Teddy was not afraid of Mrs. Lancaster, but he soon gathered that she had
come to stay, and as the situation seemed to him difficult for Doris, he
took his leave with assumed cheerfulness. In bidding the girl good-night
he dropped in a whispered "to-morrow," which was, perhaps, more of a
comfort to Doris than she would have admitted to herself. Immediately
after his departure she expressed her intention of going to bed.
"Just for a moment, Doris. Do sit down again. We must settle what you are
going to wear at the Thurstans' on the seventeenth." And Mrs. Lancaster
plunged into a long discussion on frocks with numerous side issues.
A few weeks ago she would certainly have hesitated over Bullard as a
son-in-law. Now she was prepared to accept him as such, not, it should be
said, with joy and thanksgiving, yet not, on the other hand, with
hopeless resignation. After all, he was richer than any of the men she
knew, and in view of her husband's deplorable confession it would be
well, if not vital, to have him on her side. Far better to abandon the
idea of a title than to risk all continuing its pursuit. She would see to
it that she did not have to abandon her other ambitions.
When Bullard made his appearance, however, she betrayed no unusual
interest in the man.
"Was Robert not thinking of going to bed?" she casually enquired.
"He ought to be there now, Mrs. Lancaster. If I were you--"
"I shan't be a minute," she said, rising, "but I really must look
after him."
Bullard closed the door, and came back to the hearth.
"I am glad of this opportunity, Miss Doris," he said, "to tell you
something that has been in my mind to say for a very long time. Don't
be alarmed."
She rose, but made no attempt to go from him. Perhaps instinct told her
that there could be no ultimate escape.
"I don't wear my heart on my sleeve," he went on evenly, "but I dare say
you have at least suspected my feelings for you. I have never flattered
myself that you have regarded me as more than a friend of the house--a
good friend, I hope--and you have known me so long that you may have come
to consider me an old friend in more senses than one. Yet here I am,
Doris, asking you to marry me--"
"Please, Mr. Bullard--" The whisper came from pale lips.
He proceeded gently, steadily--"At present you would say that you cannot
give me the affection I desire, yet I would ask to be allowed to try to
earn it. I can give you many things besides a whole-hearted admiration,
Doris. You are the only woman I have ever thought of as wife. With me you
would be secure from worldly hardships, and I venture to believe that you
would never regret marrying me. One word more. You have been sad of late.
No business of mine, perhaps, but if there is anything I can do, you may
command me. Doris, will you marry me?"
Perhaps she liked him better at that moment than ever she had done;
certainly better than ever she would like him again. For he broke the
long silence with these words--
"I have your father's permission, your mother's approval."
"My father's permission!" she said faintly. For support she laid her arm
on the mantel. Her mind was in a turmoil. At last--"I cannot marry you,
Mr. Bullard."
"With all respect," he quietly answered, "I cannot take your words
as final."
She was not indignant, only afraid. "You speak of my father's
'permission,'" she managed to say. "Does that include his 'approval'? You
will forgive me, but--"
"I will forgive you anything but a refusal."
"Then please excuse my leaving you. I will come back."
She went quickly to the library. From the table Mr. Lancaster raised a
face whose haggard aspect almost made her cry out--so aged it was, so
stricken with trouble. She closed the door, went over to the table, and
halted opposite him.
"Father, do you really wish me to marry Mr. Bullard?"
"My child, life--everything--is uncertain, and so--and so I would see you
provided for."
"I am not afraid of poverty--compared with some things." She nerved
herself. "Father, you and I used to be frank with each other. Will
it--help you if I marry Mr. Bullard?"
The man writhed. "Yes, Doris," he whispered at last.
"In what way?" Again she had to wait for his reply.
"It--it would save me..."
"Save you?"
"...from a grave difficulty..."
"Difficulty?"
"...disgrace." His head drooped. And suddenly all that mattered to heart
was swamped by a wave of loving pity. She ran round to him and clasped
him, and kissed him. "Oh, my dear," she sighed, "it was never, never
your fault."
Then she went back to the drawing-room. She looked straight at Bullard as
he stood by the fire, well-dressed, well-groomed, and just rather
well-fed. And there and then she made up her mind.
"Mr. Bullard," she said calmly, "I promise to marry you, if you still
wish it, a year hence; but I will not be engaged to you formally or
openly. That is all I can say--all I can offer you."
He frowned slightly at her tone rather than her words. The least
trustworthy people are not the least trusting, and he did not doubt,
knowing her as he did, that she would redeem any promise she made,
nor was he particularly anxious for marriage within a year. But he
had his vanity.
"Do you mean," he asked with increased suavity, "that you would wish to
ignore my existence until the year is up?"
"Not your existence, Mr. Bullard--we should meet as before, I
suppose--but--well, I think you must see what I mean."
He bowed. "It shall be as you will, Doris. Enough that I have your word
for a year hence. Or"--he smiled--"let us say, when the clock stops,
which your father will tell you is practically the same thing. Don't look
so puzzled! Will you give me your hand on it?" The man was not without
dignity; he made no attempt to detain her hand.
"Thank you and good-night," he said. "I will pay my respects to Mrs.
Lancaster to-morrow afternoon."
He went out with the step of success. He had not only secured a wife to
be proud of, but had, he believed, disarmed a possible enemy. For some
time he had had vaguely uneasy moments with regard to Teddy France.
When the door had closed Doris dropped her face in her hands, but her
eyes remained dry. Five minutes later, Mrs. Lancaster, coming in,
received the calm and brief announcement that her daughter had promised
to marry Mr. Bullard a year hence; that until then he was to be regarded
as an ordinary acquaintance, and that he would call upon Mrs. Lancaster
on the following afternoon.
The mother was not heartless. "You are doing this to help your father,
Doris. I know all about it. It is--it is noble of you!"
