SEEKING HELP.
Young Paulton felt anything but relieved or cheered by Jerry
O'Brien's words. He began now to feel it would have been wiser if he
had not meddled in this affair. It was quite true his father and
mother were the kindest couple in England; but, like most other
middle-class elderly people, they were careful about appearances and
preferred a smooth and easy way of life to one of surprises and
startling situations.
And now were they--owing to his hasty action of the night
before--brought into immediate contact with an inquest and a story,
which might turn out to be a scandal, which might have for its core
an infamous crime. This other man, this Blake, of whom Jerry O'Brien
spoke in such unmeasured terms, might, if he appeared upon the stage,
complicate matters infinitely.
Besides, although he had taken elaborate care to tell himself he was
in no danger of falling in love with Mrs. Davenport, that did not
make it desirable a former and disreputable admirer should be in the
neighbourhood. But, after all, Jerry O'Brien's surmises might be
quite baseless. This old admirer might have ceased to admire--might
never in all his life have been within miles of Half Moon Lane, the
Crescent House.
At present what was he to do with himself? There was a kind of
treason in leaving all the burden of the situation on the shoulders
of his father and mother. He did not know anything about inquests
beyond what he had gathered now and then from reading a summarised
report in a newspaper. If it was mean to keep away from his father
and mother, what could he think of leaving this newly-made widow
derelict? And yet what about this old lover? Confound the whole
thing! Now he was heartily sorry he had bound himself up in it.
And yet when he thought of her he charged himself with cowardice for
flinching.
"Look here, O'Brien," he said at length, "what ought I to do?"
"Do!" cried O'Brien scornfully; "why, get out of it as fast as ever
you can. I hope you're not such a fool as to mix yourself and your
family any more up in this miserable matter."
Alfred shook his head gravely.
"I can't retreat now. I have promised to see her out of the
trouble----"
"And a pretty chance you have of seeing her out of the trouble! My
belief is that every hour will make matters only worse."
"Do be reasonable and try and help me. You know I would depend on you
more than on any other man living. I can't go home and turn this
woman out of doors, and you ought to be able to understand that I
don't like to confess to the old people I have been hasty or unwise.
Don't desert me, O'Brien."
The other got out of his chair with a growl, and began pacing up and
down the smoking-room of the club. O'Brien had private reasons of his
own for wishing to keep friendly with Alfred Paulton. Jerry knew no
pleasanter house in all London to spend a long evening in than the
Paultons', and he knew no nicer girl in all London than Madge
Paulton, Alfred's younger sister. But these facts were both reasons
for his impatience with his friend. He felt a firm conviction the
adventure of the night before would have no gratifying sequel. The
sight of Tom Blake, taken in conjunction with Paulton's story, was
enough to make any prudent man cautious. And here now was Alfred,
plunged headlong into one of the most disagreeable experiences which
could befall a quiet-going citizen. It was too bad, but there was no
cure for the thing. It would certainly be rather mean of Alfred to
retire from the position in which he had voluntarily placed himself
with this woman. O'Brien could not abandon his friend any more than
his friend could abandon this woman.
He stopped in his walk, and said, abruptly:
"The first thing is to get a solicitor. Do you know of one?"
"There's Spencer, my own man, or there's my father's."
"And a nice pair they'd make in a case of this kind. Your father's
man wouldn't touch it with a forty-foot ladder, and Spencer would get
every one connected with the matter locked up. No, you want a man
that's accustomed to the work. He must be as sharp as bayonets and as
persevering. I would not attach so much importance to this point,
only that I know Tom Blake is about. I feel you are standing on a
mine, and may be blown sky-high any moment. I have it! You must get
Pringle--Pringle, of Pringle, Pringle, and Co. Young Pringle is the
very man for you, and he's a good sort too. Come on, and I'll
introduce you to him."
The two friends left the club and proceeded at once to the office of
Pringle, Pringle, and Co. Here they were fortunate in finding the
younger Pringle, and at their service.
