"I CANNOT GO!"
Hunterleys stood for several minutes, watching his wife's play from a
new point of view. She was certainly playing high and with continued
ill-fortune. For the first time, too, he noticed symptoms which
disturbed him. She sat quite motionless, but there was an unfamiliar
glitter in her eyes and a hardness about her mouth. It was not until he
had stood within a few feet of her for nearly a quarter of an hour, that
she chanced to see him.
"Did you want me?" she asked, with a little start.
"There is no hurry," he replied. "If you could spare me a few moments
later, I should be glad."
She rose at once, thrusting her notes and gold into the satchel which
she was carrying, and stood by his side. She was very elegantly dressed
in black and white, but she was pale, and, watching her with a new
intentness, he discovered faint violet lines under her eyes, as though
she had been sleeping ill.
"I am rather glad you came," she said. "I was having an abominable run
of bad luck, and yet I hated to give up my seat without an excuse. What
did you want, Henry?"
"I should like," he explained, "to talk to you for a quarter of an hour.
This place is rather crowded and it is getting on my nerves. We seem to
live here, night and day. Would you object to driving with me--say as
far as Mentone and back?"
"I will come if you wish it," she answered, looking a little surprised.
"Wait while I get my cloak."
Hunterleys hired an automobile below and they drove off. As soon as they
were out of the main street, he thrust his hand into the breast-pocket
of his coat and smoothed out that half-sheet of notepaper upon his knee.
"Violet," he said, "please read that."
She read the few lines instructing the English Bank to hand over Sir
Henry Hunterleys' letters to the bearer. Then she looked up at him with
a puzzled frown.
"I don't understand."
"Did you write that?" he enquired.
She looked at him indignantly.
"What an absurd question!" she exclaimed. "Your correspondence has no
interest for me."
Her denial, so natural, so obviously truthful, was a surprise to him. He
felt a sudden impulse of joy, mingled with shame. Perhaps, after all, he
had been altogether too censorious. Once more he directed her attention
to the sheet of paper. There was a marked change in his voice and
manner.
"Violet," he begged, "please look at it. Accepting without hesitation
your word that you did not write it, doesn't it occur to you that the
body of the letter is a distinct imitation of your handwriting, and the
signature a very clever forgery of mine?"
"It is rather like my handwriting," she admitted, "and as for the
signature, do you mean to say really that that is not yours?"
"Certainly not," he assured her. "The whole thing is a forgery."
"But who in the world should want to get your letters?" she asked
incredulously. "And why should you have them addressed to the bank?"
He folded up the paper then and put it in his pocket.
"Violet," he said earnestly, "for the disagreements which have resulted
in our separation I may myself have been to some extent responsible, but
we have promised one another not to refer to them again and I will not
break our compact. All I can say is that there is much in my life which
you know little of, and for which you do not, therefore, make sufficient
allowance."
"Then you might have treated me," she declared, "with more confidence."
"It was not possible," he reminded her, "so long as you chose to make an
intimate friend of a man whose every interest in life is in direct
antagonism to mine."
"Mr. Draconmeyer?"
"Mr. Draconmeyer," he assented.
She smiled contemptuously.
"You misunderstand Mr. Draconmeyer completely," she insisted. "He is
your well-wisher and he is more than half an Englishman. It was he who
started the league between English and German commercial men for the
propagation of peace. He formed one of the deputation who went over to
see the Emperor. He has done more, both by his speeches and letters to
the newspaper, to promote a good understanding between Germany and
England, than any other person. You are very much mistaken about Mr.
Draconmeyer, Henry. Why you cannot realise that he is simply an ordinary
commercial man of high intelligence and most agreeable manners, I cannot
imagine."
"The fact remains, my dear Violet," Hunterleys said emphatically, "that
it is not possible for me to treat you with the confidence I might
otherwise have done, on account of your friendship with Mr.
Draconmeyer."
"You are incorrigible!" she exclaimed. "Can we change the subject,
please? I want to know why you showed me that forged letter?"
"I am coming to that," he told her. "Please be patient. I want to remind
you of something else. So far as I remember, my only request, when I
gave you your liberty and half my income, was that your friendship with
the Draconmeyers should decrease. Almost the first persons I see on my
arrival in Monte Carlo are you and Mr. Draconmeyer. I learn that you
came out with them and that you are staying at the same hotel."
"Your wish was an unreasonable one," she protested. "Linda and I were
school-girls together. She is my dearest friend and she is a hopeless
invalid. I think that if I were to desert her she would die."
"I have every sympathy with Mrs. Draconmeyer," he said slowly, "but you
are my wife. I am going to make one more effort--please don't be
uneasy--not to re-establish any relationship between us, but to open
your eyes as to the truth concerning Mr. Draconmeyer. You asked me a
moment ago why I had shown you that forged letter. I will tell you now.
It was Draconmeyer who was the forger."
She leaned back in her seat. She was looking at him incredulously.
"You mean to say that Mr. Draconmeyer wrote that order--that he wanted
to get possession of your letters?"
"Not only that," Hunterleys continued, "but he carried out the business
in such a devilish manner as to make me for a moment believe that it was
you who had helped him. You are wrong about Draconmeyer. The man is a
great schemer, who under the pretence of occupying an important
commercial position in the City of London, is all the time a secret
agent of Germany. He is there in her interests. He studies the public
opinion of the country. He dissects our weaknesses. He is there to point
out the best methods and the opportune time for the inevitable struggle.
