When Teddy France, bidding Doris a formal goodnight, whispered
"to-morrow" he had in mind a certain reception at the house of a mutual
acquaintance, and he went home looking forward to meeting her there with
hopes irrepressible. He felt that the girl he had loved for years was--if
not with her whole heart--on the verge of surrender; would have been his
by now but for the untimely entrance of Bullard and the succeeding
intervention of Mrs. Lancaster; and he lived most of the night and the
following day in a state of exaltation.
Thus Doris's note, received in the evening, was a blow that seemed to
crash to the centre of his soul. At first he imagined wicked,
unreasonable things. Then, his wrath failing, he realised that only one
thing could have made Doris act as she had done. She had been driven by a
sudden overpowering pressure. Who had exerted it? Teddy did not doubt the
mother's ability for coercion any more than her vaunting ambition, and he
shrunk from blaming the father; yet he feared that Mr. Lancaster, beset
by financial troubles of which he had long had an inkling, had sought a
way out through the sacrifice of his daughter. Well, there was nothing to
be done, he decided in his misery; interference on his part would be
worse than vain, and would only cause Doris to suffer a little more.
At rather a late hour the craving for a glimpse of her drew him, after
all, to the reception.
She was dancing when he entered the room, and, with a pang of angry pain,
he discovered that she was lovelier than ever. Her face gave no hint of
the heart-sickness she endured; she nodded to him in the old friendly
way, and the easy recognition brought home to him the cool truth that,
after all, the wild hopes of the previous night had been of his own
making, not hers. Yet why had she written and so quickly, to inform him
of her bargain with Bullard? Was her note just an uncontrollable cry for
pity, sympathy?
It was after midnight when he led her to a corner in the deserted
supper-room.
"Shall I congratulate you, Doris?" he asked gently.
"Why, yes, I think you had better," she answered with a bitter little
smile, "on having done my duty. Don't look so shocked, Teddy," she
went on, "I had to say it, and you are the only person besides father
and mother who knows what I have done. And now I'm going to ask a
great favour."
"Yes, Doris?"
"It is that you will prove your friendship to me--prove it once more,
Teddy--by never, after to-night, referring to the matter. I'm going to
try hard not to let it poison my life--for a year, at any rate."
"Very well.... But I must ask at least one question."
"Ask."
"Could _I_ have done anything to prevent this?"
"No one," she answered sadly, "could have done anything, excepting one
man, and he died last week--Christopher Craig."
"Christopher Craig--dead? No wonder your father has been upset. Of course
I know of their long friendship in South Africa, and once I was Mr.
Craig's guest in Scotland along with Alan. The old man had a tremendous
admiration for you, Doris."
"I loved him, though I did not see him for several years before the end.
Well, I have answered your question. Have I your promise?"
He put his hand tenderly over hers. "I will give you two promises,
Doris," he said deliberately; "the one you ask for and another. I promise
you that Bullard shall never call you his wife!"
"Oh!" she cried, pale. "Why do you say that?"
"Because I mean it--and it is all I have to say." He laughed shortly.
"But I am going to lay myself out to confound Mr. Bullard within the
year, and I will do it. Now tell me this, Doris; are you and I to
continue being friends--openly, I mean?"
"Why not? I must have one friend."
He bent and kissed her hand, and rose abruptly. "Let us go back to
the dancing before I lose my head," he said, with a twisted smile.
"And I must not do that when at last I've got something to do that's
worth doing!"
Teddy was a creature of impulses and instincts not by any means
infallible. They had led him into blunders and scrapes before now. On the
other hand, they had protected him from mistakes no less serious. Had he
been a matter-of-fact person he would have said to himself: "What can I
do? I know of nothing positive against Bullard. Being a poor man, I
cannot, by a stroke of the pen, make Lancaster independent of him, and I
need not waste my wits in plotting to confound him by some great
financial operation such as I've read of in novels," But what Teddy said
to himself was something to this effect: "I suspect that Bullard is not
quite straight, and if one watches such a man for twelve months as though
one's life depended on the watching, one is likely to learn something.
The only question at present is where to begin."
