subject:--Amherst's return, what it signified and what would follow.
"It's too late to kill him," said Devonshire, as Pendleton entered the
room, "but if I were Lorraine, I should get me a good hefty raw-hide
and beat him within an inch of his life, paying particular attention to
his handsome face. When I was through with him there wouldn't be much
beauty left, I can tell you."
"But can Lorraine do it--has he the strength?" asked Smithers.
"In such a case the rightness of his cause would give him strength,"
Devonshire returned--"and any decent chap who was handy would lend him
assistance if it was needed."
"The trouble is with Lorraine himself, I think," Carstairs remarked.
"It isn't that he hasn't the nerve, but that he hasn't the
determination, the stability, the something essential in the man who
_does_. I fancy he has changed his mind on the subject of what to do
in this matter as often as he has changed his clothes. He is a queer
compound--none other like him."
"And yet he is a mighty attractive fellow at times," Smithers
observed.--"It wasn't until this Amherst affair that he revealed
anything particularly vacillating."
"He never before had occasion to reveal it," Devonshire explained. "The
trial came--and he wasn't equal to it. Some of us might not be equal to
it either, if we were in similar case. It's a mighty difficult case,
my friends. Moreover, Lorraine has done the decent thing now--he is
anxious for a reconciliation."
"It's decent, after a fashion," Smithers agreed--"it would be decenter
if he first followed your notion and beat up Amherst--beat him until he
couldn't walk; half killing would be about right, to my mind."
"This is all very well by way of discussion but what by way of
prophecy?" said Carstairs. "I'll lay a bottle of wine that Lorraine
doesn't do a damn thing."
"So will I," Smithers agreed. "That is why Amherst has the courage to
come back. He despises the man he has wronged."
"He may be fooled," said Devonshire.
"I trust he will be," Carstairs remarked--"but I doubt mightily."
"You hear what they are saying, Pendleton?" Cameron asked, with a jerk
of his head toward the other table.
"I hear," said Pendleton. "Have you seen Lorraine today?"
"No--only talked with him over the telephone."
"He hasn't heard of Amherst's return?"
"He didn't mention it."
"The evening papers will likely have it."
"I suppose so--I didn't know of it until I came up here--where it's the
event of the day."
"You can't much blame them--knowing all the circumstances and the
parties as club-mates do."
"What do _you_ think Lorraine will do--anything?" asked Cameron.
Pendleton carefully knocked the ashes from his cigarette and studied
the bare coal a moment.
"I think," said he slowly, "that it would be just as well for Amherst
to keep out of Lorraine's way."
"You do?" said Cameron quietly. "Why?"
"Because Lorraine seems to have become possessed of two ideas--and like
all weak men he is becoming obsessed by them. One idea is to effect a
reconciliation with Stephanie; the other is to be revenged on Amherst.
I have tried to persuade him that if he would do Stephanie a service,
he must do Amherst no physical hurt--it would simply revive the scandal
and react upon her, and probably terminate any chance he has to have
her return to him."
"What chance has he?" Cameron asked. "None, to my mind."
"Not the slightest in the world, to my mind either," Pendleton replied.
"But the question now is, I think, which idea will prevail:--the hope
of reconciliation with Stephanie, or vengeance on Amherst. I admit I
won't even attempt to predict. It will depend on the circumstances of
the moment."
"With the chances in favor of violence," said Cameron instantly. "I
fear it--I've feared it ever since Stephanie's return. Why the devil
does Lorraine do everything too late?"
"It is the nature of the animal, I suppose. Some men seem to do
everything backward."
"What do you say to both of us going to see him after dinner,
and--well, trying what we can do? He may listen to us."
"If you wish I'll go--but I've given him my views on it once to-day;
and while he seemed to agree, I know it was only half-heartedly.
However, it will do no harm for you to go.--Amherst's return may have
set him wild. Lorraine at his worst is a crazy irresponsible--and I'm
rather inclined to look for the worst."
"Very good!" said Cameron. "Now about this miserable Porshinger affair.
We----"
"The Porshinger affair is easy," Pendleton interrupted. "Mrs.
Postlewaite has cleared that up beautifully--and Stephanie also."
"What!" exclaimed Cameron, "Mrs. Postlewaite?"
Pendleton nodded.
"Mrs. Postlewaite and Mrs. Porterfield were witnesses of Porshinger's
assault on Stephanie," he replied--and he told the story.
