THE TRAITOR
"I do not understand you, Ducaine," Lord Chelsford said slowly. "You
have been a faithful and valuable servant to your country, and you know
very well that your services are not likely to be forgotten. I want you
only to be consistent. I must know from whom you received this packet."
"I cannot tell you, sir," I answered. "It was a terribly dark night,
and it is not easy to identify a hand. Besides, it was snatched away
almost at once."
"In your own mind, Ducaine," Chelsford said, "have you hazarded a guess
as to who that unseen person might be?"
"It is too serious a matter to hazard guesses about, sir," I answered.
"Nevertheless," Lord Chelsford continued, eyeing me closely, "in your
own mind you know very well who that person was. You are a bad liar,
Ducaine. There was something about the hand which told you the truth--a
ring, perhaps. At any rate, something."
"I had no time to feel for such things, sir," I answered.
"Ducaine," Lord Chelsford said, "I am forced to connect your refusal to
hazard even a surmise as to the identity of that hand with your sudden
desire to break off all connection with this matter. I am forced to come
to a conclusion, Ducaine. You have discovered the truth. You know the
traitor!"
"On the contrary, Lord Chelsford," I answered, "I know nothing.".
Later in the day he came to me again. I could see that he had made no
fresh discovery.
"Ducaine," he said, "what time did you say that you left here last
night?"
"At midnight, sir."
"And you were back?"
"Before one."
"That corresponds exactly with Grooton's statement," Lord Chelsford
said. "And yet I have certain information that from a few minutes
before eleven till two o'clock not one member of the Military Board
quitted the library."
I bowed.
"That is conclusive," I remarked.
"It is remarkably inconclusive to me," Lord Chelsford remarked grimly.
"Whom else save one of your friends who are all upon the Board could you
possibly wish to shield?"
"That I even wish to do so," I answered, "is purely an assumption."
"You are fencing with me, young man," Lord Chelsford said grimly, "and
it is not worth while. Hush!"
There was a rap at the door downstairs. We heard the Duke's measured
tones.
"I understood that Lord Chelsford was here," he said.
"Lord Chelsford has left, your Grace," Grooton answered.
"And Mr. Hill?"
"He has been at the house all day, your Grace."
The Duke appeared to hesitate for a moment.
"Grooton," he said, "I rely upon you to see that Lord Chelsford has this
note shortly. I am going for a little walk, and shall probably return
this way. I wish you to understand that this note is for Lord
Chelsford's own hand."
"Certainly, your Grace."
"Not only that, Grooton, but the fact that I called here and left a
communication for Lord Chelsford is also--to be forgotten."
"I quite understand, your Grace," Grooton assured him.
The Duke struck a match, and a moment or two later we saw him strolling
along the cliff side, smoking a cigarette, his hands behind him, prim,
carefully dressed, walking with the measured ease of a man seeking an
appetite for his dinner. He was scarcely out of sight, and Lord
Chelsford was on the point of descending for his note, when my heart
gave a great leap. Lady Angela emerged from the plantation and crossed
the open space in front of the cottage with swift footsteps. Her hair
was streaming in the breeze as though she had been running, but there
was not a vestige of colour in her cheeks. Her eyes, too, were like the
eyes of a frightened child.
Lord Chelsford descended the stairs and himself admitted her.
"Why, Angela," he exclaimed, "you look as though you had seen a ghost.
Is anything the matter?"
"Oh, I am afraid so," she answered. "Have you seen my father?"
"Why?" he asked, fingering the note which Grooton had silently laid upon
the table.
"Something has happened!" she exclaimed. "I am sure of it. Last night
he came to me before dinner. He told me that Blenavon was in trouble.
It was necessary to send him money by a special messenger, by the only
person who knew his whereabouts. He gave me a packet, and he told me
that at a quarter-past twelve last night I was to be in my music-room,
and directly the stable clock struck that I was to open the window, and
some one would be there on the terrace and take the packet. I did
exactly as he told me, and there was someone there; but I had just held
out the packet when a third person snatches it away, and held my hand
close to his eyes as though to try and guess who I was. I managed to
get it away and close the window, but I think that the wrong person must
have taken the packet. I told my father to-day, and--you know that
terribly still look of his. I thought that he was never going to speak
again. When I asked him if there was a good deal of money in it--he
only groaned."
Up on the top of the stairs I was shaking with excitement. I heard Lord
Chelsford speak, and his voice was hoarse.
"Since then," he asked, "what?"
"A man came to see father. He drove from Wells. He looked like a
Frenchman, but he gave no name. He was in the library for an hour.
When he left he walked straight out of the house and drove away again.
I went into the library, and--you know how strong father is--he was
crouching forward across the table, muttering to himself. It was like
some sort of a fit. He did not know me when I spoke to him. Lord
Chelsford, what does it all mean?"
"Go on!" he answered. "Tell me the rest."
"There is nothing else," she faltered. "He got better presently, and he
kissed me. I have never known him to do such a thing before, except at
morning or night. And then he locked himself in the study and wrote.
About an hour afterwards I heard him--asking everywhere for you. The
servants thought that you had come here. I saw him crossing the park,
so I followed."
Lord Chelsford came to the bottom of the stairs and called me by name.
I heard Lady Angela's little cry of surprise. I was downstairs in a
moment, and she came straight into my arms. Her dear tear-stained
little face buried itself upon my shoulder.
"I am so thankful, so thankful that you are here," she murmured.
And all the while, with the face of a man forced into the presence of
tragedy, Lord Chelsford was reading that letter. When he had finished
his hands were shaking and his face was grey. He moved over to the
fireplace, and, without a moment's hesitation, he thrust the letter into
the flames. Not content with that, he stood over it, poker in hand, and
beat the ashes into powder. Then he turned to the door.
"Take care of Angela, Ducaine," he exclaimed, and hurried out.
But Lady Angela had taken alarm. She hastened after him, dragging me
with her. Lord Chelsford was past middle age, but he was running along
the cliff path like a boy. We followed. Lady Angela would have passed
him, but I held her back. She did not speak a word. Some vague
prescience of the truth even then, I think, had dawned upon her.
We must have gone a mile before we came in sight of him. He was
strolling along, only dimly visible in the gathering twilight, still
apparently smoking, and with the air of a man taking a leisurely
promenade. He was toiling up the side of the highest cliff in the
neighbourhood, and once we saw him turn seaward and take off his hat as
though enjoying the breeze. Just as he neared the summit he looked
round. Lord Chelsford waved his hand and shouted.
"Rowchester," he cried. "Hi! Wait for me."
The Duke waved his hand as though in salute, and turned apparently with
the object of coming to meet us. But at that moment, without any
apparent cause, he lurched over towards the cliff side, and we saw him
fall. Lady Angela's cry of frenzied horror was the most awful thing I
had ever heard. Lord Chelsford took her into his arms.
"Climb down, Ducaine," he gasped. "I'm done!"
I found the Duke on the shingles, curiously unmangled. He had the
appearance of a man who had found death restful.