A FUTILE PROTEST
It was late at night, but Gladwyne sat, cigar in hand, in his library,
while Batley lounged beside the hearth. A wood fire diffused a faint
aromatic fragrance into the great high-ceilinged room, and the light of a
single silver lamp flickered on the polished floor, which ran back like a
sheet of black ice into the shadow. Heavily-corniced bookcases rose above
it on either band, conveying an idea of space and distance by the way
they grew dimmer as they receded from the light.
The room had an air of stateliness in its severe simplicity, and its
owner, sitting just inside the ring of brightness, clad in conventional
black and white, looked in harmony with it. Something in his finely-lined
figure and cleanly-molded face stamped him as one at home in such a
place. A decanter stood near his elbow, but it was almost full. Gladwyne,
in many ways, was more of an ascetic than a sensualist, though this was
less the result of moral convictions than of a fastidious temperament.
The man had an instinctive aversion for anything that was ugly or
unpleasant. His companion, dressed with an equal precision, looked
different, more virile, coarser; he was fuller in figure and heavier in
face.
"No," declared Gladwyne with a show of firmness; "the line must be drawn.
I've already gone farther than I should have done."
"I'm sorry for you, Gladwyne--you don't seem to realize that a man can't
very well play two widely different parts at once," Batley rejoined,
smiling. "Your interfering Canadian friend would describe your attitude
as sitting upon the fence. It's an uncomfortable position, one that's not
often tenable for any length of time. Hadn't you better make up your mind
as to which side you'll get down on?"
Gladwyne looked uneasy. The choice all his instinct prompted him to make
was not open to him, except at a cost which he was hardly prepared to
face. He was known as a bold rider, he had the steady nerves that usually
result from a life spent in the open air, but, as Batley recognized, he
lacked stamina.
"You are going wide of the mark," he answered. "What I have asked you to
do is to let the lad alone. The thing's exciting comment. You"--he
hesitated--"have made enough out of him."
"I think," replied the other coolly, "I was very much to the point. If
you don't recognize this, I'll ask: Suppose I don't fall in with your
request, what then?"
Gladwyne examined his cigar. It was not in his nature to face an issue
boldly, and his companion seemed determined to force one.
"I've asked it as a favor," he finally said.
"No," corrected Batley; "I don't think you did so. You intimated your
wishes in a rather lordly style."
This was true, but Gladwyne winced at the man's cold smile. He had, in a
fit of indignation which was both honest and commendable, expressed
himself with some haughtiness; but he knew that he would be beaten if it
came to an open fight. This was unfortunate, because his intentions were
good.
"Besides," Batley continued, "I'm not in a position to grant expensive
favors. My acquaintance with young Crestwick is, of course, profitable.
What's more, I've very liberally offered you a share."
Gladwyne's face grew hot. He had acted, most reluctantly, as a decoy to
the vicious lad, but he had never benefited by it, except when now and
then some stake fell into his hands. The suggestion that he should share
in the plunder filled him with disgust, and he knew that Batley had made
it to humiliate him.
"You're taking risks," he continued. "There's legislation on the subject
of minors' debts; Crestwick began to deal with you before he was
twenty-one, and he's still in his trustees' hands. If he made trouble,
I'm inclined to think some of your transactions would look very much like
conspiracy."
"I know my man. You people would suffer a good deal, sooner than
advertise yourselves through the law courts."
"Crestwick isn't one of us," Gladwyne objected.
"Then, as he aspires to be considered one, he'll go even farther than you
would. None are so keen for the honor of the flock as those who don't
strictly belong to the fold. There's another point you overlook--a person
can't very well conspire alone, and inquiries might be made about my
confederates. That, however, is not a matter of much importance, because
I imagine Miss Crestwick would not allow any one to point to you.
Besides, her money's safe, and she's a prepossessing young lady."
Gladwyne straightened himself sharply in his chair. "Don't go too far!
There are things I won't stand!"
"Then we'll try to avoid them. All I require is that you still give the
lad the entry of this house and don't interfere with me. You see I'm
reasonable."
As Gladwyne had interfered, to acquiesce was to own defeat, which was
galling, and while he hesitated Batley watched him with an air of
indulgent amusement.
"It's a pity you were not quite straight with me at the beginning,
Gladwyne; it would have saved you trouble," he remarked at length. "I
took a sporting risk at pretty long odds--I have to do so now and then
and I pay up when I lose. But if I'd known the money was to go to Miss
Gladwyne and you would only get the land, I'd never have kept you
supplied; and in particular I wouldn't have made the last big loan
shortly before you and your cousin sailed for Canada."
"You knew it was a blind speculation--that I ran the same risk as George
did, and that he might outlive me."
