THE DOOR WITH THE SILVER NAILS
"ST. JAMES' CLUB,
"PICCADILLY, W.
"MY DEAR STANLEY,
"I am sending this letter to you at Roberts' Hall, because I
am certain that you are there.
"I can fancy you drawing a long face, and admitting to
yourself that you are certainly in for a sermon from that
old bore, Kent-Lauriston, but you are entirely mistaken. I
shall neither expostulate with nor upbraid you, for you have
done exactly what I expected you would do. Nevertheless I
mean to save you from yourself, to which end I trust you are
not as yet entangled, as it is less easy gracefully to break
than make an engagement.
"The fact is, my dear Mr. Secretary, I do not consider you,
under the present circumstances, a responsible creature. The
fascinating Miss Fitzgerald has, I can well imagine, driven
all other considerations into the background.
"I should probably have let you go to your fate, unchecked
by any letter of mine, did I not feel that I had been
morally negligent. You came to put your case in my hands,
and proved so sweetly rational that, for the last time I
swear, I trusted in human nature, and left you to your own
devices, instead of watching your every movement until the
danger was past.
"Of course I have heard the little scandal about your
escapade with Colonel D----'s wife. All London is ringing
with it, thanks to her husband.
"What you most want is change of scene and occupation, to
distract you from your present cares. There is only one way
to drown care without drowning oneself--and that is by work.
So unless I find you grinding away at the Legation to-morrow
noon, I shall invite myself to be one of Mrs. Roberts'
house-party, and we shall see what may be effected even in
the face of overwhelming odds. Give me a fair field and no
favour, and I pledge my word to win you to yourself.
"In any event command my humble services.
"Yours as ever,
"KENT-LAURISTON.
"Friday evening."
The Secretary dropped back on the comfortable divan that occupied a
recess in one corner of the smoking-room, and gazed vacantly at the
letter as it lay in his lap; then he gave a great sigh, and reached for
a fresh cigarette. In his own estimation, matters could not be worse,
but unfortunately he was not in a position to heed his friend's advice
and bolt for London the first thing in the morning--indeed his
recognition of Darcy's letter, the possible significance of which he was
at last beginning to realise, imperatively demanded his presence and
attention.
Besides, he was now accountable to others. To Belle in the first
place--and to Colonel Darcy in the second. For the latter he cared not a
whit. It was true that circumstantial evidence had made rather a strong
case against him--but the Secretary was sure the Colonel did not really
believe the charge he had preferred against his wife to be true, and
that he had merely seen, in the unfortunate combination of
circumstances, a chance of strengthening his own position.
But while Stanley had little concern for the Colonel's status, he felt a
great deal for his own. Fate had treated him badly, very badly, and he
owed it to Belle and to Madame Darcy, and to his own good name, to right
himself as speedily as possible.
The figure he would cut in Madame Darcy's eyes was bad enough in all
conscience. He supposed she would never speak to him again, and, for
some reason which he was at a loss to explain satisfactorily to himself,
this prospect made him feel uncommonly blue. He even felt no resentment
against her, though her innocent rashness had been the font of all his
misfortunes. Somehow it seemed an honour to be associated with her, even
to his own undoing. And that by any efforts in her behalf, he should
have unwittingly injured her, nearly drove him to despair, with chagrin
and regret.
But if his position in the eyes of Madame Darcy and of himself was most
awkward, the position he held in Miss Fitzgerald's estimation was, he
told himself again and again, simply unbearable. That it was possible
for any good woman to believe--and she certainly did believe--the things
that were said about him, and yet find it in her heart to even consider
matrimony with such an unscrupulous cad as he must appear to her,
revolted him. It was not nice; he was sure Lady Isabelle would never
have done so.