He was a low-sized, stoutish, horsey-looking, clean-shaven man of
about thirty-five, in very tight-fitting clothes. He bade the two
visitors be seated, and then listened with exemplary patience to
Paulton's story. When it was finished, he crossed his legs and
reflected for a few moments.
"I see," he said--"I see. Supposing Mrs. Davenport is willing I
should appear for her, I think all will be right. Of course, it would
be nonsense to pretend to believe that a thing of this kind is
agreeable. It is not. Things of this kind are awkward and painful;
but that is all. I feel fully persuaded, beyond the inconvenience of
appearing as a witness, Mrs. Davenport will suffer none. Your doctor
must be mad, I should say, Mr. Paulton. You don't think he could be
induced to certify?"
"I am perfectly sure he won't. I have known him some years, and he is
a man of great determination," said Paulton.
"Well, we must only try and do the best we can. Has the deceased any
relatives--blood relatives, I mean?"
"I don't know," said Paulton.
"Yes, he has a brother, who lives in the south of Ireland," answered
O'Brien. "Mr. Davenport was somewhat peculiar in his thoughts and
habits, but his brother is an oddity."
"Ah, that is not fortunate. No doubt he will want to know all about
this unlucky affair.
"And now, O'Brien, it is your turn. I want you to tell me all you
know about this other man, Blake."
"Well, I'll tell you all I know about the whole thing," said Jerry
O'Brien.
"Ay, do," said the solicitor, settling himself comfortably in his
elbow chair.
"The man who is dead, Louis Davenport, was a native of the
south of Ireland, County Waterford, to be exact. His wife is about
thirty-four, and he must have been about sixty when he died. She,
too, is Irish; her maiden name was Butler. She comes of a good Cork
family--the Butlers of Scrouthea. They were as poor as church mice.
Davenport was rich, and had money, not land; and Marion Butler was a
beauty, as my friend Paulton has told you.
"About ten years ago, when Louis Davenport was elderly, and Marion
Butler no longer very young, he proposed to her father for her. The
father was delighted, for Davenport promised all sorts of comfortable
things about money; but when the matter was spoken of to Miss Butler,
they found a difficulty had to be faced, for Mr. Tom Blake stood in
the way.
"This Tom Blake is and was one of the most hopeless scamps in Europe.
He is now about thirty-eight years of age, and has deserved hanging
for every year of his life. He was in the army, to start with; he was
kicked out of it. He tried the Turf for a while, until he was kicked
out of that too. Then he turned his hand to card-sharping. What he's
doing now, I don't know, except he may have gone in for a little
murder. He's quite capable of it, I assure you, Pringle--quite
capable of it."
"And you say this Miss Butler had a strong predilection for this
objectionable man?"
"It amounted to nothing short of infatuation. As the account of the
matter reached me, she was assured by people who were quite
disinterested that he was a thorough scamp. They might as well have
saved their breath. She would listen to all they had to say, and
simply shake her head."
"And how did they in the end over come this infatuation?"
"They never overcame it at all. They got her to marry Davenport by
appealing to the baseness of Blake's nature. Some friends of mine
were very intimate with the Butlers at that time, and I heard the
whole history of his abominable conduct. He was then in great
extremities for money, and took a sum down to leave the country and
hold no communication with her. That's the sort of man Tom Blake is."
"But surely this woman whom he treated so vilely cannot care for him
still--cannot have any regard for such a scurvy knave?"
"I don't know how matters have gone of late. I have been out of their
tracks for some time. If he has any influence now it may rest on
fear, not fascination. I am quite sure if there is anything wrong, he
is at the bottom of it. I have been in London for months now, and
never saw him or heard of him. Is it a mere coincidence that I should
come across him just as I hear this story from Paulton?"
"It is strange. I presume Mrs. Davenport is childless?"
"Yes. And as far as I know she is now absolutely alone in the world,
if you do not count this brother-in-law, with whom she never got on
well."
"I'll go out to Dulwich with you myself now. I think that will be the
best thing."
The three men rose and walked to Ludgate Hill railway station.