"You're wrong on one point," Batley objected dryly. "I'm acquainted with
your temperament--it's not one that would lead you into avoidable
difficulties. Well, you came through and your cousin died, but you failed
to pay me off when you came into possession."
"I've explained that I couldn't foresee the trouble I have in meeting
expenses. I've paid you an extortionate interest."
"That's in arrears," retorted Batley. "You should have pinched and denied
yourself to the utmost until you had got rid of me. You couldn't bring
yourself to do so--well, it's rather a pity one can't have everything."
Approaching the table, he quietly took up the lamp. It was heavy,
standing on a massive silver pillar, but he raised it above his head so
that the light streamed far about the stately room. Then he laughed as he
set it down.
"It's something to be the owner of such a place and enjoy all that it
implies--which includes your acknowledged status and your neighbors'
respect. There would be a risk of losing the latter if it came out that,
driven by financial strain, you had been speculating on your cousin's
death."
Gladwyne made a little abrupt movement and Batley saw that his shot had
told.
"It would be enough to place you under a cloud," he went on. "People
might think that you had at least not been very reluctant to leave him to
starve. Well, I've had to wait for my money, with the interest by no
means regularly paid, and unless you can square off the account, I must
ask you to leave me a free hand to deal with Crestwick as I think fit. In
return, if it's needful, I'll see you through on reasonable terms until
you marry Miss Crestwick or somebody else with money."
On the whole, Gladwyne was conscious of relief. He had been badly
frightened for a moment or two. If Batley, who had good reasons for
distrusting him, had accepted his account of his cousin's death, it was
most unlikely that it had excited suspicion in the mind of anybody else.
Crestwick, however, must be left to his fate. It was, though he failed to
recognize this, an eventful decision that Gladwyne made.
"As you will," he answered, rising. "It's late; I'm going for my candle."
He strode out of the room, and Batley smiled as he followed him.
A day or two later Lisle stood on Gladwyne's lawn. Gladwyne entertained
freely, and though his neighbors did not approve of all of his friends,
the man had the gift of pleasing, and his mother unconsciously exerted a
charm on every one. She rarely said anything witty, but she never said
anything unkind and she would listen with a ready sympathy that sometimes
concealed a lack of comprehension.
Lisle had a strong respect for the calm, gracious lady, though she had
won it by no more than a smile or two and a few pleasant words, and he
went over to call upon her every now and then. He was interested in the
company he met at her house; it struck him as worth studying; and he had
a curious feeling that he was looking on at the preliminary stages of a
drama in which he might presently be called upon to play a leading part.
Besides, he had reasons for watching Gladwyne.
The stage was an attractive one to a man who had spent much of his time
in the wilderness--a wide sweep of sunlit sward with the tennis nets
stretched across part of it; on one side a dark fir wood; and for a
background a stretch of brown moor receding into the distance, dimmed by
an ethereal haze. A group of young men and women, picturesquely clad,
were busy about the nets; others in flannels and light draperies strolled
here and there across the grass, and a few more had gathered about the
tea-table under a spreading cedar, where Mrs. Gladwyne sat in a low
wicker-chair. Over all there throbbed the low, persistent murmur of a
stream.
Lisle was talking to Millicent near the table. He looked up as a burst of
laughter rose from beside the nets and saw Bella Crestwick walk away from
them. One or two of the others stood looking after her, and Mrs. Gladwyne
glanced from her chair inquiringly.
"They seem amused," she said.
"It was probably at one of Miss Crestwick's remarks; she's undoubtedly
original," returned Millicent. "Still, I think it was chiefly Mr.
Marple's laugh you heard."
His voice had been most in evidence--it usually carried far--but Lisle
was half amused at the disapproval in the girl's tone.
"I'm afraid I'm now and then a little boisterous, too," he ventured.
"It depends a good deal upon what you laugh at," Millicent informed him.
Mrs. Gladwyne looked up again, as if she had not heard, and the girl
smiled at her.
"What I said isn't worth repeating."
She moved away a pace or two and Lisle watched Bella, who glanced once or
twice in his direction as she crossed the lawn. Somehow he felt that he
was wanted and a little later he strolled after the girl. Millicent
noticed it with a slight frown, though she did not trouble to ask herself
why she was vexed. When Lisle reached Bella, she regarded him with
mischief in her eyes.
"As I once mentioned, you learn rapidly," she laughed. "You'll be
thankful for the instruction some day, and I promise not to teach you
anything very detrimental. But I'm a little surprised that Millicent
Gladwyne allowed you to come."
"I dare say she could spare me; I'm not a very entertaining companion,"
Lisle said humbly.
"It wasn't that," Bella explained. "I don't think she'd like you
spoiled--perhaps I should say contaminated; she has ideas on the subject
of education, too. She always calls me Miss Crestwick, which is
significant; I've no doubt she did so when Marple made himself
conspicuous by his amusement just now."
