As Alexander Junior came towards him, John Ralston advanced from the
door. Katharine placed herself between them, very much as her mother had
come between her father and herself on the previous afternoon. But
Ralston laid his hand gently on her arm, and drew her back.
“Please go into the library, Katharine,” he said.
“No, no!” she cried, in answer. “I can’t leave you together--so.”
“Please go!” he repeated. “I’m angry--I must speak--I can’t before you.”
He pushed her with tender anxiety towards the door, and she felt his
hand tremble on her arm. She yielded after a little hesitation, but
paused as she reached the curtain, and looked back. John went on and
faced Alexander, supposing that Katharine had left the room.
“So it was you who spoke to Mr. Beman about me,” said Ralston, in a tone
of menace.
“You’re an eavesdropper, sir,” answered Alexander Junior, with contempt.
“As you were shouting, and the door was open, I couldn’t help hearing
what you said, Mr. Lauderdale. I was anxious about Katharine, and had
come into the hall.”
“Then you’ve heard my opinion of you. You’re not likely to change it by
trying to browbeat me.”
“I’m not browbeating you, as you call it. You’ve been saying things
about me which are untrue. You’ve got to take them back.”
Alexander Lauderdale drew himself up to his height, resting one clenched
hand upon his hip. The other held his hat. He looked a dangerous
adversary as he stood there, lean and steely, his firm face set like an
angry mask, his broad shoulders square and black against the evening
light.
“It occurs to me to ask how you propose to make me take back anything
I’ve said,” he answered.
Ralston looked at him quietly for several seconds, as a man looks who
measures another’s strength. Not that he had the slightest thought of
violence, even then; but he was a born fighter as much as Alexander, if
not more so. His instinct was always to strike rather than speak, in any
quarrel. In a hand-to-hand encounter he would have been overmatched by
the elder man, and he knew it. But that was not the reason why he
lowered his voice and tried to speak more calmly, instead of growing
hotter in altercation.
“You’ve done me a very great injustice, and you’ve almost done me a
serious injury--perhaps you really have, for Mr. Beman has turned me
out,” he said. “It’s customary, I think, for people like us to repair
such injuries as well as they can.”
“You’ve injured yourself by your habits,” answered Alexander. “I’ve a
perfect right to say so. Don’t contest it.”
“It’s contestable, at all events. I’m willing to admit that I’ve been
what’s called dissipated. More than most men, I daresay.”
“That’s undeniable, and that’s precisely what I said, or words to the
same effect.”
“I think not. You were telling Katharine just now that I was a drunkard
and a reprobate. I’ve not touched wine for months, and as for being a
reprobate--it’s a strong word, but rather vague. Since you’ve used it,
please define what you mean by it.”
“It’s a general term of disapprobation which I applied to you because I
think you’re a bad character.”
“Accusations of that sort have to be supported. You must go with me to
Mr. Beman to-morrow, and repeat what you’ve said.”
“Indeed? I shall do nothing of the kind.”
“If Mr. Beman asks you to do it, you’ll have to--at the risk of losing
your character for truthfulness.”
“Are you calling me a liar?” asked Alexander, and his voice rose angrily
as he stepped forward.
“No,” answered Ralston, calmly, but in a doubtful tone. “I’m not. But
you’ve made an accusation, and if you fail to prove it, Mr. Beman will
form his opinion about you. I formed mine long ago. I’m turning out to
be right.”
“I’m quite indifferent to your opinion,” said Alexander, contemptuously.
“And you’re not in a position to influence that of lifelong friends like
Mr. Beman. We’d better end this discussion at once. It can lead to
nothing.”
Katharine, who still stood by the door, her hand on the curtain,
devoutly wished that in this, at least, John would follow her father’s
suggestion. She had a woman’s instinctive fear of violence between
men--a fear, strange to say, which has a fascination in it. If John had
been inwardly as calm as he outwardly appeared to be, he would
undoubtedly have seen that Alexander was right in this. But the
insulting words which he had inevitably overheard rankled, as well they
might, and against all probability of success, he still hoped that
Alexander would make some acknowledgment of having been in the wrong. He
thrust his hands into his pockets and made two or three steps, his head
bent in thought. Then he turned upon his adversary suddenly again.
“Do you know--or don’t you--that I’ve given up wine since last winter?”
he enquired.
“I’ve heard it stated,” answered Alexander. “I don’t know it.”