When it was finished, Cameron's face wore a most satisfied smile.
"It is the end of Porshinger!"--he laughed, "he is busted for good.
The case will never come to trial. Stephanie is completely vindicated
by Mrs. Postlewaite's story. She need never think of him again. She
has been a bit foolish in her conduct toward him, but that is only a
passing matter, and will be lost in the general satisfaction at his
complete discomfiture. What a fool he was--to risk his social life on a
single throw!"
"He didn't imagine he was risking it," Pendleton rejoined. "He thought
that she was dazzled by his money and quite ready to be his. The
fellow is simply drunk with his financial success. He thinks anything
is within his reach; that it is simply a matter of price, and he has
the price. As between him and Amherst there is mighty little choice.
Amherst is a seducer; Porshinger is a purchaser who trades on the
other's crime to procure a victim."
"The truth is, Lorraine would be justified in killing both," Cameron
declared.
"I think that I should start with Porshinger," said Pendleton--"to me
he is the more contemptible and the more criminal. To try to drag a
woman down after she has made a mistake, and is endeavoring to make
amends for the past! Such a man is a monster."
"You're right!" said Cameron, "right as gospel! And yet Lorraine
may not--because in Amherst's case he dallied too long, and in
Porshinger's, the law would view it as absolutely unjustifiable."
"Oh, surely!" Pendleton responded, "I know that you're not recommending
violence--just stating what, to my mind as well as to yours, the
circumstances warrant."
"I wanted to discuss Lorraine's case with you, but it isn't necessary
now," Cameron remarked. "Porshinger will be only too glad if it is
dropped. Lorraine can't object, for Stephanie is cleared of Dolittle's
nasty story."
"Our trouble, it seems, isn't any longer with Porshinger, but with
Amherst and Lorraine--either to keep them apart or to persuade the
latter to be sensible," Pendleton observed. "I confess that, if it
were not for Stephanie, I wouldn't meddle in the affair. They might go
their own gait. I'm disgusted with Lorraine."
"I don't blame you," the other nodded. "But, you see, Lorraine is a
client of mine and I've always been fond of him, though naturally I
don't approve of his course with Stephanie."
"You can go to him this evening--I shall refrain," Pendleton decided.
"If you need me for anything, I'll be at the Mourrailles'. For heaven's
sake! don't tell him--he may veer around and get notions as to me.--Let
us have dinner. Shall I order, or do you want anything in particular?"
"Only a pint of Sparkling Burgundy--anything will do for the rest,"
Cameron answered. Then he raised his hand for the captain of the
waiters. "Will you please have Mr. Lorraine telephoned at his
apartments that I'll be in to see him on an important matter at eight
o'clock this evening."
XXII
THE SILVER CANDLESTICK
Stephanie dressed with more than usual care that evening. It was
the first time in two years that she had really wanted to dress for
anyone--to look her best as a woman.
The gown she chose--after much deliberation--was black, unrelieved by
any color and made severely plain; against it the dead white of her
arms and shoulders shone like ivory. She stood a moment looking in her
mirror; then she took from her jewel-case a sapphire necklace--smiled
at it in recollection--and clasped it about her slender throat. They
were the only jewels she wore--even her rings were laid aside. She
wondered if _he_ would notice the sapphires--and the absence of all
other ornaments. It had been _his_ wedding gift, and he might have
forgotten--yet she would wear it on the chance that he would remark it
and remember. She might not permit him any liberties, but she would
grant him the privilege of inferences.
She laughed softly to herself--and ran her fingers caressingly over the
jewels. His wedding gift! The only one, of all the hundreds, that she
cared for now--the only one that did not suggest to her the memories of
the past--of her mistake in choosing--of her broken vows--her hideous
experience. But his sapphires brought only the joy of living--the hope
that some day, by some means, her freedom would be won and she would
be permitted to yield herself and all she had to him. For she realized
now--as she had long known, indeed--that he was the only man she cared
for--the only man who cared for her and had cared through all the
horrible past.
She took one last look in the mirror--at the tall, slender figure in
the clinging black gown; the lovely neck and arms and shoulders; the
flawless face with its proud, cold beauty, that to-night was warm with
tenderness; the glorious hair piled high on the aristocratic head like
a gleaming crown of gold--and then went slowly down the stairway, as
joyous as though she were to be married to Pendleton that very night.