It is not to be assumed that Teddy went home from the reception in a
light-hearted, hopeful condition. On the contrary he was extremely
harassed, and wished he had kept to himself the brave prophecy made to
Doris. Nevertheless, dawn found him unshaken in his determination to make
good that prophecy. If, instead of spending the whole morning in doing
his duty to the insurance company, he had been able to spend an early
part of it in a state of invisibility within Bullard's private office, he
would have justified himself beyond his highest expectations.
Bullard on entering the outer office, about nine-thirty, received from
the chief clerk a curious signal which was equivalent to the words
"Undesirable waiting to see you. Bolt for private room." But either
Bullard was slower than usual this morning, or the "Undesirable" too
alert. Ere the former's hand left the open door the latter stepped round
it, saying--
"How are you, Mr. Bullard? Been waiting--"
"Get out of this," said Bullard crisply, and stood away from the door.
"Really," said the visitor with an absurdly pained look, "this is a
very unkind reception." He was a small individual of dark complexion,
leering eyes and vulgar mouth. His clothing was respectable, if not
fashionable; he displayed a considerable amount of starched linen of
indifferent lustre.
"Get out!"
"Give me five minutes." The tone was servile, yet not wholly so. "Worth
your while, Mr. Bullard."
Bullard looked him up and down. "Very well," he said abruptly. "Close
that door and follow me." He said no more until they were in his room,
himself seated at his desk, the other standing a little way off and
turning his bowler hat between his hands.
"Now, Marvel, what the devil do you want?"
The visitor smiled deprecatingly into his revolving hat. "What do most of
us want, Mr. Bullard?"
"I'll tell you what most of us do not want--the attentions of the
police."
"Tut, tut, Mr. Bullard. Of course _we_ don't want that, nor do _we_ need
it--do _we?_" The impudence of the fellow's manner was exquisite.
Bullard, toying with the nugget on his chain, affected not to notice it.
Harshly he said: "Eighteen months ago--"
"In this very room, Mr. Bullard--"
"--I handed you five hundred pounds on the express condition that you
used the ticket for Montreal, which I supplied, and never approached
me again."
"I am sorry to say," the other said after a moment, "that Canada did not
agree with my health, and I assure you that I made the five hundred go as
far as possible."
"All that may be very interesting to yourself and friends--if you
have any."
"You, Mr. Bullard, are my sole friend."
Bullard grinned. "If you imagine I'm going to be a friend in need, you
are mightily mistaken!"
"Please don't be nasty, Mr. Bullard--"
"Leave my name alone, and clear out. Time's up." Bullard turned to a pile
of letters.
"This is a blow," murmured Marvel, "a sad blow. But I would remind you
that the five hundred was not a gift, but a payment for certain
documents."
"Quite so. And it closed our acquaintance. Go!"
"I wonder if it did. One moment. I desire to return once more to South
Africa. Things are looking up there again. With five hundred pounds--"
"That's enough. I'm busy."
"Just another moment. Touching those documents relating to the affair of
Christopher Craig's brother--"
"Shut up!"
"--it is one of the strangest inadvertencies you ever heard of, Mr.
Bullard, but the fact remains that, eighteen months ago, I delivered to
you--not the originals but copies--"
Bullard wheeled round. "Don't try that game, Marvel. You are quite
capable of forgery, but I made certain that they were originals before I
burned them."
"Ah, you burned them! What a pity! So you can't compare them with the
documents I hold--in a very safe place, Mr. Bullard."
"I should not take the trouble in any case. Now will you clear out or
be thrown?"
"You make it very hard for me. Do you wish me to take the originals to
Mr. Christopher Craig?"
"Pray do. He's dead."
"Dead!" Mr. Marvel took a step backward. "Dear, dear!" He raised his hat
to his face as though to screen his emotion and smiled into it. "When did
it happen?"
"A few days ago. Now, once and for all--"
"Then nothing remains to me but to offer the papers to his brother's son,
an undoubtedly interested party, Mr. Alan--"
"Alan Craig is also dead."
Mr. Marvel's hat fell to the floor, and lay neglected. Mr. Marvel began
to laugh softly while Bullard wondered whether the man's sanity, always
suspect, had given way.
"Come, come, Mr. Bullard," Marvel coughed at last; "come, come!"
"Young Craig," said Bullard, restraining himself, "was lost on an Arctic
expedition, a year ago."
"Then he must have been found again."
"... What do you say?"
"Why, I saw him--let me see--just fourteen days ago."