“Well--it’s true. I tell you so now. I suppose you’ll make no further
difficulty about taking back what you said to Katharine just now--that
I’m a drunkard?”
“If you have given up wine, you are certainly not a drunkard--at
present. That’s axiomatic.” Alexander sneered.
“Will you remove the condition? I say that I have given up wine.”
“I should hesitate to accept your unsupported evidence.”
“In other words, you don’t admit that I’m speaking the truth? Is that
what you mean to say? Yes, or no.”
“I don’t accept your unsupported evidence,” repeated Alexander, pleased
with his own phrase.
“Do you know what you’re saying? It’s simply stating that I’m not to be
believed. You can’t put any other meaning upon your words.”
“I don’t wish to,” answered Alexander, driven to stand by what he had
said, but conscious that he had gone too far.
A pause followed. John was very pale. Alexander Lauderdale’s face was
dark with the blood that rose slowly under the grey olive skin. The hand
that held his hat swung quickly by his side once or twice. Ralston’s
fingers twitched nervously. By the door, Katharine held her breath.
“Look here, Mr. Lauderdale,” said John, in a low voice. “I’m not going
to strike you here, but when I meet you in the street I will.”
“Jack! Jack!” cried Katharine, rushing forward and catching his arm, and
throwing the other of her own round his neck.
She knew how much stronger her father was than he. At the sight of her,
the deep red colour appeared at last in Alexander’s face, and his anger
got the better of him altogether.
“Take your arms from that man’s neck!” he cried, furiously. “Don’t touch
him, I say!”
But Katharine did not release her hold. A woman’s idea of protecting a
man is to wind herself round him, so as to make him perfectly helpless
to defend himself.
“Let me go, dear,” said Ralston, in a voice suddenly tender, but
trembling a little.
“Katharine! Go, I say!” The white of Alexander’s eyes was bloodshot.
But Katharine tried to drag John back from him as he advanced.
“Go! Leave the room!” cried Alexander, roughly.
With a quick movement he seized her arm, almost where he had grasped it
on the previous day, and he tried to pull her away from Ralston. His
strong hand hurt her. At the same time Ralston, not seeing how tightly
Alexander held her, tried to disengage himself from her, as gently as he
could. The struggle was not apparently violent, yet Katharine was
exerting all her strength to cling to Ralston.
The floor, under the Persian rug, was highly polished. As Katharine
stood, overbalanced in her strained position, the carpet slipped under
her feet. With a short, half-suppressed cry, more of surprise than of
fear, she relaxed her hands, fell sideways, and swung downward, her arm
still in her father’s iron grip. To tell the truth, he was trying to
hold her up, though in reality he had thrown her down. Suddenly she
uttered a piercing scream, and turned livid, as she fell upon the floor,
and her father let go her arm.
At the same instant John Ralston struck Alexander Lauderdale a violent
blow on the mouth, which sent the taller man staggering back two paces.
It all happened in an instant. Alexander sprang forward again
instinctively, and struck at John, who dodged the blow and closed with
him. They were better matched at wrestling than with fists, for Ralston,
though less strong by far, was the quicker, and had the advantage of
youth. They swayed and twisted upon each other, the two lean, tough men,
like tigers.
Katharine struggled to her feet. In getting up she tried to use her
right hand, and uttered another cry of pain, as her weight rested on it
a moment in making the effort. It was quite powerless.
In a few seconds the room was full of people. Katharine’s scream had
echoed through the open door all over the house. The butler, the
footmen, and the housemaids flocked in. The cry was heard even in Robert
Lauderdale’s bedroom, and he was not asleep.
The old man started, listened, and raised himself on his elbow, at the
same time touching the bell by which he called his nurse. She had gone
out upon the landing, to try and find out what was the matter, but ran
back at the sound of the bell.
“What is it? What’s happened?” asked old Lauderdale, and there was an
unwonted colour in his face.
“I don’t know, Mr. Lauderdale,” answered the nurse, a calm, ugly,
middle-aged woman from New England. “It was a woman’s voice. Shall I go
and ask?”
“No--no!” he cried, huskily. “It was my niece--help me up, Mrs.
Deems--help me up. I’ll go as I am.”
He was clad in loose garments of white velvet--the only luxurious fancy
of his old age. He got up on his feet, steadying himself by the nurse’s
arm.