All through dinner--which she had alone, Mrs. Mourraille being
absent--she thought of Montague. Not hopelessly as heretofore, but with
a satisfied anticipation of present property. She did not attempt to
analyze it--indeed, she was quite aware it did not admit of analysis;
it was the intuitive knowledge that comes at rare intervals to
women--never to men.
Near the end of the meal, the desk 'phone in the living-room rang. The
butler answered it. In a moment he returned.
"Mr. Pendleton wants to know, madam, if you will be at home at a
quarter to nine this evening?" he said.
"Say to Mr. Pendleton that I shall be here and very glad to see him!"
Stephanie replied.
The man went to deliver the message.
"Montague is impatient," she reflected, "though, as I never before
knew him to be impatient, he must have a very good reason for coming
a quarter of an hour earlier.... Yet why did he telephone at all--why
didn't he just come?--Tompkins, was that all Mr. Pendleton said?"
"Yes, madam!" Tompkins answered, "but, if you please, it wasn't Mr.
Pendleton himself; leastwise, I didn't recognize his voice."
She nodded in answer and finished her ice.
"I'll have coffee on the piazza," she said, and arose.
As she did so, the ship's clock in the hallway chimed one bell.
"Half after eight!" she thought. "Fifteen minutes more until I see him.
I'm as nervously anticipatory as a débutante about to receive her first
proposal. What _is_ the matter with me! I'm actually becoming afraid to
meet him--to meet an old friend--the best friend a woman ever had!"
She laughed to herself, and sat down where, from the electric light at
the corner, she could see his car draw up at the curb.
Tompkins brought her coffee, served it, and was dismissed. She drank
two cups eagerly--to steady her nerves--then poured a third, and sipped
it slowly.... Presently the butler came out to deliver a telephone
message from Miss Chamberlain; when she turned again, she was just in
time to catch sight of a man coming up the walk and almost at the steps.
She sprang up and glided quickly into the house. She wanted to meet
Pendleton in the brightness of the living-room rather than in the
subdued light of the piazza. She wanted him to have the benefit of the
first impression. She was quite aware of her exquisite loveliness--more
alluring to-night than ever before. And of the sapphires--_his_
sapphires alone adorning her. She flung herself in an easy chair,
crossed her silken knees with fetching abandon and caught up a magazine.
There was no ring at the bell, however--and she waited, impatiently. He
should have rung--should be in the hall-way now--and yet Tompkins was
not even come front! It was very strange!--Possibly he had gone around
to the piazza, thinking that she might be there. She half turned--one
hand on the chair arm, the other on her knee--and glanced toward the
piazza door.
There came a step--and a smile of happiest greeting sprang to her
face--to be chilled the next instant into frigidity.
"_You!_" she exclaimed indignantly.--"YOU!"
Garrett Amherst bowed low.
He was a trifle over the medium height and slender, with black hair
just turning gray, and a face that women would call handsome, but
that men would call effeminate because too flawless. The eyes had a
peculiarly cynical expression about the corners, and the clean-shaven
lips, while firm set and classic, were full and red.
"Yes, I!" he answered, and the voice was wondrously low and musical. "I
am fortunate indeed to find you alone, Stephanie."
"I cannot say as much, Mr. Amherst!" she scorned.
He laughed lightly. "Time was when you were more than glad when I found
you _alone_."
She glided swiftly toward the bell--but he was before her and blocked
the way.
"Don't!" he said gently. "Consider--and don't. You may call--yes,
you may even ring for the servants--and what, think you, will be the
inference with _me_--me alone with you here--by appointment?"
"My servants never infer what it is impossible for them to believe!"
she spurned. "They know I left you in disgust with myself and loathing
for you--you unspeakable poltroon."
He put out his hand as though to stay her.
"You misunderstand, Stephanie dear," he said softly. "I've not come
to reproach you, nor to find fault, nor to cast up the few unpleasant
things in an exquisite past. I've come----" he took a step toward
her--"I've come, dearest, to beseech you to forgive--to come back to
me--to let me make amends." He held out his arms. "You're the only
woman in the world for me--I know it now--I knew it as soon as you had
left me. I've come clear from India to tell you--to take you away with
me. Won't you come, dearest, won't you come?"
"You would dare!" she exclaimed tensely. "You would----"
"I would dare the gates of hell for you, sweetheart!--to hold you once
again in my arms, to pillow your dear head upon my shoulder, to bury
my face in your ruddy tresses, to have you----"
"What folly--what silly folly!" she interrupted. "I am no longer your
paramour, thank God! I am trying to be an honest woman--to regain the
place I lost by reason of your seductions and false tongue. Do you
think I would forfeit it again even though I loved you to distraction?"