He is the worst enemy to-day England has. You think that he is here in
Monte Carlo on a visit of pleasure--for the sake of his wife, perhaps.
Nothing of the sort! He is here at this moment associated with an
iniquitous scheme, the particulars of which I can tell you nothing of.
Furthermore, I repeat what I told you on our first meeting here--that in
his still, cold way he is in love with you."
"Henry!" she cried.
"I cannot see how you can remain so wilfully blind," Hunterleys
continued. "I know the man inside out. I warned you against him in
London, I warn you against him now. This forged letter was designed to
draw us further apart. The little brown man who has dogged your
footsteps is a spy employed by him to make you believe that I was having
you watched. You are free still to act as you will, Violet, but if you
have a spark of regard for me or yourself, you will go back to London at
once and drop this odious friendship."
She leaned back in the car. They had turned round now and were on the
way back to Monte Carlo by the higher road. She sat with her eyes fixed
upon the mountains. Her heart, in a way, had been touched, her
imagination stirred by her husband's words. She felt a return of that
glow of admiration which had thrilled her on the previous night, when he
and Richard Lane alone amongst that motley company had played the part
of men. A curious, almost pathetic wistfulness crept into her heart. If
only he would lean towards her at that moment, if she could see once
more the light in his eyes that had shone there during the days of their
courtship! If only he could remember that it was still his part to play
the lover! If he could be a little less grave, a little less hopelessly
correct and fair! Despite her efforts to disbelieve, there was something
convincing about his words. At any moment during that brief space of
time, a single tremulous word, even a warm clasp of the hand, would have
brought her into his arms. But so much of inspiration was denied him. He
sat waiting for her decision with an eagerness of which he gave no sign.
Nevertheless, the fates were fighting for him. She thought gratefully,
even at that moment, yet with less enthusiasm than ever before, of the
devout homage, the delightful care for her happiness and comfort, the
atmosphere of security with which Draconmeyer seemed always to surround
her. Yet all this was cold and unsatisfying, a poor substitute for the
other things. Henry had been different once. Perhaps it was jealousy
which had altered him. Perhaps his misconception of Draconmeyer's
character had affected his whole outlook. She turned towards him, and
her voice, when she spoke, was no longer querulous.
"Henry," she said, "I cannot admit the truth of all that you say
concerning Mr. Draconmeyer, but tell me this. If I were willing to leave
this place to-night--"
She paused. For some reason a sudden embarrassment had seized her. The
words seemed to come with difficulty. She turned ever so slightly away
from him. There was a tinge of colour at last in her pale cheeks. She
seemed to him now, as she leaned a little forward in her seat,
completely beautiful.
"If I make my excuses and leave Monte Carlo to-night," she went on,
"will you come with me?"
He gave a little start. Something in his eyes flashed an answer into her
face. And then the flood of memory came. There was his mission. He was
tied hand and foot.
"It is good of you to offer that, Violet," he declared. "If I could--if
only I could!"
Already her manner began to change. The fear of his refusal was hateful,
her lips were trembling.
"You mean," she faltered, "that you will not come? Listen. Don't
misunderstand me. I will order my boxes packed, I will catch the eight
o'clock train either through to London or to Paris--anywhere. I will do
that if you will come. There is my offer. That is my reply to all that
you have said about Mr. Draconmeyer. I shall lose a friend who has been
gentleness and kindness and consideration itself. I will risk that. What
do you say? Will you come?"
"Violet, I cannot," he replied hoarsely. "No, don't turn away like
that!" he begged. "Don't change so quickly, please! It isn't fair.
Listen. I am not my own master."
"Not your own master?" she repeated incredulously. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that I am here in Monte Carlo not for my own pleasure. I mean
that I have work, a purpose--"
"Absurd!" she interrupted him, almost harshly. "There is nobody who has
any better claim upon you than I have. You are over-conscientious about
other things. For once remember your duty as a husband."
He caught her wrist.
"You must trust me a little," he pleaded. "Believe me that I really
appreciate your offer. If I were free to go, I should not hesitate for a
single second.... Can't you trust me, Violet?" he implored, his voice
softening.
The woman within her was fighting on his side. She stifled her wounded
feelings, crushed down her disappointment that he had not taken her at
once into his arms and answered her upon her lips.
"Trust me, then," she replied. "If you refuse my offer, don't hint at
things you have to do. Tell me in plain words why. It is not enough for
you to say that you cannot leave Monte Carlo. Tell me why you cannot. I
have invited you to escort me anywhere you will--I, your wife.... Shall
we go?"
The woman had wholly triumphed. Her voice had dropped, the light was in
her eyes. She swayed a little towards him. His brain reeled. She was
once more the only woman in the world for him. Once more he fancied that
he could feel the clinging of her arms, the touch of her lips. These
things were promised in her face.
"I tell you that I cannot go!" he cried sharply. "Believe me--do believe
me, Violet!"
She pulled down her veil suddenly. He caught at her hand. It lay
passively in his. He pleaded for her confidence, but the moment of
inspiration had gone. She heard him with the air of one who listens no
longer. Presently she stopped him.
"Don't speak to me for several minutes, please," she begged. "Tell him
to put me down at the hotel. I can't go back to the Club just yet."
"You mustn't leave me like this," he insisted.
"Will you tell me why you refuse my offer?" she asked.
"I have a trust!"
The automobile had come to a standstill. She rose to her feet.
"I was once your trust," she reminded him, as she passed into the hotel.