Gramarye the guide gave the signal, and the
car was stopped. Then Plowman and Orphan alighted and passed up the
wasted track. Except for a wreath of smoke curling from the chimney,
the cottage might have been deserted....
"I rather expect," said Plowman, "he'll be having his dinner...."
A second later he was tapping upon the door.
For a moment there was a dead silence. Then a stealthy movement made
itself heard....
The two men listened intently.
From the London road the Judge and Blithe were watching them closely.
The door remaining fast shut, Mr. Plowman knocked again.
Instantly the movement ceased. After perhaps twenty seconds it was
renewed, but with a difference. The stealth had become hasty.
The two men stared at one another. Then--
"Better go in," said Orphan, with his hand on the latch.
This yielded to pressure, and the next moment the door was open.
The atmosphere prevailing in the little chamber was uninviting. There
was a fire glowing upon the hearth, and the room was unpleasantly hot.
From the reek of a pungent tobacco emerged an unsavoury smell of
something which was not fuel, burning. Scattered about the red-brick
floor were black feathers without number, and here and there amid the
plumage appeared the muddy print of feet. Perched upon the logs was a
pot bubbling, and by the side of the hearth an old pair of boots
emitted wisps of steam. Lyveden himself was nowhere to be seen.
Plowman looked round wide-eyed, and Orphan blew disgustedly through his
nose.
The former raised his voice.
"Major Lyveden," he called, smiling, "may I come in?"
There was no answer.
The two conferred in a whisper. Then Plowman cleared his throat.
"Major Lyveden!" he called. "It's Plowman speaking--Plowman, of
Girdle. Can you spare me a moment?"
Still no reply was vouchsafed.
Followed by the other, Orphan advanced into the room and looked behind
the door. There was no one there.
He stepped to the foot of the flight of stairs and spoke upward.
"Is Major Lyveden there?"
For a moment it seemed as if he, too, was to go unanswered. Then--
"Nao," said a voice thickly, "'e ain't. 'E's gorn aout, 'e 'as. An'
won' be beck till ter-morrer."
Orphan looked sharply at Plowman. The latter shook his head, frowning,
as if in denial, and lifted his voice.
"Who's that?" he snapped.
Somebody was heard to swallow. Then--
"I tell yer 'e ain't 'ere," said the voice. "'E's--'e's gorn aout."
"Who has?" said Orphan.
"Majer"--the speaker hesitated--"Major Dibdin."
The hesitancy alone would have proclaimed the impostor, and, while
Plowman ran for the others, Orphan told the occupant of the bedroom,
first that he was an infernal liar, secondly that he was being
addressed by a magistrate, and thirdly that, unless he desired to be
given into custody for stealing poultry and housebreaking, he had
better descend forthwith and tell the whole truth.
As the Judge and Blithe came up, with Plowman behind them, Orphan
stepped backwards out of the doorway.
"Come on," he said roughly. "Out in the air."
Barefoot, of his trepidation still grasping the carcass of what had
been a black Orpington, there emerged from the cottage a filthy and
evil-smelling tramp. A week's sandy stubble bristled upon his chin,
the pendulous lips were twitching, the crafty eyes shifted uneasily
from side to side.
The four lawyers stared upon the beastly apparition in disgusted dismay.
The sickly smile of guilty embarrassment upon their _vis-à-vis'_ face
had begun to swell into the cringing leer familiarly precedent to an
appeal for leniency, when the fellow leaned forward, stared fearfully
at the Judge, and, dropping the pullet with a screech, recoiled against
the wall.
"I ain't done no 'arm," he cried, whimpering. "I ain't done no 'arm.
I never stole that there 'en. She were dead in the way, me lord.
Runned over by a cyar, she were. I only come aout last Toosday, me
lord, an' tryin' ter run strite an' git a good job o' work, like wot
you said, sir. It's gauze trewth I never stole that there bird. She
was layin'..."
Out of a bad business the queer recognition stood solitarily opportune.
Rhadamanthus' own promise of clemency in return for the truth could not
have been more effective. The plain facts, however, were wofully
bitter to hear.
The tramp had taken undisputed possession at eight o'clock that
morning. The cottage was then empty. The fire was out and the bed in
order. Upon the floor of the living-room lay the fragments of a
pitcher, with the water, which this had held, settled in a pool upon
the bricks. A Windsor chair was fallen, Dagon-like, upon its face,
with its legs in the air. What no one could understand was the fact
that the lamp, which hung from the ceiling, was still burning.
* * * * *
More or less recovered, but profoundly depressed, Monseigneur Forest
reached Hampshire upon the following Thursday. He had visited the
Judge in London, and learned from his mouth first the news and then the
details of the unpleasant truth. His lordship's contention that Fate
was opposed to their endeavours, he found it difficult to dispute.
Believing that he was on his way to a triumph, he had come breathless
to participate in a rout. For three days he had dandled a new-born
joy, to find it stark upon the fourth....
Valerie was not at the station, but Mason was there with the car, and
the poor man was glad to be alone. He was mourning a stolen
opportunity to repair a great wrong, and would not be comforted. The
lost legatee haunted him more tragically than ever.
As the car swept to the house he noticed two girls upon the steps.
They were interrogating the butler.
Observing his arrival they cut their inquiries short. The prelate
emerged, however, in time to hear the servant's concluding words.
"No, madam. Only that the improvement was maintained. Thank you,
madam."
"Who's ill?" cried Forest sharply.
The butler inclined his head.
"Major Lyveden, sir--a friend of Miss Valerie's. He----"
"_Who?_"
For all his training the servant jumped.
"Major Lyveden, sir. Major Anthony Lyveden."
Monseigneur Forest looked round helplessly. Then he put a hand to his
head and sat down on the steps.