"You _do_ love me, Stephanie--you----"
"I loathe you!--your honeyed words and pretty beauty that once led me
astray are now simply reminders of your abominations, and the proofs of
your depravity.--I ask you to leave the house at once, Mr. Amherst."
"You mean it?" he whispered. "You actually mean it?"
"I _do_ mean it," she replied. "It may be difficult for such as you to
comprehend--but _I mean it_. Now go."
He looked her in the eyes a moment, then he humbly bowed his head.
"I will go," he said contritely. "I will go----"
Suddenly he leaped forward--and his arms closed around her, pinioning
her hands to her sides.
"But I will kiss you another time before I go--and maybe I shall----"
She fought him silently--unwilling even for the servants to see her
in this man's embrace. She evaded his every attempt at her lips--she
struggled--she buried her hair in his face--she felt his breath on her
neck--she was carried slowly across the room--her hair burst free and
fell in waves around her, enveloping her face and shielding it somewhat
from his attempts.
"You siren!" he panted. "You siren!"
"You devil!" she gasped. "You worse than devil!--Loose me! I tell
you--loose me!"
"I'll loose you," he breathed,--"I'll loose you--when I've had--my----"
He raised her in his arms and bore her toward a couch--crushing her to
him in a mad ecstasy that left her well-nigh senseless.
She felt herself strike the couch--felt herself flung upon it--tried to
cry out and could not! With a final desperate effort that exhausted her
last atom of strength, she strove to thrust him from her.
But he only laughed--and shifted his hold.
"Not yet, sweetheart!" he panted.--"Not yet----"
She closed her eyes in helplessness and sickening fear. It was
useless--she could not----
Then she felt Amherst's grip on her torn loose. She opened her eyes--to
see him and Harry Lorraine grappled in furious fight.
She struggled up--and watched--fascinated and silent; forgetting either
to summon help or to flee.
Round the room the men reeled, locked in each other's arms--staggering
against chairs and tables--hurling them aside--overturning
them--crushing the bric-a-brac under foot. They were down and
up, and down and up--they rolled over and over, fighting without
method--Lorraine striking wildly in the fury of insane rage,
which gave him strength but deprived him of the power of thought.
Amherst--taken unaware and weakened by his unhallowed passion, but with
a trifle more deliberation in his manner, prevented the other from
doing him serious harm.... Both had been cut by the broken ornaments or
by corners of the furniture. Neither man spoke. Lorraine's face was set
in the fury of hate--Amherst's in the fury of desperation. Lorraine was
venting the pent up wrongs of months of brooding--Amherst was fighting
for his life! he had no doubt of the other's intent to kill. He was
trying to get away--to break his assailant's hold.... But through it
all Lorraine managed some way, somehow, to keep his hold--and slowly
to work his hands toward Amherst's throat--one of them was already
there. Amherst made a frantic effort to unloose it. They staggered down
the room--swept a cabinet bare of antiques--swayed a moment back and
forth--then went down, Amherst underneath.
As they writhed on the floor amid the fallen débris, Lorraine's hand
touched a heavy, silver candlestick.--He seized it by the stem--there
was a flash--and with all the strength of his insane fury, he brought
it down on his enemy's head.
Amherst's arms relaxed--his eyes closed and the blood gushed forth.
Again the candlestick rose, and fell; this time squarely on the
temple--and with crunch of metal on bone, the fresh spurt of blood,
Amherst's body crumpled into an inert mass.
Once more Lorraine's arm went up----
"Don't hit him again!" said Pendleton quietly--yet sharp as the crack
of a whip. "You are striking a dead man, Lorraine."
The candlestick slipped from Lorraine's fingers and he staggered
up--the frenzied look on his face slowly faded into one of unrelenting
comprehension.
"Yes!" said he, glancing down unmoved at Amherst's body. "He is
dead--damn him! I'm glad I killed him! The beast!---- Thank God! I came
in time, dear," he exclaimed, turning to Stephanie.
But Stephanie had fainted.
Lorraine sprang toward her--to be brought up by Pendleton's quick
command:
"Let her alone for a moment--she has only fainted--and tell me how this
happened."
Lorraine, suddenly weak, collapsed on a chair.
