It was evident a conference of considerable importance was taking
place between this strangely assorted trio--Dicks, in his respectable
butler’s dress, Quentin in the clothes he had worn at dinner, and the
lame man in his shabby attire.
Quentin and the stranger seemed to be taking the most prominent part
in the discussion, Dicks putting in a phrase now and again. The lame
man appeared to emphasize his remarks with a wealth of gesture
suggestive of a foreigner.
For something like twenty minutes, Aylmer watched this singular scene
from his hiding-place. But, although the window was open at the top,
they spoke in such low tones that he could not catch a scrap of their
conversation. Then the party broke up. Dicks opened the gate, and
advancing a little way into the road, looked carefully from left to
right. Having satisfied himself there was nobody about, he gave a
swift signal, and the man with the limp passed out, walking very
quickly in spite of his infirmity.
After a brief period, during which Dicks leaned over the now shut
gate, as if he were listening to the retreating footfalls of this
strange guest, master and man returned to the house, side by side,
still talking very earnestly, their conversation inaudible. Aylmer
heard the hall door softly closed and the stealthy return of Quentin
to his bedroom. Dicks presumably had returned to the servants’
quarters, which were approached by a separate staircase, at the rear
of the building.
A decidedly mysterious happening, was his reflection, as the young man
returned to his bed. He felt sure he had been right, at the start, in
connecting his host’s absence with the sudden appearance of the man
with the limp. He understood now why he had been detained so long at
the front door; it was to enable Quentin to get out of the way. The
whimsical thought came to him that the second port glass, which the
host had not at first seemed to understand when Dicks brought it to
him, was intended for this mysterious person secluded in some remote
portion of the house, out of sight and sound of strangers.
Whatever the nature of the secret, Dicks, the suave and dignified
butler--Dicks, of whom, in the little she had said about him, Eileen
did not seem to hold a very high opinion--was in it.
After a great deal of cogitation, Aylmer began to dismiss it from his
mind. Perhaps it was a family secret. Perhaps the shabbily-dressed man
with the refined features was some disreputable connection of whom the
well-to-do master of this elegant house, very naturally, was ashamed.
Perhaps the poor wretch turned up, from time to time, to appeal to his
compassion and obtain pecuniary assistance. If such were the case, he
might find Dicks a valuable assistant, one who would loyally help him
to keep the skeleton firmly locked up in the cupboard, even pass him
off to the other servants as a broken-down connection of his own.
In this class of man there is a wonderful fidelity to an employer for
whom he feels respect and gratitude. Quentin, he judged, was a master
out of a thousand, likely to treat a servant of long standing more as
a friend than an inferior. But, above all, he wondered if Eileen had
heard anything of the night’s proceedings.
In the morning, when they met at breakfast, she asked him the very
usual question that a solicitous hostess puts to her guest: “Did you
sleep well, Mr. Aylmer?”
As the young man answered, he kept his eye on Quentin to note if what
he said had any effect on him. “Quite well, thanks. Or, rather, I
should say, as well as I ever do. I am a very light sleeper and wake
up half a dozen times in the night. The slightest thing wakes me up.
The best part of it is, I soon go off again.”
Quentin did not seem in the least affected by this statement, whatever
his private thoughts might have been. “So you’re a light sleeper, are
you?” he remarked in an indifferent voice. “I’m worse than that, I’m a
very bad sleeper at the best of times. I don’t suppose I get a
thorough night’s rest once in a month. Not like Eileen.”
The girl laughed easily. “No, I certainly don’t suffer from insomnia.
I fall off as soon as my head touches the pillow; and there I stop
till the force of habit makes me wake. The result of a good digestion
and a clear conscience, I expect. Perhaps you men have neither.”
Aylmer was sure she was speaking the truth, and he felt a sense of
relief. She had heard nothing of this strange episode of the night.
Even if she did know something of what had led up to it, her loyalty
to Quentin would naturally keep her silent. As for Quentin himself,
faith in the man was shaken. He might or not be suffering from
insomnia as he had alleged. But Aylmer felt he would require
corroboration of the fact from some impartial source before he was
ready to believe him.