"Rot!"
"I'd know Frank Craig's son anywhere, Mr. Bullard; and there he was on
the quay at Montreal, the day I left. What's the matter?"
With a supreme effort Bullard controlled himself.
"Marvel," he said, "what do you expect to gain by bringing me a lie
like that?"
"It is no lie," the other returned with a fairly straight glance. "I was
as near to him as I am to you at this moment. He was in a labourer's
clothes--"
"Nonsense!"
"--working with a gang on the quay."
"You were mistaken. The search party gave up in despair."
"I know nothing of that, Mr. Bullard, but I'm prepared to take oath--"
"There is no need for Alan Craig, if it were he, to be working as a quay
labourer. I tell you--"
"I am so sure of what I say, Mr. Bullard, that failing to get my price
from you, I will cross the Atlantic again, working my passage if need be,
to place the documents in the hands of that quay labourer. Since his
uncle old Christopher is dead, there must be something pretty solid
awaiting him." Marvel, stooping leisurely, picked up his hat and
carefully eliminated the dent.
"Look here," said Bullard, breaking a silence. "Did you or did you not
swindle me with those papers?"
"An inadvertence on my part, if you please, Mr. Bullard."
"Oh, go to the devil! You can't blackmail me. Go and work your passage,
if you like."
The other took a step forward. "Do you think I had better see Mr.
Lancaster? I could explain to him that he is less guilty in the
matter of Christopher's brother than he imagines himself to be. I
could even prove--"
"Lancaster is unwell--"
"My disclosures might make him feel better--eh?"
Bullard felt himself being cornered. He reflected for a moment;
then--"How are you going to satisfy me that the papers you say you hold
are the originals?"
"I'm afraid you must take my word for it."
"Your word--ugh! Will you bring them here at nine o'clock to-night?"
"Will you bring £500 in five-pound notes?"
It seemed that they had reached a deadlock. Bullard was thinking
furiously.
At last he spoke. "No; I will bring one hundred pounds, and I will tell
you how you may earn--earn mind--the remaining four. If you accept the
job--not a difficult one--you will give me the papers in exchange for
the hundred."
"But--"
"Not another word. Take my offer or leave it." Bullard turned to his
desk. "And don't dare to lie to me again. Also, ask yourself what chance
your word would have against mine in a court of law?"
At the end of twenty seconds the other said quickly: "I will be here at
nine," and turned towards the door.
"By the way," Bullard called over his shoulder, "you had better come
prepared for a night journey. And, I say! as you go out now try to look
as if you had been damned badly treated. Further, before you come back,
do what you can to alter that face of yours."
The door closed; Bullard's expression relaxed. For the first time in his
life he had been within an ace of admitting--to himself--defeat. But all
was not lost, even if he accepted Marvel's story, which he was very far
from doing, his intelligence revolting no less at the bare idea of Alan
Craig's existence than at that of the young man's supporting it as a quay
labourer. Furthermore, were it proved to him that Alan had actually come
from the Arctic, he would still not despair. He would have to act at high
speed, but he was used to crises. As to Mr. Marvel, well, that clever
person was going to be made useful to begin with; afterwards....
Bullard broke away from the clutches of thought to attend to the more
urgent letters. He had just finished when his colleague came in.
"Hullo, Lancaster," he cried cheerfully, "I fancied your doctor had
commanded rest. Glad to see you all the same. As a matter of fact, I was
coming to look you up shortly."
"Couldn't rest at home," returned Lancaster, seating himself at the
fire. "I say, Bullard," he said abruptly, "you'll be good to my
girl--won't you?"
Bullard's eyebrows went up, but his voice was kindly. "Do you doubt it,
Lancaster?"
"N-no. But you can surely understand my feelings--my anxiety. She--she
has been a good daughter."
Bullard nodded. "It won't be my fault," he said quietly, "if Doris
regrets marrying me."
"Thank you, Bullard." As though ashamed of his emotion the older man
immediately changed the subject. "Anything fresh this morning?"
The other smiled. "One moment." He got up, went to a cabinet and came
back with a glass containing a little brandy. "The journey to the City
has tired you. Drink up!"
"Thanks; you are thoughtful." Lancaster took a few sips, and went white.
"Bullard, have you something bad to tell me?"