“Let me ring for the men, Mr. Lauderdale,” she said, rather anxiously.
“No, no! I can go so, if you’ll help me a little--oh, God! The child
must be hurt! Quick, Mrs. Deems--I can walk quicker than this--hold your
arm a little higher, please. Yes--we shall get along nicely so--why
didn’t I have a lift in the house! I was always so strong! Quickly, Mrs.
Deems--quickly.”
When Robert Lauderdale entered the drawing-room, he saw a crowd of
people gathering together round something which they hid from him.
“Go away! Go away!” he cried, in his hollow, broken voice.
The servants fell back at the voice of the master, only the butler
remaining at hand. Katharine was lying back in a deep arm-chair, her
broken arm resting upon a little table which had been hastily pushed to
her side. John Ralston was bending over it, and looking at it rather
helplessly, as pale as death. Opposite him, on Katharine’s left, stood
her father, his face still darkly flushed, his lips swollen and purple
from Ralston’s blow.
“Clear the room--and send for Doctor Routh,” said old Lauderdale,
turning his head a little towards Leek as he passed him.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m afraid it’s broken,” Ralston was saying, and his hands trembled
violently as he softly passed them over Katharine’s arm.
Mrs. Deems was already undoing the buttons of the tight sleeve which
chanced to be the fashion at that time. Robert Lauderdale pushed
Alexander aside, and bent down over the chair, supporting himself with
his hands.
“Katharine--little girl--you’re hurt, dear,” he said, as gently as his
hoarseness would let him speak. “How did it happen?”
“It won’t be anything,” she said, in answer, shaking her head and trying
to smile.
“How did it happen?” repeated the old man, standing up again, and
steadying himself, as he looked anxiously at Ralston.
But Ralston did not answer at once. Across the old gentleman’s shoulder
his eyes met Alexander’s for an instant.
“Are you going to tell what you did, or shall I?” he asked, fiercely.
“What? What?” asked old Robert, in surprise. “What’s this?” He looked
from one to the other.
“Well--” Alexander began, “it’s rather hard to explain--”
“You’re mistaken,” interrupted Ralston, promptly. “It’s perfectly
simple. You threw Katharine down, and she broke her arm.”
“You--threw Katharine--down!” repeated the old man, the first words
spoken in wonder, the last in wrath.
“Not at all, uncle Robert,” protested Alexander. “Do you suppose for a
moment that I’m such a man as to--”
“I don’t care what sort of man you are!” retorted Robert Lauderdale. “If
you’ve laid hands on Katharine, you shall leave the house--for the last
time. Tell me what happened, Jack--Katharine--both of you!”
“We quarrelled and didn’t see Katharine,” said John, his brown eyes on
fire. “She thought we’d fight, and ran forward and held me round the
neck to keep us apart. Her father dragged her away violently and she
fell. Then I hit him.”
“I didn’t drag her violently--”
“Katharine--isn’t that what happened?” asked Ralston.
Old Lauderdale bent down towards her again--but there was no need of
looking into her eyes to find the truth there. Her only thought was for
Ralston, and he was speaking the truth. She loved him as few women love.
She had loved him through good and evil report, with all her soul. And
she was ruthless of others, as loving women are. For his sake, she would
have sent her father to the gallows, if he had done murder, and if the
one word which might have saved him could have done Ralston the least
hurt.
“It’s exactly as Jack says,” she answered, in clear tones. “He pulled me
from Jack and threw me down.”
Then the old man’s wrath broke out like flame. But there was a little
pause first. The blood rushed to his pale cheeks, his bony hands were
clenched, and the old veins swelled to bursting in his throat and at his
temples. The broken, harsh voice thundered and crashed as he cursed his
nephew.
“God damn you, sir! Leave my house this instant!”
Alexander Lauderdale Junior had got his deserts and more also, and he
knew it. But he stood still where he was.
“It’s useless to argue with a man in your state--” he began.
“Are you going, you damned coward?” roared old Robert. “Ring the bell,
Jack--send for the men--turn that brute out--”
He was beside himself with rage, but John glanced at Alexander, and then
walked slowly towards the nearest bell. He was not inclined to spare the
man who had injured Katharine. Perhaps most men in his position would
have carried out the orders of the master of the house. Seeing that he
was in the act to press the button, Alexander yielded. It was not at all
probable that the millionaire’s half dozen Englishmen would disobey
their master, and Robert was capable at the present moment of having him
literally kicked into the middle of the street. He had the temper that
ran through all the blood of the Lauderdale tribe, and it was up--the
fierce, Lowland Scotch temper that is hard to rouse, and long
controllable, but dangerous at the last. He had disliked and despised
his nephew for years, but had not sought occasion against him. The
occasion had come suddenly and by violence, and the wild beast in him
was let loose.
