"Well, Gerard, old chap? Been keeping your nose hard to the
grindstone?" said Wagram as they sat down at table.
"Rather. Old Churton takes care of that," laughed the tall, handsome
lad. "He must have been a terror at Rugby."
Wagram had taken his son from school for a quarter on his return. He
yearned to have the boy with him after his long separation, and his
restoration to life, as it were; but he sent him to read every morning
with a neighbouring Anglican rector, an ex-public school master.
"Glad to hear it. Churton's a conscientious man and an energetic one.
It must be almost the renewal of his youth to start as bear leader
again."
"Don't know about `leader'--`driver' would be nearer the right word,
pater. I say, what are you doing this afternoon?"
"Going over to Haldane's. Want to come?"
"Rather. Bike, I suppose?"
Wagram nodded. "In an hour after lunch, then," he said.
Gerard found his father somewhat absent as they spun along between the
newly-sprouting hedges in the spring sunlight, and wondered. The fact
was that Wagram had made up his mind to take Haldane into confidence, at
any rate partially, and was thinking over how much he should tell him as
yet. To this end he had brought with him the tin case.
"Hallo, Gerard," he cried, waking from his abstraction as they neared
their objective. "By George! I'm a dullish companion for a young 'un
on a bike ride--eh, old chap?"
"That's all right, pater. Look. There's Yvonne under the elm; and,
great Scott! what the mischief has she been doing to herself? Oh, I
say!"
The girl had started forward to meet them, and lo! her mantle of
rippling gold no longer draped her shoulders: it formed a shining crown
instead.
"You needn't stare like that, Gerard," she began. "It's beastly rude,
you know. Never saw anyone with their hair up before?" this with
dignity. "No; but, Mr Wagram, isn't it detestable? Will have to do the
grown-up now, I suppose."
"We must all grow up one day, Sunbeam," was the answer. "Even I am not
exempt from the process; and as for Gerard here, why he's gone through
it long ago."
"That you, Wagram?" And Haldane came forward with a newspaper in one
hand and a half-smoked pipe in the other. "Come along and find a cool
seat, and I should think something else cool would go down after your
spin--something long and sparkling and with a musical tinkle of ice in
it, for choice. Oh, the child," following their glances. "Yes. She's
just been trying an experiment. I tell her she's canonised now with
this bright and shining halo round her head. Think it improves her?"
"I don't know that it does," struck in Gerard frankly. "Ah-ah! I see.
She's hoisted it all up so that Reggie and I can't tweak it any more."
"Quite likely," retorted Yvonne. "If you did now it'd be a case of
`great cry and little wool,' as Henry the Eighth said when he got hold
of the wrong pig by the ear."
"When he did what?" said Wagram, mystified. "History does not spare the
memory of that bloody-minded monarch, Sunbeam, but it is absolutely
silent on the deed you have just named--at least so far as my reading of
it goes."
Gerard threw back his head and roared. Haldane was absolutely
speechless.
"Well, what is it, then? What ought I to have said? Gerard, d'you
hear? I don't believe you know yourself."
"Oh, Lord! I shall die in a moment. `As Henry the Eighth said'!" he
gasped. "What you were feeling after is `as the devil said when he
tried to shear the pig.'"
"Of course! Oh, what an ass I am!" cried the girl, going off into a
rippling peal.
"However, the confusion of the identity of the two particular parties is
not inexcusable," pronounced Wagram.
"You'll be the death of us one of these days, Sunbeam," gasped Haldane
when he recovered his speech. "Hallo, Wagram, what's the row?"
"Row? Oh, nothing," answered Wagram in a strange voice. He had ceased
to join in the general mirth. He had, in fact, picked up the paper
which Haldane had let fall. It was only the _Bassingham Chronicle_,
given over mainly to crops, and Petty Sessions and ecclesiastical
presentations, and yet something in it had availed to change the
expression of his countenance as well as his voice. Only a name--a name
and a paragraph. Thus ran the latter:
"Motor accident--We regret to learn that Mr Develin Hunt, a gentleman
who made some stay in our midst a year or two ago, and was so impressed
with the natural attractions of our neighbourhood that he came to repeat
it, was knocked down last evening by a motor car in front of the Golden
Crown Hotel, where he is staying, and received severe internal injuries.
He was carried up to his room, and Dr Foss, who was at once sent for,
has advised that his relatives be at once communicated with. Those in
charge of the motor car made off with all haste, and have not yet been
traced."
"Oh, ah! I meant to have told you," said Haldane, following his glance.
"That's the chap with the rum name we were all exercising our wit on,
if you remember. Poor devil! I expect he's a `goner.' `Severe
internal injuries' always has a dashed ugly sound."
"By the way, Haldane, I wanted to get your opinion on a matter of
importance," said Wagram. "How would it do now?"
"Right. Come inside."
"This is it," when they were alone: "I want you to go over to Bassingham
with me while I interview this very Develin Hunt. You've no idea what a
lot depends upon it--for me. And it may be necessary for him to swear a
statement."
