MALTON MAKES A DISCOVERY.
Evan Malton had a house in Carlton, not a very fashionable locality
certainly, but the residence of the assistant manager was a
comfortable one. His wife and child were invariably to be found at
home, but Malton himself was always away--either at his club, the
theatre, or at some dance. He was one of those weak men who can deny
themselves nothing, and kept his wife and child stinted for money,
while he spent his income on himself. But with such tastes as he
possessed, his income did not go very far, so in a moment of weakness
he embezzled money in order to gratify his desires.
When he told his wife what he had done, the news came like a
thunder-clap on her. She knew her husband was weak, pleasure-loving
and idle, but she never dreamt he could be a criminal. With the desire
of a woman to find excuses for the conduct of a man she loved, Mrs.
Malton thought that his crime was due to the evil influence of Kitty
Marchurst; hence her visit and appeal to the actress. It seemed to
have been successful, for the money had been replaced, though Kitty
denied having paid it, and Mrs. Malton breathed freely.
Her husband loved her in a kind of a way; he did not mind being
unfaithful himself, but he would have been bitterly angered had he
found her following his example. This type of husband is not uncommon;
he likes to be a butterfly abroad, to lead a man-of-the-world
existence, neglecting his home; yet he always expects on his return to
find a hearty welcome and a loving-wife.
Of course, as Mrs. Malton was a handsome woman, with a neglectful
husband, the inevitable event happened, and Fenton, the bosom friend
of the husband, fell in love with the solitary wife. She repelled his
advances proudly, as she really loved her husband; but the effect of
long months of neglect were beginning to tell on her, and she asked
herself bitterly if it was worth while for her to remain faithful to a
husband who neglected her.
On the Sunday afternoon following the interview Malton had with
Naball, she sat down in her drawing-room, idly watching the child
playing at her feet. Malton had come home in a fearful temper the
night before, and had been in bed all Sunday. Dinner had been early,
and she had left him in the dining-room, with a scowling face,
evidently drinking more than was good for him.
"What is the use of trying to make his life happy?" she said to
herself with a sneer. "He cares no more for me than he does for the
child. If I were to allow his dearest friend to betray me, I don't
believe he would care a fig about it."
While she was thus talking, the door opened, and her husband came into
the room, with a sullen look on his face. He was, as she saw, in a
temper, and ready for a domestic battle; but, determined not to give
him a chance, she sat in her chair in silent disdain.
"Well," he said, throwing himself on the sofa, "haven't you got a word
to say for yourself?"
"What can I say?" she replied listlessly.
"Anything! Don't sit there like a cursed sphynx. How do you expect a
man to come home when he finds things so disagreeable?"
She looked at him scornfully.
"You find things disagreeable," she said slowly. "You, who have
neglected me ever since our marriage; who have passed your time with
actresses and betting men; you, who--"
"Go to the devil," said Malton sulkily, cutting short her catalogue of
his vices. "I don't want you to preach. I'll go where I like, and do
what I like."
"Yet you deny me the right to do the same."
"What do you mean?"
"Mean!" she cried, rising to her feet; "mean that I'm tired of this
sordid way of living. I'm tired of seeing you at the beck and call of
every woman except your wife. I have tried to do my duty by you and
the child, yet you neglect me for others. You squander your honestly
earned money, and then embezzle thousands of pounds. I tell you, I'm
sick of this life, Evan Malton; and if you don't take care, I'll make
a change."
He listened in amazement to this tirade coming from his meek wife,
then, with a coarse laugh, flung himself back on the sofa.
"You'll make a change!" he said, with a sneer. "You--I suppose that
means bolting with another man--you do, my lady, and I'll kill you and
your lover as well."
"My lover, as you call him, could break your neck easily," she said
contemptuously.
"Then you have a lover!" he cried, starting to his feet in a transport
of fury. "You tell me _that_--you a wife and a mother--in the presence
of our child."
Without a word, she touched the bell, and a maid-servant appeared.
Mrs. Malton pointed to the child.
"Take her away," she said coldly, and when the door closed again, she
turned once more to her husband. "Now that the child is away," she
said calmly, "I do tell you I have a would-be lover. Stay," she cried,
holding up her hand, "I said a would-be lover. Had I been as careless
of your honour as you have been of mine, I would not now be living
with you."
Evan Malton listened in dogged silence, and then burst out into a
torrent of words.
"Ah! I knew it would be so--curse you! What woman was ever satisfied
with a husband?"
"Yes, and such a husband as you have been," she said sarcastically.
He stepped forward, with an oath, to strike her, then restraining
himself by an effort, said in a harsh voice,--
"Tell me his name."
Mrs. Malton walked over to a writing-desk, unlocked it, and taking
from thence a bundle of letters, flung them on the floor before him.
"You'll find all about him there."
Malton bent down, picked up the letters, and staggered back, with a
cry, as he recognised the writing.
"My God! Fenton!" he cried.