Quentin was not quite so jovial as he had been on the previous
evening, when he had been well primed with those very excellent
vintages with which his butler had plied him so assiduously; but he
was excessively genial. He begged his guest not to hurry away
directly, to defer his departure till after lunch, and Eileen seconded
the request. The young man could hardly refuse, as he felt from the
manner of both that he was not outstaying his welcome.
“That’s all right, then. Now, I have got to put in an hour or two of
work. I owe several letters. Suppose you and Eileen take a stroll this
beautiful morning, and we three will join each other later,” was the
suggestion of this exceedingly urbane and agreeable host.
No arrangement could have pleased Aylmer better. It did occur to him,
as Eileen went upstairs to prepare for the excursion, that Mr. Quentin
was not such an idle man as he represented himself to be. He had said
he owed several letters. Was it not a little strange that a recluse
should have such a large correspondence? Aylmer remembered that at
Ostend he had spent a goodly portion of each day at the writing-table.
There was something contradictory about the man.
Eileen came down presently, dressed in a pretty frock and picturesque
hat that suggested Paris as their place of manufacture.
They strolled along till they found themselves at the charming highway
known as the Spaniards Road, surely one of the most pleasant spots
about London. Presently Aylmer ventured to press her to arrange with
him a second meeting. In the hurry of parting on the first occasion,
no reference had been made to the future.
She did not answer at once. The young man felt just a little resentful
at her silence. “Perhaps you don’t want to repeat the experiment?” he
said, speaking rather stiffly. An ardent lover, such as he was, is so
prone to take offense easily.
There was a note of reproach in her voice. “Are you not a little
unjust--you who are more considerate than the majority of men--in
saying that to me? You must have seen how much I enjoyed myself; I
certainly took no pains to conceal it. You know I would love to come.”
“Then why hesitate?” he asked with the logic of his sex.
A faint little sigh fluttered from her lips, as she turned her
beautiful eyes on him. “The best of you never quite understand a
woman, how she is sometimes afraid to grasp her own happiness. But you
do know the strangeness, the difficulty of my position. How can I be
sure that it is going to end happily, that I am not doing you a wrong
in encouraging you?”
“But it seems to me plainer sailing than you will admit. You have
Quentin’s promise that if you met somebody you really cared for he
would put no obstacles in the way. I have not spoken quite so boldly
before. But is it not a fact that you have met that somebody? Your
actions tell me so, even if they have not been actually confirmed by
your words.”
She spoke very gravely. “Oh, believe me, I have not been playing with
you. My words shall carry confirmation now. I love you, I shall always
love you, whether the ultimate issue of our relations be happiness or
disaster.”
He pursued the advantage which her frank avowal had given him. “Then,
there need not be the difficulty in the situation that you imagine,
unless you believe that Quentin will go back on his promise. A certain
amount of awkwardness, I admit. But will that affect us much if we
truly love each other? And even if he should be disposed to play such
a dastardly part, you are over age, you are your own mistress. You can
defy him and come to the man you love.”
She laid her hand for a second upon his arm. “You put courage into me;
I am afraid I am not a very brave person as a rule,” she said softly.
“I will meet you again, when you wish.”
“Say this day week,” he cried eagerly. “And shall it be the same
place, or another?”
“We may as well make it the same. There is a fate in these things; I
am a firm believer in destiny. If we are to be found out, no
precautions will avail us. Of that I am positive.”
Aylmer laughed his pleasant, optimistic laugh. “Well, my dear, if we
are found out, I should be less sorry than you. It would precipitate
matters, and we should be standing on firm ground.”
She made no answer to that suggestion, but he could sense that she
felt alarm at the prospect of things reaching a climax. He wished he
could get at the real reasons of that alarm, but there was a certain
reserve in her which even his deep love could not dissolve.
When they returned to the house, she went up to her own room, and Mr.
Quentin appeared from his sanctum, or study, or whatever he called the
apartment in which he conducted his correspondence, and invited Aylmer
in for a chat.
The whisky decanter was on the table, and a half-filled tumbler beside
it. “My nerves are so bad, I have to take a little peg in the
morning,” he explained by way of apology. “Very pleased if you will
join me.”
Aylmer thanked him for his hospitable offer, but declined on the plea
that he very rarely drank between meals. Quentin nodded his head
approvingly.
“Quite right, my dear boy; stick to it. I wish I had never acquired
the habit. Easier to get into than get out of. In fact, after a
certain time, you _can’t_ get out of it, hard as you may try.”
