THE BARGAIN
There was something almost vindictive in the way in which Richard
Bessington affirmed his conviction of the guilt of Betty MacIvor, and
it was obvious to Hermione that he based his conviction on the fact
of her having known the Ardens in former years, thereby conveying a
tacit acknowledgment that what she was doing was done for young
Arden's sake now--an acknowledgment also of Bessington's own
suspicions on this point. So obvious indeed was it, that for a
moment she felt incapable of continuing the discussion without
showing the alarm that she felt on realizing this to be the case.
So, with a word of excuse that she must see Phillimore with regard to
a matter concerning luncheon, she rose abruptly and, telling the
others to carry on without her for a moment, hurriedly left the room.
Both Iza and Frank understood her reason for going, and were glad in
a way of the opportunity to discuss the matter freely, which, in her
presence, seeing that it must infallibly bring in the name of Dominic
Arden, they could not do.
"Why do you suspect Betty?" demanded Daneham, as soon as the door had
closed.
"For many reasons. Firstly, she is on the premises--actually within
sight of the smuggling centre most days of the week. Secondly, it is
the kind of job that a woman could undertake better than a man, who
would be more easily suspected, and she appears to be the only likely
female in the place. Am I right in supposing that she was caretaker
here when the house was empty?"
"She was," replied Iza. "Her cottage is only a quarter of a mile
away, nearer the sea."
"Exactly, and therefore nearer the tower. Can she read or write?"
"That I don't know, nor yet how she could send her messages, for the
post office is twenty miles away."
"Well, at any rate, we can find out at the post office if she ever
went there to post letters."
"Is there any other reason why you suspect her?" asked Daneham, who
was watching the other man's face and knew that something ulterior
was in his mind.
"N-no, perhaps not," he hesitated. "It did occur to me that living
with the Ardens she might also have gained knowledge of certain
secrets connected with the tower. Did she, or rather has she, at any
time mentioned them to you?"
"Nothing very much," replied Iza. "I tried to draw her the other day
and all she said was that she used to come and do the rough work of
the house, that she saw very little of the Ardens and less of young
Dominic who was, in her jargon, 'a guid laddie though albeit queer in
his ways', she only saw old Mr. Arden once after his son's death when
he came there to arrange about selling the place. And it was only
after young Arden's death that she heard of his marriage and did not
know whom he had married, and I did not enlighten her," added Iza
crisply, "because Hermione had asked me not to."
There was silence after that, an uncomfortable silence. Everyone
felt tension in the air, and Iza Marsh, in her abrupt way, put an end
to it.
"Well, there seems to be nothing gained by prolonging the discussion
any more. We appear to have arrived at a definite conclusion, and
the sooner we set about testing it the better. I only hope that my
methods of investigation have not put poor old Betty in the cart, as
she is a good soul at heart, I think. When do you propose to make
inquiries at the post office?" she turned to Frank.
"Directly after luncheon," he replied.
"Then I'll go in with you if I may," she said.
"I shall be glad of your company," replied Frank.
At luncheon, a little later, the atmosphere still seemed to be
strained, though everyone tried to appear normal. They talked on
ordinary topics, avoiding mention of what was uppermost in their
thoughts. And all the time Hermione was conscious of one desire
only. To come to open grips with Dick Bessington. To challenge him
to be honest with her and tell her what he really thought, why he had
come, why he had suspected Betty. And all the time she knew what
answer he would make. But far from deterring her it made her the
more determined to get down to bedrock--to be done with deception--to
get to the real truth of things.
When finally the meal was over and the car ordered, she avoided any
private conversation with Frank. She did not want him to know what
she contemplated doing, for she felt sure he would try to dissuade
her. It was, therefore, with a sigh of relief that she saw the car
depart, and turned to the man who was standing beside her.
"Dick," she said. "Why do you really suspect old Betty?"
"For the reasons I have already specified to your two friends, which
I presume they gave you," was the reply.
"Yes, Iza told me, but they don't sound convincing to me, and I am
sure you have another."
He regarded her for a moment, and realized that she knew he was
keeping something back.
"Yes," he admitted: "I have another reason, but it is nothing really,
I would rather leave it alone for the moment."
"And I insist on hearing it," he spoke sharply. "I insist on knowing
what it is, and also why you came here."
"My dear girl," he protested. "What is all this heat? I don't
understand."