Haldane was too old a campaigner to evince astonishment at any mere
coincidence, so he only answered:
"All right. I'll tell them to inspan the dogcart. That'll get us there
in no time."
There was something of an outcry on the part of their juniors at this
sudden move.
"We'll be back again before you have time to turn round, Sunbeam," said
Haldane. "Keep that fellow Gerard out of mischief--take him to try for
a trout, or something. So long!"
Haldane liked things done smartly, and generally had them so done,
consequently the dogcart was already at the door. On the road, for they
had purposely not taken a groom, Wagram told him of the finding of the
tin case on board the _Red Derelict_, and how its contents bore largely
on his own affairs and on those of the man they were about to visit.
"You can't call to mind this man's name or identity in the course of
your former South African wanderings?" he concluded.
"No; I'll be hanged if I can. You see, the name was bound to have
stuck, unless--"
"Unless what?"
"Unless he ran under some other name. That's not such an uncommon thing
in some parts of the round world."
"Ah! Well, it's possible he did. That's just the thought that struck
me."
"If you can contrive me a glimpse of the joker I'll soon let you know
for cert. I never forget a face."
"That might be done. We might go into the room together--then, if he's
the wrong man, you could apologise and clear."
"Then that's what we'll do," said Haldane the decisive.
The fast-trotting nag pulled up at the "Golden Crown" just within the
hour of their start.
"Good-day, Smith," said Wagram as the landlord appeared. "How is your
guest--the one who got bowled over by a motor?"
"Well, Mr Wagram, I couldn't say exactly. But," lowering his voice,
"the doctor says he'll hardly last till night."
"Poor fellow. I came to see if I could do anything for him. He called
on us about some business, you know, when he was here before."
"He'll be glad to see you, I know, Mr Wagram. I've just been sitting
with him a bit, and he was talking a lot about you--asking if you were
at home, and all that. Come upstairs."
He led the way, and they ascended to the first landing, Haldane bringing
up the rear. A tap at the door, then the landlord opened it.
"Here's Mr Wagram come to see you, Mr Hunt," he announced.
The room was somewhat darkened, but not much. Wagram made out a form
half propped up in bed. The red-brown face of the adventurer was of a
sallow paleness. He heard the door softly close behind him.
"It's good of you to come and see me, Wagram," he began. "Hallo! Who's
with you?"
"Why, it's Jack--Jack Faro. How are you, Jack, old man?"
The interruption proceeded from Haldane. The man on the bed started and
stared, then he recovered himself.
"That's Haldane, for a tenner," he pronounced. "I heard you were down
in these parts, Haldane, and thought of looking you up, only I heard
you'd become such a tearing big swell. Thought you'd not have been
over-glad to see me."
"Oh, bosh! You ought to have known better. By the Lord! didn't we
stand them off in that ruction at Ikey Mo's, when we'd broken the whole
bally bank? Jack and I had to skip over Montsioa's border for a time,
you know, Wagram," he parenthesised. "We'd done some shooting, you
understand--but--we had to."
"Rather, we had, and we did," and the adventurer's eyes lit up over the
recollection.
"I say, Jack, d'you ever hear anything of the missis now?" went on
Haldane in the cordial-old-comrade tone. "I must have seen her since
you did, for I was passing through Kimberley only half-a-dozen years
back, and she was throwing out fire and slaughter against you as hard as
ever."
Wagram, taking this in with all his ears, felt that an immense weight
had lifted. Haldane had known this man's former wife, had seen her
quite lately. She was probably alive still.
"Oh, she's got nothing to complain of," returned the adventurer testily.
"I've never kept her short."
"Of course not. But, you know, women are the devil for grievances, and
she was always swearing that, as your lawful wife, her place was with
you."
"I'd have murdered her long ago if it had been," was the weary reply.
"I shunted her to save her life and my neck. Women are the very devil,
Haldane. I can't think why the blazes they were ever invented."
"Oh, you're not alone in that opinion, old man," laughed the other.
"But, look here, when is Foss going to get you up again?"
"Never. He swears I'll be a stiff before morning, and for once I
believe him--though these quacks are the most infernal set of humbugs,
as a rule. Now, Haldane, do me a favour, like a good chap, and skip
downstairs for a little while. I want to hold a bit of an _indaba_ with
Wagram alone."
"Right. So long, then."
There was a moment or two of silence after the door had closed on
Haldane. Then Hunt said:
"Well, you heard all that?"
"Yes; it is true, then?"
"Every word of it. I'm glad you heard, because it'll save me the
trouble of going over it all again."
"Then you obtained thirty thousand pounds out of us under false
pretences?"
"That's one way of putting it, but I suppose it's the correct one. The
thing was a gamble; but, hang it, I didn't think the money side would
have bothered you over-much, Wagram. Why, as I said before, it's only
like a half-crown to you. Haldane and I have brought off bigger things
than that in the old Kimberley days."
Wagram stiffened.
"Do you mean to tell me, then, that Haldane was associated with you in
blackmailing? Because, if so, you had better tell it in his presence."