No, it was evident that the man had outgrown the power of resistance.
Aylmer felt very sorry for the refined, delicate young woman put into
such an incongruous household. What pleasure or real companionship
could there be between her and a man of such habits?
After a little desultory conversation, Quentin fired at the young man,
a direct question. “Please don’t think I wish to display any
impertinent curiosity in your private affairs, but I take it you are a
man of some capital.”
From the hint Eileen had given him, the young man guessed to what end
this question was leading. He replied briefly that he certainly had
some capital and that he lived on the interest of it.
“I gathered so from something young Peyton let fall one day,” pursued
Quentin. “As I think I have told you, I am in much the same position.
I don’t possess a large circle of acquaintance, but I happen to have
one or two old friends who are in the know, and they put me on to a
good thing when it comes their way. Have you ever gone in for
speculation?”
Aylmer answered somewhat coldly in the negative, adding that his
natural inclination was against it.
“Quite so,” assented his host suavely. “I used to have the same
feeling myself, when such a suggestion was first mooted to me. I said
that a safe four per cent. was better than a problematical four
hundred, that in the former case you could sleep sound at night
without troubling about your investments. But I altered my opinion.”
“Perhaps that is the reason why you are troubled with insomnia now,”
suggested the young man with a gentle sarcasm from which he could not
refrain.
Recollecting what he had said at breakfast that morning, Quentin could
not but realize the shrewdness of the thrust. “A palpable hit,” he
admitted, “but it does not draw blood. I was just as bad a sleeper
when I was only getting my four per cent. as now when my return is so
much bigger. Anyway, the proof of the pudding is in the eating, you
will admit that. For some years I have speculated on the advice of my
friends, with the result that I have nearly doubled my capital.”
“You have had exceptional luck; I congratulate you,” remarked Aylmer
dryly. “Most speculators I have heard of--apart from men of business
who are financiers pure and simple--find themselves heavily mulcted in
the long run. Like gamblers, they begin by winning and end in a heavy
loss. You are evidently a keen man of affairs.”
“Not in the least, not in the least,” rejoined Quentin hastily; it was
evident from his hurried manner he felt that his confidences were not
meeting with the reception he had anticipated. “I am a wretched hand
at figures, cannot understand an ordinary balance-sheet. My success is
due to the friends I have mentioned, who know every move in the game,
and are kind enough to let me take a hand in it.”
Aylmer preserved a disconcerting silence; and, after a brief pause,
his companion played the card which he had been keeping up his sleeve
all the time. Without any further circumlocution, he came to the
point.
And while he was speaking in his soft, persuasive way, Aylmer was
revolving in his mind a rather difficult problem. Quentin had stated
distinctly that his speculations had been successful, that in a few
years he nearly had doubled his capital. On the other hand, Eileen had
said that they were unprofitable, although he was optimistic enough to
persevere, in spite of his unfortunate experience. They could not both
be speaking the truth. Could the man be telling a pack of barefaced
lies? Or, had Eileen, from the best of motives, indulged in
exaggeration, with the view of deterring her lover from taking a hand
in an uncertain game?
“Of course, a man of your intelligence will guess that I have a motive
in speaking to you on this subject. At the moment, I have a very
exceptional opportunity offered to me from the same quarter that has
put me on to so many good things. If I can put twenty thousand in hard
cash on the table, I can get a small share in a speculation--it is a
very big thing and nothing under that sum is of any use--there is a
certainty of making a hundred per cent. profit at any period between
now and the next twelve months.”
For want of something better to say, Aylmer remarked that twenty
thousand was a considerable sum.
“It is,” admitted the speculator frankly. “And now I am coming to the
point. It is more than I can conveniently lay my hands on just at this
juncture. I could rake up ten thousand quite easily. It occurred to me
that you might like to find the other ten, and we could go shares in
the ultimate profit. I dare say you would like me to give you some
details of this most promising scheme.”
At this point Aylmer thought it better to stop him. Even if Eileen had
not gone out of her way to warn him, he would have turned a deaf ear
to Quentin’s blandishments, on account of his unconquerable dislike to
speculation in any shape or form. The gambling instinct was
practically non-existent in him. He very occasionally played at cards
for a small stake, and still more occasionally risked a modest sum on
some big race. But, as he never hazarded more than he could well
afford to lose, he could not, in any sense of the word, be called a
gambler.