Perhaps she did not care, that was worst of all; that she did not care
for him, for his good name, his honour, his reputation, only for--the
thought was intolerable--he started up and drank off a strong peg of
whiskey; he felt that he needed a bracer. In the hopes of distracting
his thoughts, he once more took up and re-read Kent-Lauriston's letter,
which had arrived before dinner and lain forgotten during the excitement
of the evening; and which he had found waiting to greet him, when, at
the close of that dreadful interview, he had stolen away to his room
without bidding anybody good-night. He remembered that he had hesitated
to open it, knowing as he did that it contained a remonstrance against
committing a folly, which he had already committed. He had determined to
read it calmly, but it awakened within him a scathing self-examination
most unsettling in its result.
He recognised it as the dictum of an astute man of the world, a
"_connoisseur des grandes passions_" one who knew the symptoms with
unfailing accuracy. In short, the Secretary did not for a moment doubt
the truth of what his friend had written; but he was equally certain
that it did not apply to his own case.
Miss Fitzgerald had by no means driven all other thoughts from his mind.
Indeed, he realised that she had, during the last few days, held a
relatively small place in his thoughts. He was not miserable when he was
absent from her--he had enjoyed his talk with Madame Darcy and his walk
with Lady Isabelle immensely. He had not even decided that he should ask
Belle to marry him till the eleventh hour, and was not that decision
due, after all, to the pity which, we are told, is akin to love, but
which by itself forms such an unsatisfactory substitute? Would his
friend have any trouble in winning him to himself, as he expressed it?
Was he supremely happy? Was he not rather, in his heart of hearts,
wishing himself well out of the whole affair? The words of Madame Darcy
came back to him, doubly enforced by these contradictory data.
"You do not love her. Love is blind. Love does not reason."
Had it come to this, then--was he such a weak fool that he did not know
his own mind; that he had proposed to a woman who existed only in his
imagination; who so little resembled the real one that he had no wish to
assimilate the two; that he was already regretting the step before it
was half taken? What hope did that hold out for a happy future? He was
thoroughly disgusted with himself. In a fit of mortified rage, he
crumpled up the letter in his hand, and threw himself down among the
cushions of the divan. As he lay there Kingsland entered the room.
"Why," he said, "I thought you had retired."
This was, indeed, the truth, but the restlessness induced by
Kent-Lauriston's note had made the confinement of his chamber seem
intolerable, and a rapid survey of the rooms downstairs assured him that
the Dowager and Miss Fitzgerald were in full possession; a combination
which, under the circumstances, he did not care to face. These facts,
however, were hardly to be adduced to a third party, and the Secretary,
turning to the resources of diplomacy, reminded the Lieutenant that they
had had an appointment for a game of pool, which one of them, at least,
had not seen fit to keep.
"Shall we have it now?" suggested Kingsland.
"No," answered Stanley. "I'm not feeling fit."
"Try a drink, then."
"I've just had one."
"Drinking alone? That's a bad sign. What are you so blue about?"
"I'm wondering," said Stanley, "how a man can ever be fool enough to
fall in love, or get married."
"Oh," said the Lieutenant, "so she's refused you, eh?"
"Who?"
"Belle Fitzgerald."
"Yes," replied the Secretary, shortly.
The Lieutenant thrust his hands deep into his trousers pockets and paced
the room in silence, whistling softly to himself. Finally he remarked:
"Well, I'm sorry, old chap, but I've been more lucky."
"Oh," said the Secretary. "Lady Isabelle, I suppose."
Kingland nodded.
"Does mamma approve?" inquired Stanley.
The young officer shrugged his shoulders.
"I'm going to postpone entering into that matter," he said, "till after
the ceremony."
"Oh," said the Secretary shortly. "An elopement. Well, I don't know that
I can conscientiously offer my congratulations--to Lady Isabelle, at
least, but I dare say you'll find it worth while."
"You needn't be so nasty, just because you've been disappointed."
"Oh, it isn't that; but, as you say, I've no reason to express an
opinion. It isn't the first time a young man's eloped with a lady of
means."
"Well," snapped the Lieutenant in reply, "it's a shade above eloping
with somebody else's wife who happens to have a large bank account."
Stanley sprang to his feet.
"If that cad of a Darcy," he cried, "has been saying----"
"Oh, you needn't assume the high moral role," said Kingsland. "I've just
had the story first hand from him."