Katharine’s eyes followed her father’s tall figure, as he stalked out of
the room, with an odd expression. She was avenged for much in that
moment.
“Brute!” growled Robert Lauderdale, as he disappeared behind the
curtain.
“Infernal scoundrel!” answered Ralston, through his closed teeth.
“I’m so sorry I screamed, uncle Robert,” said Katharine. “I waked you--”
Mrs. Deems interrupted her. She had ripped the seam of the tight sleeve,
for she knew that it could not be drawn over the broken arm. On the
white flesh there were two sets of marks--the one red, and evidently
produced in the late struggle. The others were black and blue. They were
side by side, the one set a little higher than the second. The arm was
already much swollen. Mrs. Deems had listened in silence to what had
been said, and her womanly heart had risen in sympathy for Katharine.
She touched Robert Lauderdale’s sleeve, and pointed to the old marks on
Katharine’s arm, calling his attention to them.
“Those weren’t made now, Mr. Lauderdale,” she said, in a low,
matter-of-fact tone.
“No--it was last night,” said Katharine, rather faintly. “Jack,
dear--get me a cup of tea. I don’t feel well.”
Ralston hurried away, saying something to himself which was not audible
to the others, and which may as well be omitted here. The black and
white of paper and ink make youth’s blood seem too red. Old Lauderdale’s
anger was still at the boiling-point, and broke out again.
“Do you mean to say that he’s been maltreating you, child?” he asked,
his face reddening again. “If he has--”
“No--not exactly, uncle dear--I’ll tell you--but--I’m a little faint.
Don’t worry.”
She sighed and closed her eyes, as she finished speaking. She was in
great pain now that the arm was swelling.
“Best not talk, Mr. Lauderdale,” said Mrs. Deems. “I’ll get some ice and
napkins.”
And she also left the room. The old man, alone with Katharine, bent over
her with difficulty, and kissed her white forehead. His old head
trembled as he raised himself again and looked shyly round, as though he
had done something to be ashamed of. The young girl opened her eyes,
smiled a little, and closed them again at once.
“Do you feel very ill, little girl?” asked Robert Lauderdale.
There was something pathetic in the evident attempt to make his
unnatural, hollow voice sound gentle and kind, and he stroked her thick
black hair with one bony hand, while the other rested on the back of the
chair.
“Oh, no--it’s nothing--only the pain in my arm. Don’t be frightened,
uncle Robert--I’m not going to die!”
She tried to laugh to reassure him. Then a sharp twinge from the broken
limb drew her face. The expression of her suffering was instantly
reflected in the old man’s features, and his bushy white eyebrows bent
themselves.
“Routh will be here in a minute,” he said, as though reassuring her.
“I’ve sent for him.”
She nodded her thanks, but said nothing. Then with her left hand she
found one of his, and pressed it affectionately. He lifted hers, and
pressed his bearded lips to it softly.
“It will be the worse for him,” he said, consoling her, as many men
console women, with the promise of vengeance.
In his mouth the words might mean much. There are few things which a
just man, justly angry, cannot accomplish against an offender, with the
aid of eighty millions of working capital, so to say. Moreover, Robert
Lauderdale was not dead yet, and could so change his will, if he
pleased, as to keep Alexander from ever receiving any share whatsoever
of the great fortune.
But Katharine was avenged already, and wished no further evil to her
father. She had seen him humiliated and driven from the house, and she
had felt that he was not her father, but the man who had insulted and
cruelly wronged John Ralston, her lawful husband. She had not seen the
blow Ralston had struck, for at that moment she had just fallen to the
floor. But all the rest had happened before her eyes, and she had
neither spoken word nor made sign to spare him. So far, she had been
utterly merciless.