“It is awfully good of you to suggest it to me,” he said politely,
“and if I had your speculative temperament, I should probably jump at
the chance. But, this sort of thing makes no appeal to me. Besides, I
am under a sort of pledge to my dear old father not to hazard the
money he left me. He was always rubbing it into me that high interest
meant bad security, and that it would be wise to be content with a
modest return on my capital.”
There could be no doubt that Quentin was disappointed by the emphatic
refusal, but he did not show it too obviously. “If you feel like that
there is no more to be said. I am sorry for both our sakes, and I
cannot think of anybody else to whom I could make the suggestion.
Martyn has been with me in smaller things, and he loves a flutter. But
I know the amount is beyond his resources. Ah, I hear the luncheon
gong. By the way, not a word of this to Eileen. Like yourself, she has
a great horror of speculation. She might be annoyed that I had spoken
of the subject to you.”
He hardly had ceased speaking when Eileen came in, and Aylmer was
relieved from having to give any positive assurance that he would
respect his host’s wishes.
After luncheon he took his departure. Quentin, who had been as cordial
as ever during the progress of the meal, offered his own car to take
him home. But the offer was declined.
His host accompanied him to the gate and shook him warmly by the hand.
“We have enjoyed your visit greatly, Aylmer; you must soon repeat it.
Eileen will write to you again, shortly.”
The young man expressed in fitting terms the pleasure he had derived
from his sojourn at The Laurels. He had felt rather embarrassed during
that conversation in the study. But, it seemed that Quentin was too
much a man of the world to resent the attitude his guest had taken up.
Anyway, if he felt any resentment, he was clever enough to conceal it.
The next day Aylmer lunched in the city with young Peyton, who was
curious as to how he had got on at Hampstead, and rather eager for
details. Aylmer satisfied his friend’s curiosity as far as possible.
But he carefully concealed two things--the mysterious advent of the
man with the limp, and Quentin’s attempt to inveigle him into
speculation. His feelings for Eileen made him disinclined to provoke
any caustic comments upon the Quentin _ménage_.
On the day appointed, Eileen presented herself, as arranged, at the
Café Mario.
“I was almost afraid I should have to disappoint you,” she told him.
“Richard at breakfast time had strong leanings towards a day in the
country. Fortunately, when he went to tap the barometer--he always
does that before he ventures on a pleasure excursion--he found it
distinctly unfavorable. You can guess what a flutter I was in while
this was going on.”
Very shortly after they had begun their meal, she put to him a
question. “You had a long talk with Richard in his study after we
returned from our walk. Please tell me, did he make any suggestions of
a financial nature to you?”
It was fortunate he had given no promise to Quentin in the matter, or
he might have been puzzled how to reply. It was, therefore, with a
clear conscience that he answered her.
“As a matter of fact, he did, and I declined to fall in with them.”
She pursued her inquiries further. “To what extent did he want you to
commit yourself?”
“Ten thousand pounds.”
“Fearing that he might approach you, I spoke to him on the subject. I
told him that I wanted to keep you as a friend, and that friendship
was apt to be severed when men had money transactions together. He
promised to respect my wishes.” She added bitterly: “Were his promises
ever worth anything?”
So now he knew the reason why Quentin had entreated him to say nothing
to her on the subject. Evidently, he was not a man to be relied on,
one who did not shrink from double-dealing. That bitter exclamation
about his promises being worthless revealed a great deal.
There was a strained look about Eileen for some little time; it was
evident she was still brooding over the unfortunate incident. But,
presently she recovered herself, and the cloud over her spirits rolled
away. It was a couple of hours before they separated, and this time
she allowed him to see her to the door.
He was saying a few words to her about their next meeting, when a man
walked swiftly past them as they stood in the doorway; and, as he
passed, he flung a rapid glance at them.
He saw her face grow suddenly pale, and a startled look came into her
eyes. “What’s the matter?” he asked anxiously.
“Did you see that man who has just passed?” she asked in a hoarse
voice.
He looked after the retreating figure, now some way down the street,
and, somehow, it seemed familiar to him. “Is it somebody who knows
you?”
“Somebody who knows us both,” was the agitated reply. “It was Martyn
and he recognized us.”