"It isn't the first time he's told it to-night," snapped the Secretary.
"What! You don't mean to the fair Belle?"
Stanley nodded, and Kingsland threw himself on the sofa in a paroxysm of
laughter.
"But how did you come to see Darcy?" demanded the young diplomat,
ignoring his friend's ill-timed merriment. "I ordered him out of the
house."
"Yes," replied the Lieutenant, "so he told me. But he's lost a valuable
letter in the hall."
"The hall? Why, there doesn't seem to be much chance of losing anything
there. There are no draperies and very little furniture."
"Well, it's a queer business," admitted the officer. "But while the
Colonel was telling me about your little escapade, he dropped a letter
which he had taken from its envelope, and just at that moment the butler
came in. He started to pick up the letter for the Colonel, but Darcy
jumped forward, and so between them it was pushed under the crack of
that old oak door studded with silver nails."
"A letter!" cried the Secretary. "Did you notice what it looked like?"
"No," said Kingsland incautiously, "except that it had an address
scrawled across one side in pencil."
Stanley waited to hear no more. Fate seemed playing into his hands at
last, and springing to the door he threw it open, and saw to his intense
astonishment the figure of Colonel Darcy grovelling on the floor of the
hall.
"I thought I told you to leave this house, Colonel Darcy," said
Stanley, striving to be calm, but his voice quivering with suppressed
emotion.
"So you did," replied his adversary, rising slowly to his feet, very red
in the face and somewhat short of breath.
"Then why haven't you gone? Do you wish me to speak to Mrs. Roberts?"
"I intended to obey your request, out of respect to Miss Fitzgerald. But
the fact is, I have lost an important letter."
"So Kingsland tells me, though it seems almost impossible."
"Truth, sir, is often stranger than fiction," replied the Colonel
angrily, "as our own relations with each other have already proved. But,
as you have given me the lie once this evening, you can, if you see fit,
prove the truth of my statement by referring it to the butler."
"I gave you the lie, as you express it, Colonel Darcy," replied the
Secretary, "because my own knowledge assured me, that your charges were
untrue. In this case, however, I am quite ready to fully accept your
statement. But it's a pure waste of time to attempt to recover your
letter. For two hundred years they've tried to open that portal, and to
this day it remains closed."
"The butler told me some such cock-and-bull story--but of course----"
"It's quite true."
"But I must have my letter. I must have it, I tell you--surely someone
knows the secret."
"There's a legend current to the effect that the pressure of five of
these silver nails, one by each of the five fingers, will suffice to
open the door. But to my way of thinking it's likely to remain closed
for two centuries to come."
"Curse it!" cried the Colonel, throwing himself against the portal in a
frenzy. "It has neither handle nor keyhole, and it's as firm as iron!
What am I to do?"
"If it's absolutely necessary to recover this document, I'll tell Mrs.
Roberts. Though I should doubt if she'd consent to ruin an interesting
heirloom for the sake of a gentleman against whom she already entertains
a prejudice."
"I couldn't think of it. Impossible to put Mrs. Roberts to so much
inconvenience; I shouldn't consider it for a moment! Let the cursed
letter remain where it is!" replied the Colonel, evidently very much
upset by this proposition.
"As I'd supposed, Colonel Darcy, you would prefer that the document
should remain where it is, rather than it should pass, even temporarily,
into any other hands than yours. Might I inquire if it's the one you
received from Miss Fitzgerald."
"It is, of course, quite useless to attempt to deceive a diplomat,"
replied his companion, with a touch of temper which was not lost on
Stanley, who answered composedly:
"I think you may be reasonably assured that your letter will never be
found till you and it have long been dust, and till not only its
importance, but its very meaning, have become unintelligible. You may
consider it irrevocably lost, and so, as there's no further excuse for
your remaining, Colonel Darcy, I'll wish you--good-night," and the
Secretary threw open the great hall door.
"Good-night, Mr. Stanley," replied the unwelcome guest, with a frown of
anger as he passed over the threshold. "Good-night--but not
good-bye--remember we've still a score to settle."