"Exactly," she said coolly. "Your dear friend Fenton, who came to me
with words of love on his lips, and lies in his heart, to get me to
elope with him--in the last letter, you see, he asked me to go with
him to Valparaiso."
"Oh, did he?" muttered Malton vindictively; "and you were going, I
suppose?"
"If I had been going," she replied, with grave scorn, "I would not now
be here, for he leaves for Valparaiso to-night."
"To-night!"
"Yes. I presume he's followed your example, and embezzled money. At
all events, I refused his offer, and left him as I now leave you, Evan
Malton, with the hope that this discovery may teach you a lesson."
"Where are you going?" he cried hoarsely, as she moved towards the
door.
She turned with a cold smile.
"I am going to our child; and you--"
"And I," he said vindictively, "I'm going to Hiram Fenton's house, to
give him back those letters. He'll go to Valparaiso will he? No, he
won't. To-night, the police shall know all."
"All what?" his wife cried in sudden terror.
"All about the diamond robbery and the Russell Street murder."
She shrank back from him with a cry; but he came straight to the door,
and taking her by the arm, flung her brutally on the floor.
"You lie there," he hissed out. "I'll deal with him first, and
afterwards with you."
She heard the door close, and knew that he had left the house: then,
gathering herself up slowly and painfully, she went to the chamber of
her child, and sank on her knees beside the cot.
Meanwhile, Malton, with his brain on fire, his heart beating with
jealous rage, and the bundle of letters in his breast-pocket, was
rapidly walking down the hill, intending to go to Fenton's rooms and
tax him with his treachery. It was partly on this account that he
wished to see him; but there was also a more serious cause, for in the
event of Fenton bolting, as he intended to do, things would be very
awkward for his assistant manager.
"Curse him!" muttered Malton as he hailed a hansom, and told the man
to drive to East Melbourne. "Does he think I'm such a fool as to let
him go now? No, no, my boy; we've floated together for a good time,
and, by Jove! we'll sink together."
Like all weak men, he was unable to restrain his temper, and was now
working himself up into a state of fury which boded ill for the peace
of Mr. Fenton. Fast as the cab was rolling along, it seemed hours to
the impatient man, and it was with a cry of joy that he jumped out at
Fenton's door, keeping the hansom waiting in case he should find the
American absent.
The woman who opened the door told him that Mr. Fenton had gone out
about half-an-hour ago, with a black bag in his hand, and had told her
he was going to see some friends.
"Curse the man," groaned Malton, who saw what this meant at once,
"he's off; I must follow---but where? I don't suppose he'd leave his
address in his room, but I'll see if I can find anything there."
"Can I give him any message, sir?" asked the woman, who was still
holding the door open.
"Yes; that is, I'll write him a note; show me up to his sitting-room."
"Yes, sir," and in a few minutes Malton found himself alone in the
room so lately occupied by his enemy. He sat down at the writing-table
till the woman closed the door, then springing to his feet, began to
examine the desk with feverish energy to see if Mr. Fenton had left
any trace as to his whereabouts.
There was a newspaper lying on a small table near, and Malton, seizing
this, looked at the shipping announcements to see by what boat Fenton
intended to go to South America.
"He's certain to go there," he said, as he ran his finger eagerly down
the column, "or he wouldn't have told my wife. Here, oh, here it
is--The 'Don Pedro,' for Valparaiso, at eight, Monday morning. He's
going by that boat, now," he went on, putting down the paper, and
pulling out his watch; "it's about six o'clock--why did he leave
to-night, eh? I suppose he means to go on board, so as to avoid
suspicion by going so early in the morning. He can't have gone back to
see my wife, or she would have told me, for I'll swear she's true.
Confound him, where can he have gone?"
He turned over the papers on the desk in feverish eagerness, as if he
expected to find an address left for him, when suddenly, slipped in
between the sheets of the blotting-pad, he found a note in Caprice's
handwriting asking Fenton to come down to Toorak on that night. Melton
struck a blow on the desk with his fist when he read this.
"He's gone there, I'll swear," he cried, putting the letter in his
pocket. "It was only because Caprice laughed at him that he made love
to my wife. Now she's whistled him back, he'll try and get her to go
off with him to Valparaiso. Ah, Hiram Fenton, you're not off yet, and
never will be--sink or swim together, my boy--sink or swim together."
He called the woman, gave her a short note for Fenton, in order to
avert suspicion, then getting into the cab once more, told the man to
drive to Toorak as quickly as possible.
"If I don't find you there, my friend," he muttered angrily, "I'll
go straight down to the 'Don Pedro' at Sandridge. You won't escape
me--sink or swim together, sink or swim together."
The evening sky was overcast with gloomy clouds, between the rifts of
which could be seen the sharp, clear light of the sky, and then it
began to rain, a tropical downpour which flooded the streets and
turned the gutters to miniature torrents; a vivid flash of lightning
flare in the sky, and the white face of the man in the hansom could be
seen for a moment; then sounded a deep roll of thunder, as if warning
Hiram Fenton that his friend and victim was on his track.