"No--no--no. Of course, I don't mean anything of the sort. Haldane is
as straight and square a chap as ever walked. This affair was off my
own. I couldn't resist it when I stumbled against Butcher Ned, and he
put me up to who he was, and used to talk about his people too. Lord!
how he used to hate you--you, especially. I'd have been sorry for you
if he'd ever got the chance of squinting at you for a moment from behind
the sighting of a rifle or pistol. By the way, you never found him, did
you?"
"No. But before we talk further will you make a statement as to this
first marriage of yours? Haldane is a magistrate, and you might make it
before him."
"I would willingly, but it isn't in the least necessary. The whole
thing is entirely between ourselves so far, and you can easily verify
the facts."
"I have verified them already. Do you know this?" And he held up the
tin case.
"Oh, good Lord! Yes; I ought to. And you have opened it and gone into
the contents? Well, then, Wagram, it isn't like you making an
unnecessary fuss. You've got all you want in there already."
"Meaning the certificate. Here it is."
"That's right. You can burn the other things. And now, where on earth
did you pick up that box?"
Wagram told him, also hurriedly, about his intervening adventures. The
dying man's face underwent some curious changes--not the least curious
being that which passed over it on beholding the skeleton pistol.
"Rum thing that you should have stumbled on to that hooker not once but
twice," he said. "But, good Lord! life for me has been made up of even
rummier things than that, and now I've got to the end of it. Yes; I
know that pistol. That bright half-brother of yours plugged a hole into
me with it that'll last till my dying day--which, by the way, has come.
And I?--well, I planted a mark on him that'll last till his."
He checked himself suddenly, with a queer look.
"What was the story of the Red Derelict?" said Wagram, after a pause.
"Better leave that alone--except that it was a story of red murder and
piracy such as you'd think only existed in books. And now, Wagram," he
went on, "I've been yarning a lot more than any man in my state ought to
yarn, and I'm feeling tired. You'd never guess what brought me down
here this time. It wasn't to fleece you again--no, no. Fact is, I
heard you were back, and I was curious to see you again and hear how you
had got on. And I have. You shook hands with me once; I'd be glad if
you'd do it again."
But Wagram's hand did not come forward, nor did he move.
"That was when I thought your story a true one," he said. "On your own
showing you have heaped dishonour upon my family, and I can testify that
you hastened my father's end. It is not in human nature to forgive
that--at any rate, all at once."
"Later than `all at once' will be too late, and by refusing your
forgiveness to a dying man you will be denying your own creed."
He smiled as he watched the struggle going on within the other. Then
Wagram slowly put forth his hand.
"For any injury to me I forgive you freely," he said. "For the rest I
will try to. Good-bye."
"And you will succeed. Good-bye, Wagram. You will never regret this.
And ask Haldane to come up for a minute. I should like to bid him
good-bye for the sake of old times."
Wagram bent his head and left the room, and at a word from him Haldane
went up.
"This is a bad lookout, Jack," he began in his downright way. "No
chance, I suppose, old chap?"
"No; none."
"You wouldn't like, I suppose--er--to see a parson--er--or anyone in
that line?"
"No--no. I've no use for any parson. The last sight of a man like
Wagram's a sight better than any parson. Has he told you about his
adventures and the Red Derelict, eh?"
"Yes; and they sounded so jolly tall that, if anybody but Wagram had
told me, I shouldn't have believed half of them."
"But they're true, all the same. I could take you to the very place.
And the white man who put him through all that lively time was no other
than the chump he was looking for--his half-brother, Butcher Ned, as we
used to call him--otherwise Everard Wagram."
"Good Lord!"
"Fact. But I wasn't going to tell him that, neither must you--d'you
hear?--neither must you. Because if you do nothing'll prevent him from
starting right away to put himself in the power of that infernal
cut-throat again--under the pretence of trying to reclaim him. Reclaim
Butcher Ned!"
There was a world of expression in the dying adventurer's weakening
voice over these last words. He went on:
"Wagram would never have got out of that camp alive if he hadn't got out
when he did. Don't you see, that's why Ned wanted to make him bring his
boy out there. Then he'd have done for the pair, and come and set up
here at Hilversea. He would, sure as eggs. So never let on about it."
"All right, I won't." And after a little more talk the old comrades
bade each other good-bye.
"You know, Wagram, it's a deuced rum world," said Haldane as the two
were driving home again. "Fancy this poor chap Develin Hunt, over whose
absurd name we were roaring when that first yarn about the derelict came
to hand, turning out to be my old pal Jack Faro of the early, rousing,
Kimberley days! Poor chap! How he wilted over the recollection of that
old crock of his. You know, it was an echo of the old camp chaff I was
firing off on him--the point of which was that the said old ruin was
fond of bragging that she was Jack's real and lawful wife, whatever
others might be, and brandishing what she called her `lines' in the
faces of all comers. Poor old Jack! He was fairly straight as men go--
and yet--and yet--I don't know--there were things whispered about him
even then. Well, he's gone now."
Haldane never learned of the said Develin Hunt's--otherwise Jack
Faro's--last _coup_, for on that Wagram was for ever silent.
That night Develin Hunt died.