Lisle had noticed the correctness of her assumptions on other occasions,
but he said nothing, for he had noticed some bitterness in her voice. He
walked on with her and she led him into a path through a shrubbery
bordering the lawn, where she sat down on a wooden seat.
"Now," she said teasingly, "we have given the others something to think
about; but I've really no designs on you. It wouldn't be much use,
anyway. You're safe."
She looked up at him with elfish mischief in her aggressively pretty
face. Dressed in some clinging fabric of pale watery green that matched
the greenish light in her eyes and the reddish gleam in her hair, she was
very alluring; but it was borne in upon Lisle that to take up her
challenge too boldly would lower him in the girl's regard.
"I'm human," he laughed. "Perhaps I'd better mention it. But I think it's
more to the purpose to say that I'm altogether at your disposal."
"Well," she answered, "I wanted you. As you're almost a stranger, it's
curious, isn't it? But, you see, I haven't a real friend in the world."
"I wonder if that can be quite correct?"
"So far as the people here go, haven't you eyes?"
Lisle had seen the men gather about her, but it was those he thought
least of who followed her most closely, and the women stood aloof.
"There are Miss Marple and her mother, anyway; they're friends of yours,"
he pointed out.
"Just so. Flo and I are in the same class, making the same fight; but
that isn't always a reason for mutual appreciation or support. Mrs.
Marple, of course, is her daughter's partizan, though in some ways it
suits us to stand together. But I didn't bring you here to listen to my
grievances, but because you happen to be the one man I can trust."
Lisle looked embarrassed, but merely bent his head.
"It's that silly brother of mine again," she went on.
"What has he been doing now?"
"It's what he's thinking of doing that's the worst. He has been led to
believe it's easy to acquire riches on the stock exchange and that he has
the makings of a successful speculator in him. Cards and the turf I've
had to tolerate--after all, there were ways in which he got some return
for what he spent on them--but this last craze may be disastrous."
"Where did he get the idea that he's a financial genius? It wouldn't be
from you."
"No," she said seriously; "I'm his sister and most unlikely to encourage
him in such delusions. I don't think Batley had much trouble in putting
the notion into his mind." Her expression suddenly changed. "How I hate
that man!"
Lisle looked down at her with grave sympathy.
"It's quite easy to get into difficulties by speculating, unless one has
ample means. But I understood--"
Bella checked him with a gesture.
"Jim comes into money--we have a good allowance now--but it will be
nearly two years before he gets possession. I want him to start fair when
he may, perhaps, have learned a little sense, and not to find himself
burdened with debts and associates he can't get rid of. At present,
Batley's lending him money at exorbitant interest. I've pleaded, I've
stormed and told him plain truths; but it isn't the least use."
"I see. Why don't you take him away?"
"He won't come. It would be worse if I left him."
"Do you know why Gladwyne tolerates Batley?"
"I don't." Bella looked up sharply. "What has that to do with it?"
Lisle thought it had a bearing on the matter, as the lad would have seen
less of Batley without Gladwyne's connivance.
"Well," he countered, "what would you like me to do?"
"It's difficult to answer. He's obstinate and resents advice. You might,
however, talk to him when you have a chance; he's beginning to have a
respect for your opinions."
"That's gratifying," Lisle commented dryly. "He was inclined to patronize
me at first."
She spread out her hands.
"You're too big to mind it! Tell him anything you can about disastrous
mining ventures; but don't begin as if you meant to warn him--lead up to
the subject casually."
"I'm afraid I'm not very tactful," Lisle confessed. "He'll see what I'm
after."
"It's not very likely. Talk as if you considered him a man of experience.
It's fortunate that you can be of help in this case, because I think some
Canadian mining shares are to be the latest deal. From what Jim said it
looks as if Batley was to give him some information about them on
Wednesday, when Gladwyne and he are expected at Marple's. Can't you come?
I understand you have been asked."
"Yes," promised Lisle. "If I have an opportunity, I'll see what can be
done."
Bella rose and smiled at him.
"We'll go back; I'm comforted already. You're not profuse, but one feels
that you will keep a promise."
They walked across the lawn, Bella now conversing in an animated strain
about unimportant matters, though it did not occur to Lisle that this was
for the benefit of the lookers-on. On approaching the tea-table, she
adroitly secured possession of a chair which another lady who stood
higher in her hostess's esteem was making for, and sitting down chatted
cheerfully with Mrs. Gladwyne. Lisle was conscious of some amusement as
he watched her. She was clever and her courage appealed to him; but
presently he saw Millicent and strolled toward where she was standing.
She spoke to him, but he thought she was not quite so gracious as she had
been before he went away.