Afterwards, she wondered how she could have been so utterly hard and
unforgiving, and tried to remember what she had felt, but she found it
impossible. It is hard to recall an old scald when one is floating in
cool water. Not that she ever forgave her father for what he did and
said during those twenty-four hours--that is, in the sense of forgiving
entirely and thinking of him as though nothing had happened. That would
have been impossible--perhaps it would have been scarcely human. The
virtue that turns the other cheek to be smitten is in danger of having
its head broken by the second buffet, for cowardice takes arms of
charity. But they did not quarrel to the end of their natural lives, and
it seemed strange to Katharine, at a later period, that she should have
looked on with a calm satisfaction that soothed her bodily pain while
Robert Lauderdale ordered her father to be forcibly turned out of the
house. But that is not strange, for humanity’s hardest present problem
is almost always the problem of yesterday, which is in black and white,
rather than the expectation of to-morrow, confusedly shadowed upon the
mist of what is not yet, by the light of the hope of what may be.
There was a sort of justice, too, in the fact that Robert Lauderdale,
who had once quarrelled with John during the winter, should now be
taking his side, and be forced to take it by every conviction of
fairness. The only thing which Katharine could not understand was her
father’s own behaviour towards his uncle. It was in accordance with his
temper that he should behave to her as he had behaved, and to John
Ralston also. But it would have seemed more natural that he should have
controlled himself, even by a great effort, rather than have risked
offending the possessor of the fortune. On that afternoon he had seemed
from the first to be braving the old man’s anger. This was a mystery to
Katharine. It seemed almost like premeditation. Yet she knew her
father’s limitations, and was sure that he was not able to form a deep
scheme and carry it out, while mystifying every one who looked on. He
was dull, he was methodical, he was exact. He was also miserly, as she
had lately discovered. But he was a man to keep a secret, rather than to
produce one which should need keeping, and she almost suspected that he
had lost his senses out of sheer anger, though she knew that he was able
to control his temper longer than most men, when he pleased.
So far as the present was concerned, she felt, as she might well feel,
that she was amply avenged, and when Robert Lauderdale seemed to be
threatening further vengeance, she protested.
“Don’t make it any worse, uncle Robert,” she said, with an effort, for
she was growing very faint. “But you must keep me here till I’m well, if
you will. I can’t go home to him now.”
“Of course, child--of course! Should you like your mother to come and
take care of you?”
“Oh, no--thank you--let me be with you. We’ll be invalids together, you
know.” She smiled again, opening and closing her eyes. “Don’t forget
yourself, now,” she continued. “You’ve had too much exertion--too much
excitement--sit down and rest--here they come with the tea and things.”
John and Mrs. Deems entered in close succession. John had insisted upon
bringing the tea-tray himself, after overcoming Leek’s objection with
the greatest difficulty. But Leek appeared, nevertheless, playing
footman to Ralston as butler, so to say, and bearing a folding stand,
which he set down beside Katharine. Mrs. Deems had a bowl of ice and a
pile of napkins, with which she intended to cool Katharine’s arm until
Dr. Routh arrived.
“Beg pardon, sir,” said Leek to the old gentleman. “The old brougham was
just in with the bays, from exercise, William said, sir, so I sent him
as he was for Doctor Routh, sir. I hope I did right, sir?”
“Quite right, Leek--very sensible of you,” answered the old gentleman.
“Just help me to a chair, will you? I’m a little stiff from standing so
long. And get us some light. It’s growing dark.”
Leek and Ralston installed him in a comfortable chair on the other side
of the tea-table. Mrs. Deems was packing Katharine’s arm in ice. The
young girl’s face twitched nervously at first, but grew calmer as the
cold began to overcome the inflammation.
Old Lauderdale watched the operation with interest and sympathy. No one
but Mrs. Deems knew what Katharine must have suffered before she began
to feel the effects of the ice. Ralston stood by in silence, looking at
Katharine’s face and ready to help if he were needed, which was far from
probable. He was still pale, and the passions so furiously roused were
still at work within him. He could not help dreaming of his next
meeting with Alexander Junior, wondering when it would take place and
what would happen; but he had the deep and incomparable satisfaction of
an angry man who has dealt his enemy one successful blow. There had been
nothing wrong about that blow--it had gone straight from the shoulder,
it had not been parried, and it had crushed the mouth he hated. And even
afterwards, in the struggle that had followed, Alexander had not thrown
him, in spite of size and weight in his favour--these had been matched
by youth and quickness. The moment the two men had seen that Katharine
was hurt, they had loosed their hold on one another and gone to her,
just as the servants had rushed into the room. But John was not
satisfied, as Katharine was. He had tasted blood, and he thirsted for
more--to have his fight out, and win or be beaten without interference.