"Never mind--I'll get some brandy----"
"No--I'm all right," Lorraine said huskily.--"It is well for you to
hear before she wakes.--I was restless after dinner. I didn't wait
for Cameron; I went for a walk, leaving word for him to remain until
I returned. I don't know how long I walked, but presently I was aware
that I was before Stephanie's home.--The lights were burning--the
shades were drawn. I went in on the piazza, with no purpose, nothing
but a desire to see her--you understand? As I passed this window, I
noticed the door to the enclosed piazza was ajar.--I pushed it open
and entered. I heard a queer sound in this room, like persons in a
struggle. I dashed across--and saw--saw Stephanie flung upon that
couch, and Amherst bending over her. For an instant I was paralyzed!
I saw Stephanie try to force him back; heard him laugh in triumph and
say something. Then action came to me and I hurled myself upon him.
We fought all over the room--you can see how we fought--he to get
loose, I to get a grip on his throat and choke the life out of him.
I must have had the strength of a demon, for Amherst, I think, is
the stronger man. How often we fell, I do not know--sometimes he was
under, sometimes I was. And all the while, 'Kill him! Kill him!' was
ringing in my ears.... We went down again, I on top.--My hand touched
the candlestick--I grasped it and struck.--I would be striking him yet
if you had not stopped me." He got up slowly, his face unnaturally
flushed.--"I'll go to the police station and give myself up. Let
the carrion lie where he is until the officers come. You look to
Stephanie--it's better----"
He staggered, put his hands to his head, swayed a moment, then pitched
forward to the floor, and lay quiet.
"Good God!" cried Pendleton.
Springing to Lorraine's side, he tore open his waistcoat and placed a
hand over his heart--no beat responded. He listened!--It was silent.
Lorraine was dead.
He looked at Stephanie--she was still insensible. What should he do?
Two dead men, an unconscious woman, and himself! What was best for
_her_?
An instant he thought.--Then he strode across, and was gathering her in
his arms to bear her from the room when she opened her eyes.
She gave a gasp--saw who held her--the startled look vanished--and she
smiled.
"Montague!" she said weakly. "Montague! How did you get here--how----"
She caught sight of the two forms on the floor--stared--then shuddered
in sudden remembrance.
"Dead!--Both dead!" she whispered. "Let me down, dear--I'm not----"
"You must come away," he said, putting her down but keeping his arm
around her. "This is no place for you, sweetheart."
She suffered his arm to remain, and stood looking at Lorraine--Amherst
she had recoiled from in horror!
"They killed each other?" she questioned faintly.
"No--Lorraine killed Amherst--and then was stricken either by apoplexy
or a heart attack--the victim of his own frenzied emotions."
"I see!" she whispered.--"I see!"
"Come outside, dear--you need air, and I must summon a physician and
the police."
"Can't we do--anything for Harry?" she asked.
"Nothing."
"At least, we can put him on the couch."
"It is wiser not."
"Must we let him lie on the floor?"
"Since he is dead, it is best not to disturb anything until the police
come," he replied--and slowly led her from the room.
As he did so, steps crossed the piazza and the entrance bell rang.
"They must not enter, Montague!" Stephanie exclaimed--"they must not
enter!"--She sank on a chair.--"Go--tell Tompkins I am not at home to
anyone!"
He met the butler at the rear of the hall.
"Mrs. Lorraine is not at home--whoever it is must be sent away," he
directed.
"Yes, Mr. Pendleton!" the man bowed.
Passing the doorway to the living-room, Tompkins glanced in--and
straightway his immobility of countenance vanished. He stopped,
staring--terror and amazement blended on his face.
"The door, sir, the door!" said Pendleton sharply.
"Yes, sir--yes, sir!" the butler answered--and sprang to obey.
"Is Mr. Pendleton here?" came Cameron's voice.
"No, sir; Mr.----" Tompkins began--when Pendleton cut him short.
"Come in, Cameron," said he, "you're just the man I want."
"Lorraine didn't keep his appointment with me," explained Cameron, as
he entered. "And----"
"Lorraine is here!" Pendleton answered, drawing the other over to the
living-room door.
"Good God!" was Cameron's amazed cry.--"_Lorraine!_ and who is the
other?--Amherst! _Amherst!_ Dead!--what does it mean?"
"They both are dead," said Pendleton. "Lorraine killed Amherst with
yonder candlestick--and then, a moment after, was stricken by apoplexy
or a heart attack."
"You were here?" Cameron marvelled.