"Finish your brandy. ... Well, it might have been worse. Steady! Don't
get excited, or I shan't tell you."
After a moment--"Go on," said Lancaster.
"Marvel has come back from Canada."
"Ah! ... But I always feared he would. More money, I suppose?"
"Precisely. Only he brought a piece of news which I have so far refused
to credit, though doubtless stranger things have happened. Pull yourself
together. Marvel declares that, a fortnight ago, he saw Alan Craig in
the flesh."
"Alan Craig!" Lancaster fell back in the big chair. "Thank God," he
murmured, "thank God!" Tears rushed to his eyes.
"Better let me give you details, few as they are, before you give further
thanks," Bullard said. "Bear in mind what manner of man Marvel is; also,
that his story was part of a threat to extort money."
A minute later Lancaster was eagerly asking: "But don't you think it may
be true, Bullard?"
"For the present," was the cool reply, "we are going to act as though it
were true, as though the will were waste paper--not that I ever
considered it as anything but a last resource, for its production would
involve sundry unattractive formalities."
"And yet," said Lancaster uneasily, "you told me once of a man who had
seen Alan die."
"Leave that out for the present. I shall deal with Flitch presently, and
God help him if he has played a game of his own! Meantime, the one object
in view must be the Green Box at Grey House."
"For Heaven's sake be cautious! You spoke of bribing the man Caw, but the
more I have thought of it--"
"That's past. There is no time for delicate negotiations. If the box is
still in the house, we must find and take it; if elsewhere, we must make
other plans. But I'm pretty sure it has not gone to a bank or safe
deposit. Christopher meant it to remain in the house, so that it should
be part of his gift to Alan."
"Caw will be on the alert."
"He will not expect a second attempt all at once. Hang it, man, we must
take risks! £600,000! I'm not going to let any chance slip." Bullard
went over to his desk and picked up a cablegram. "The Iris mine is
flooded again. That means at least a couple of thousand less for each of
us this year."
Lancaster groaned helplessly. "Trouble upon trouble! But I cannot face
another visit to Christopher's house--"
"Be easy. You shall be spared that. I think I had better tell you nothing
for the present--except that I may take a run over to Paris within the
next few days."
"Paris!"
"You can say I'm there if any one asks."
Lancaster drew his hand across his brow. "Sometimes," he said slowly, "I
wish I were at peace--in jail."
"Don't be a fool! You'll feel differently when we open the Green Box."
The other shook his head. "There's another point that has worried me
horribly. We have thought we were the only persons outside of Grey
House who knew of the diamonds; but who was the person who took the box
that night? Whoever he was he must have seen us and heard something of
our talk."
"Yes," said Bullard, with a short laugh, "it seems very dreadful and
mysterious, doesn't it?--especially as Caw recovered the diamonds so
speedily. I've thought it out, Lancaster, and I've struck only one
reasonable conclusion. There was no fourth person present that night. Caw
was fooling us all the time. The cupboard is really a passage to another
room, made for old Christopher's convenience, no doubt. How's that?"
"Caw acted well, if he were acting. And why should he have suspected
us at all?"
"Simply because he happened to know what was in the box. Who would trust
a fellow creature alone with £600,000 in a portable form? And Caw was
probably in the position of guardian. Have you a better theory?"
Lancaster leaned forward, staring at the carpet. "It came into my mind
last night," he said in a queerly hushed voice, "that it might have
been ... Christopher himself."
"Good God, man, positively you must have a change of air! Do you doubt
that Christopher is dead?"
A pause.
"Bullard, what you and I, his friends, were doing that night was enough
to--to make him rise--oh, no, I don't mean that--though the diamonds were
so much to him. It was a crazy thought. I must get rid of it."
"I should say so." Bullard forced a laugh. "Meantime, you may comfort
your soul with the assurance that you'll have nothing to do with this
fresh attempt, except to share in the spoil. If I were you, I'd go home
now and get Doris to join you in a long run into the country. Let the
wind blow away those absurd fears and fancies. I'm calling on your wife
this afternoon, you know."
The other rose obediently. "Your news has upset me. I don't know what to
think. Marvel was always such a liar. I--I suppose nothing I can say or
do will move you from your present course?"
"Nothing, Lancaster."
Lancaster sighed and with shoulders bowed went out.