He meant to win, and he knew he could make even defeat dangerous, for he
was quick of his hands and feet, and tough.
Of the three, old Robert was the first to regain his equanimity. Of all
the Lauderdale tempers, his was the least hard to rouse and the soonest
to expend itself, and therefore the least dangerous. It was commonly
said among them that Katharine Ralston, John’s mother, who had hardly
ever been seen angry, had the most deadly temper in the family, though
it was not easy to tell on what the tradition rested. John and Alexander
had certainly not the best, and it was safe to predict that when they
met again there would be war.
The old gentleman had made very unwonted exertions that afternoon, and
before she had finished doing what she could for Katharine’s arm, Mrs.
Deems became anxious about him. His cheeks grew hollow, and as the blood
sank away from them his face became almost ghastly. Ralston looked at
him attentively and then glanced at the nurse. She nodded, and got a
stimulant and gave it to him, and felt his pulse, and shook her head
almost imperceptibly.
“How long is it since the doctor was sent for?” she asked of Ralston, in
a low voice.
“It must be twenty minutes, I should think.”
“Oh--longer than that, I’m sure!” exclaimed Katharine, whose suffering
lengthened time.
“He’ll be here presently, then,” said Mrs. Deems, somewhat reassured.
“How do you feel, Mr. Lauderdale? A little weak?”
“All right,” growled the broken voice. “Take care of Katharine.”
But he did not open his eyes, and spoke rather as though he were
dreaming, than as if he were awake.
“Provided he’s at home,” said Ralston, half aloud and thinking of the
doctor. “Hadn’t we better send for some one else, too?”
He addressed the question to everybody, in a general way.
“Best wait till the carriage comes back,” suggested Mrs. Deems.
This seemed sensible, and a silence followed which lasted some time.
Ralston stood motionless beside the nurse. Katharine had swallowed some
tea and lay quietly in her chair, while the skilful woman did her best
with the ice and napkins. The old man’s jaw had dropped a little, and he
was breathing heavily, as though asleep. Mrs. Deems did not like the
sound, for she glanced at him more and more uneasily.
“There, Miss Katharine,” she said, at last, “that’s the best we can do
till the doctor comes. I think it’s only the small bone that’s broken,
but I don’t like to handle it. I guess it’s better to leave it so till
he comes. Best not try to move yourself.”
Then she went round the table to old Lauderdale again, listened
attentively to his breathing and felt his pulse.
“Are you asleep, Mr. Lauderdale?” she asked, almost in a whisper.
The jaw moved, and he spoke some unintelligible words.
“I can’t hear what you say,” said Mrs. Deems, bending down anxiously.
He cleared his throat, coughed a little and spoke louder.
“Take care of Katharine,” he said, still without opening his eyes.
“Don’t worry about me, uncle Robert,” said Katharine, looking at him
with anxiety.
Both she and Ralston turned enquiring glances to Mrs. Deems. She merely
shook her head sadly and said nothing. Ralston beckoned to her to come
and speak with him. She poured out another dose of the old man’s
stimulant and set it to his lips. He swallowed it rather eagerly and
without difficulty. Then she glanced at Ralston and left the room. A
moment later he followed her, and found her waiting for him on the other
side of the curtain.
“You’re very anxious, aren’t you, Mrs. Deems?” he enquired, in a
whisper.
“Well,” she answered, “I suppose I am. I guess he’s had a strain with
this trouble. I do wish the doctor’d come, though. It’s a long while
since they went for him.”
“Don’t you think he’s in danger now--that he might go off at any
moment?” asked Ralston.
“Well--they do--with heart failure. That’s the danger. But it’s a strong
family, Mr. Ralston, and he’s been a strong man, old Mr. Lauderdale,
though he’s as weak as a babe now. You just can’t tell, in these cases,
and that’s the fact.”
There was a sound of wheels. A moment later Leek appeared.
“Doctor Routh can’t be found, sir,” he said. “They’ve been to his house
and to two or three other places, but he can’t be found, sir. So I’ve
sent for Doctor Cheever. He’s always on call, as they say in this
country, sir.”
“Quite right, Leek,” answered Ralston.
He looked round for Mrs. Deems, but she had gone back into the
drawing-room. She was evidently very anxious.