"Oh yes you do. You know perfectly well, and I hope you will be
honest and tell me and not force me to tell you what I think it is."
They were in the drawing-room facing each other, and Bessington,
realizing that he had to deal with a determined woman and knowing now
that subterfuge was no longer of any use, threw down his cards, and
for the first time showed his hand openly.
"Then I'll tell you," he said, quietly. "I am here because, from
something Mackay told me, I suspect what I have for long enough
suspected, that your first husband, Dominic Arden, is alive, and is
mixed up in this smuggling enterprise. I suspect Betty because she
worked for the Ardens, and would, in all probability, do all she
could to help young Arden, if he should ever ask for help. These are
the two questions you asked me and I have answered them. More than
this, I tell you candidly that I believe you have bought this place
because you too, thought he was still alive and might return to it,
and that is why you are here and not for the reasons you have told
me. Come now, are you satisfied? At least, I am honest with you,
now be as honest with me."
For a moment there was silence, and then Hermione faced him, but
instead of making a statement, she asked a question.
"If you thought he was still alive why did you persistently ask me to
marry you?"
"Again I will be honest," was the reply. "It was because I loved you
so passionately that I wanted you at any price, right or wrong; it
did not matter to me, it never could matter. More than that, as you
never spoke of him, I thought you had got over your grief, that if
you became my wife I should make you so happy that you would even
forget the little that you probably remembered of him. I thought
that in cherishing his memory at all--if you did--you were cherishing
an idle dream from which you would awaken when you became my wife.
And you would have been my wife by law, for considering all the
evidence in support of his death and the number of years that have
passed, the law would certainly presuppose him to be dead.
"That is why I asked you to marry me, why I still ask it, and shall
never cease to ask it until you comply. Oh, Hermione! Don't you
understand? Can't you see that you are the only thing that matters
in my life? That I can't live without you? That I would do
anything, right or wrong, to possess you?" There was intense passion
in his voice, in his eyes. Never had she seen him so intensely moved
before, and for a moment remorse seized her, for she knew that she
had been partly to blame.
"I see this," she replied, slowly. "I see that I have been wrong in
not telling you what I feel. It is true that when I refused you on
account of the fact that I did not love you, I was speaking the
truth. But I should have said more. I should have told you that I
couldn't marry you because I still love my first husband more than
all the world. I see now how wrong I was and I am bitterly sorry. I
did not realize what you felt, or what my refusal meant to you. Now
I see it, and I can only ask you to forgive me, and to put me finally
out of your thoughts."
"And that's quite impossible," he replied. "Out of the question.
For even now, in spite of what you have said, I feel that you are
still under a delusion. You believe that you still love this man,
but--tell me, Hermione, if that is so, how could you have married
Rodenberg?"
"I married him for his money," she replied, frankly. "Because he was
an old man and could not live long. Because at his death I knew I
should be able to buy back Ardenmore. I did not love him, and I
hated myself for marrying him, but I did so, thinking that I was free
to marry. This I can swear to. I never for one moment believed that
Dominic was alive then."
"Then when did you begin to do so?" he demanded.
"I have not said that I do."
"No, but I know that you think it. I'm sure of it, and I believe
that what has made me certain of it was the same thing that led you
to believe it possible."
"Tell me what you mean," cried Hermione. "I don't understand."
"Yes, I'll tell you. Now that we are throwing our cards down so
recklessly, the whole pack may as well go. From the moment when
Inspector Mackay told me of that scrap of paper with the date written
on it, I was certain that Dominic Arden was alive. Now, come, be
honest with me, did you not think so, too?"
"So you knew of that?" she gasped. "And that is really why you are
here? To--to--try and get hold of him, to hang him! And you tell me
that you love me! You!" She gave a harsh, discordant laugh and
turned away from him.
But Dick Bessington seized her arm and swung her round. "I did not
say so," he said, sharply. "Nor do I mean it. But come, you haven't
answered me. I asked you if that date that was found made you
believe that he was alive. Tell me, you owe it to me to tell me."
"I owe you nothing," she replied proudly, never even deigning to free
her arm from his grasp. "But because you have been honest with me I
will be the same with you. Yes, I did believe it had some connection
with him. I think--though I have tried not to do so--that I think so
still. Even in spite of the fact that the Frenchman denied all
knowledge of him. In spite of what he said, I still think it has
some connection with poor Dominic. Now, will that satisfy you? And
what do you mean to do?"