The girl looked at her, and the question rushed to her lips--"Oh, why
have _you_, his wife, never done anything to help him?" But it remained
unuttered. "Good-night, mother," she said, and hastened to the refuge
of her room.
She wrote a few lines to Teddy, stating simply what she had done. After
that she gave way.
* * * * *
About the same hour, in Dr. Handyside's study, four hundred miles away, a
conference of three people was drawing to a close. Earlier in the day Caw
had received a belated visit from Mr. Harvie, the Glasgow lawyer, who,
owing to illness, had been unable to attend to business since his
client's death. Beyond the information that Caw had been left the sum of
£5,000 free of duty, the old housekeeper an annuity, and the doctor
£1,000, Mr. Harvie had little to say. The rest of his late client's
fortune, the house and its contents, were already Alan's--if the young
man were still alive, and Mr. Harvie, whatever his own ideas might be,
was under an obligation to assume as much until--a slight grimace of
disapproval--"the clock stopped." "I have other instructions," he added,
"but they are not to be acted on at present." He had returned to town by
the last steamer.
"So we have come back to where we started," Dr. Handyside was saying.
"The sum total of our discoveries is that we can do next to nothing. If I
hadn't become so intimate with your master's character--not his affairs,
you understand, Caw--I should have had very little respect for his
methods. As for his motives, they are no business of ours."
"If I may say so," returned Caw, who would have been happier standing at
attention than sitting in Miss Handyside's company, "you take a lofty
view of the matter, sir, and you put it in a nutshell when you say that
his motives are none of our business. I am sorry to have brought you and
Miss Handyside into the trouble--"
"I rather think I came in," observed Miss Handyside with a smile.
"Which is a fact, miss. And very welcome, too, if I may say so. Also, Mr.
Craig trusted you both."
"Wherefore it is up to us to trust his wisdom and respect his
wishes," said Handyside. "The green box must remain where it is and
take its chance."
"If you hadn't told us," said Marjorie to Caw, "that you were the last to
see inside the box, I should be imagining all sorts of things. And those
two men were his friends!"
Caw's expression resumed its usual stolidity. To have replied that
they had ceased to be his master's friends would have involved
explanations which he did not feel at liberty to impart even to those
trustworthy people.
"Do you think they will try again, Caw?" the girl pursued. "I wish you
had not sent back the money--"
"Don't be absurd, Marjorie!" said her father. "Caw had no choice."
"Well, sir, I was sorely tempted to stick to it as a bit of revenge, but
I asked myself what my master would have done--and then, as you say, sir,
there was no choice. As to your question, miss, I answer 'Yes.' A man
like Mr. Bullard--I'm not so sure of the other--would not give up trying
for such a prize. You see, I learned his ways out there in the old days.
All his successes were made by bold methods. He feared nothing, cared for
nobody. Oh, yes, he is bound to have another try, though I don't fancy it
will be to-morrow or the next day."
"One would almost imagine," remarked the doctor, easing his injured foot
on the supporting chair, "that the beggars guessed you were powerless in
the matter."
Caw shook his head. "Hardly that, sir. They had a sight of my
revolver--though, of course, that was after I had made sure they had got
the box, and was only a miserable attempt to give them a shake-up. But
they were not to know that. Their strong point is this, sir. They have
the knowledge that the existence of the diamonds is practically a secret.
Even Mr. Alan, even the lawyer has never heard of them. Only Bullard,
Lancaster, and Caw knew of them; and Caw is in the minority. And they say
to themselves--'Once we get the box, we have only to swear that it
contained papers belonging to us, that Mr. Craig had the loan of it, and
so forth.' Then how is Caw going to disprove their words? they ask
themselves. 'Can't be done! If Caw begins to talk of half-a-million in
diamonds left in a writing-table drawer, he'll only get laughed at, and
if we've nothing better to do, we can get up an action for slander.'
There you are, sir! That's what I fancy I see at the back of their heads,
and I'm sure I'm right."
"I believe you are, Caw!" cried Marjorie. "What do you say, father?"
"I am inclined to accept the diagnosis," replied the doctor, smiling at
her eagerness. "Well, Caw, just one question more. What is your position,
supposing those two gentlemen made an attempt by deputy?"
At that Caw smiled for the first time. "If I may say so, sir, I think
your services would be required for the deputy!" Becoming grave, he
added--"I have taken the liberty of running a new wire along the passage,
sir. The opening of the door of my master's room will cause a bell to
ring--not too loudly--in the quarters you have kindly provided for me in
this house."
"Capital!" said the doctor.
"And if you, sir, would be good enough to give your housekeeper some
explanation that would satisfy her without giving away things--"
"That will be all right, Caw," Miss Handyside assured him. "When you get
to know Mrs. Butters, you will realise that she is not as others are,
being a woman absolutely without curiosity."
"Thank you, miss." Caw smiled faintly and got up. "Unless there is
anything more, sir--" he began.
"Nothing at all," said the doctor kindly.
"Thank you, sir. Good-night, sir. Good-night, miss."
"Trustworthy chap," Handyside remarked when the door had closed. "The
legacy seems to have made no difference, though it upset him for the
moment. And he knows all that's worth knowing about cars and electric
lighting," he added rather irrelevantly. "I believe we'll be able to give
him enough to do, after all."
"Between ourselves, father," said Marjorie suddenly, "have you the
slightest hope of Alan Craig's return?"
"Not the slightest, my dear. He was a fine lad. I wish you had met him,
but you were always gadding somewhere when he visited his uncle."
"I shan't be doing much gadding in the near future," she remarked
thoughtfully.
"Why this sudden change from years of neglecting your only father?"
"I'm going to be on the spot in case anything happens next door."
"Indeed!" said the doctor drily.