"I am going to marry you, Hermione, in spite of all you have said to
me, in spite of everything and everyone," was the quiet reply.
"Please don't talk nonsense," she said, coldly. "Dominic is my
husband, and if he is alive I shall find him and go to him."
"Good God! Hermione, think what you are saying," he exclaimed. "How
could you be happy joined once more to a man who is a hunted
criminal? Who is wanted for murder and who would spend the rest of
his life in being hounded from place to place? What happiness could
come of such an existence? I shudder even to think of it. Your love
for him, which, after all, is only a foolish sentimental dream, would
soon die under such conditions. All the riches in the world would
not be able to help him--once he is known to be alive--or you. No,
my dear. Be wise, give up all thought of this man, I beg of you."
"And that I refuse to do," she replied. "I shall do my utmost to
find out if it is true or not that he is still alive, and if I do
find him I shall join him, help him, die for him if needs be. My
only fear is that we are both wrong, that he is dead and has been
dead for nine years, and that I shall join him only when I die.
There, I have nothing more to say; I suppose now that you will go to
the police with your suspicions and get them to help you to find him
yourself."
"No," he replied, quietly. "I shall do no such thing. This is a
personal affair and I intend to carry out my investigations
privately. For I, too, am as keen to know if he is alive as you are,
though for a different reason."
"Yes," cried Hermione, with blazing eyes. "You want to hang him, to
make sure once and for all that he is dead."
But at that Bessington only smiled.
"My dear child," he said reproachfully, "can you seriously say
this--to me? Can't you see that if I did such a thing as that, I
would be cutting myself adrift from you for ever? I should then
indeed deserve your hatred, not your love. No, I want to find him
for a different reason to that, and I'll tell you what it is. There
is one point in this affair that neither of us has touched on. I
refer to the fact that the young man Arden--if alive--and this I
believe to be a certainty, has been at great pains to keep away from
you, hasn't he?"
"What do you mean?" she demanded.
"I mean that if a man really loves a woman, there is actually nothing
that will keep him away from her except physical force. And yet,
though this young man has the means to come here--by which I refer to
the boat used by the Frenchman--and though it must be obvious who
Mrs. Rodenberg is--for your name is very often in the papers, and the
fact that you bought this place was extensively advertised--yet, he
makes no attempt to see you. Strange, is it not?"
"He would not care to drag me into his troubles--" she began, but
Bessington stopped her.
"Nonsense," he said. "That would not come into it in this case. He
could get over here and see you without being seen. No, my dear,
that won't do, and I'm afraid it is the one factor that will at last
bring you to see things from my point of view. I say afraid, because
it will hurt you when you get to know the truth."
"I don't believe it for a moment," said Hermione, defiantly, but with
no real conviction in her heart. For what Bessington had said was
true, though her pride refused to allow it for a moment. For, to put
it plainly, if Dominic was not dead, why had he not been over to see
her?
"So true do I believe my suspicions to be," went on Bessington,
watching her tell-tale face, "that I am ready to make a bargain with
you, and it is this: If, when I find him--if I do--I find that he has
ceased to care for you, well, then, I take action, for which in your
heart you could not blame me, and I demand your promise of marriage.
If, on the other hand, I find that you are right and I wrong, and
that there is a valid reason for his staying away from you, then I
declare most solemnly to you that I will do nothing more in the
matter and will let him go, at whatever cost to me, and God knows
what a cost it will be. For they are no idle words, Hermione, when I
say that I can't live without you."
She was silent. What was there to say? If he meant this, then there
was nothing but gratitude in her heart for him. But she felt that he
would not offer such a thing unless he was quite sure of the issue,
and either it would turn out that he was right and Dominic had
forgotten her and ceased to care, or else Dick Bessington never meant
to carry out his promise, and, somehow, she could not really trust
him. And yet she had to do so. For the offer on the face of it was
fair enough. She would have to agree to the bargain, for if she
refused he would have every right to go to the police with his story.
"Very well," she said, quietly. "I agree, of course."
"Thank you," he replied, gravely. "I have your permission, then, to
make what investigations I like?"
"Of course, that is understood in the bargain."
"And may I take a walk to the tower?"
"Certainly, you can go where you like," she replied. "You are just
as likely to find the secret as I am, and I have failed. I don't
think that anyone will find it."
But in that she was wrong.