Colonel Grey lay in bed smoking his customary before-breakfast cigar.
He was not an early riser--or, as he expressed it, he had had so much
early rising during his life that he was justified in taking his
leisure.
He was unaccountably thinking of Lawless and the letters. He still
half-trusted and half-doubted his man. That is to say, at times his
belief in him was unbounded, and again at other moments, according to
his mood, he mistrusted the man's honesty of purpose. Reckless,
impecunious, an admitted adventurer, were not the chances even that if
he got hold of the letters he would turn them to his own purposes? With
such a source of profit in his possession, would he be likely to give it
up for the sum originally agreed upon between them? Colonel Grey could
not altogether conquer his suspicions; the man's past life had
prejudiced him.
While he lay thinking, sending clouds of blue smoke-rings up from the
pillow like smoke from a sacrificial altar, the bell of his front door
was rung loudly and imperatively. As it was not answered with the
promptitude that could only have been possible had a doorkeeper been
stationed in readiness, the bell pealed again. Colonel Grey got out of
bed and went to the window. He had already paddled out of bed once to
admit his boy, for no servant slept in the house; and he paddled across
the room a second time, jerked open the window, and looked out. It was
with an involuntary exclamation of surprise that he recognised Tom
Hayhurst.
"Good Lord!" he ejaculated.
And then, in accents of anger:
"What the devil are you pulling that bell down for?"
Hayhurst came forward, saluted the irate speaker, and followed him into
the bedroom.
"I thought I paid you to clear out," the Colonel observed sharply,
eyeing with no great favour the spruce, confident young man he had last
seen--or so he imagined--with a bandaged head, taking his passage to
Durban.
"You did, sir."
Hayhurst controlled his countenance with difficulty. In dealing with
the Colonel he made it a practice to allow him to let off steam first.
It gave a man a chance of second place, he used to say.
"Then, why in hell are you back here? ... I've no further use for you."
"I'm not asking you to use me," Hayhurst answered coolly. "I came by
Lawless' orders, to give into your own hands the packet of letters which
I've just received from the Bank."
He put his hand inside his coat as he spoke, and withdrew a sealed
packet from an inner pocket, which, in a matter-of-fact manner, he
tendered the Colonel. The Colonel nearly collapsed at sight of it. The
cigar dropped from his lips, his mouth fell helplessly open.
"The--letters!" he gasped.
He stretched forth an eager hand that shook with his excitement, and
almost tore the packet from Hayhurst's grasp.
"Sit down, my boy," he said... "Sit down." He turned the packet
lovingly. "Good God! the letters--at last!"
Breaking the seal with fingers that in their feverish eagerness could
scarce perform their office, he glanced through the contents, counted
the letters, and finally, going to a drawer and unlocking it, he took
out a notebook to which he referred continually while he went through
the packet again.
"It's all right," he said... "They're all here."
He snatched up a box of matches, and carrying the letters to the grate,
thrust them between the bars and set light to them. Hayhurst watched
with him while they burnt, dividing his attention between the flaming
papers and the intent set face of the man who crouched before the
hearth, watching, watching, while the letters that had cost much money
and a man's life were swiftly reduced to ashes. When only the charred
and blackened paper remained, Colonel Grey took the ashes up in his
hands and crumbled them to powder. He drew a long breath of relief.
"They've cost dear," he muttered,--"too dear... But they'll do no more
harm."
He rose and, turning, stared into the young man's eyes.
"A moment since," he said, and his voice trembled with an emotion he
could not altogether subdue, "it seemed to me that nothing mattered
outside that," and he pointed to the ashes in the grate. "Now I'm back
in the world again, and I want to know how you came to have them in your
possession."
"It's a fairly long story," Hayhurst said. "It's taken weeks to bring
to a successful issue."
The Colonel shook his head.
"Don't you get into the habit of drinking before breakfast, my boy," he
said.
Tom Hayhurst laughed. His eye had certainly travelled towards a syphon
and bottle of whisky that stood on the washstand.
"You don't know what I've been through," he said. "Besides, I have
breakfasted. And I've been strict teetotal practically ever since I've
been working with Lawless. It was a condition he made in taking me on."
The Colonel went to the washstand to cleanse his hands.
"Pity to break it," he said. "But help yourself, if you've a mind to."
When he had washed he got back into bed, and Hayhurst sat on a chair
facing him, with a glass of whisky in his hand.
"We'll have to go back to the beginning," he said, "if you want to
follow the yarn--that is, to the time when Lawless left Cape Town before
poor Simmonds' murder. You may remember he left Cape Town with a
companion."
"I do," Colonel Grey answered drily. "I have reason to remember."
"So have I," Hayhurst rejoined.
"Indeed!"
"You see, I was with him," he explained, taking pleasure in the
Colonel's open amazement. "We were in Stellenbosch together."
"You!--With that she--"
"Devil," prompted the young man cheerfully. "Yes! She wasn't half a
bad sort either. You mustn't call her names. I've a sneaking affection
for her."
"I can imagine you would have."
The Colonel snipped a fresh cigar, and lighted it, and lay with his
hands clasped behind his head eyeing the youngster curiously as, in
obedience to a nod, he helped himself from the box of cigars that stood
on the table beside the bed.
"I suppose you wouldn't believe me," he hazarded, "if I were to tell you
that that was the most platonic friendship Grit Lawless ever indulged
in?"
"I should say that your ideas and mine of platonism were widely
different," was the response.
Hayhurst laughed.
"Did you ever see the lady at close quarters?" he asked.
"No... And have no wish to."
"I fancy you are labouring under a mistake... You are looking at her
now."
He stroked his clean-shaven lip to hide his amusement, and his blue eyes
smiled at the Colonel, who, in incredulous amazement, stared back at him
from the pillow.
"I never reckoned myself an effeminate-looking fellow," he said; "but
I'm a tremendous success in petticoats--though it took a thundering lot
of paint, no matter how carefully I shaved."
"You lying young devil!" the Colonel ejaculated. "I don't believe a
word of it."
"Van Bleit wouldn't either," Hayhurst answered, calmly sipping his
whisky, "if I hadn't changed my sex in front of him. I left him my hair
as a keepsake... His friendship wasn't as platonic as old Grit's."
The Colonel half sat up as a light broke in on him.
"And that," he exclaimed with conviction, "is how you got hold of the
letters?"
"No." Tom Hayhurst leant forward with his hand on the counterpane, his
boyish face flushed and eager. "All the credit for getting hold of the
letters belongs to Lawless," he said. "I was merely the decoy for
leading Van Bleit into his hands. He managed the rest. He's fine, Grit
Lawless--a man... a white man. My conscience! you ought to have been
with us yesterday and seen him handle Van Bleit."
He furnished a description of the scene on the veld, and the Colonel
listened in silence, save for an occasional appreciative grunt.
"And I left him," the boy finished admiringly, "guarding the beast. He
might have put a bullet into him and saved himself the trouble; instead
of which I expect he has been sitting by him all night. I tell you,
when Grit undertakes a thing he doesn't half do it."
Colonel Grey looked thoughtfully at the speaker. He was remembering how
at their last meeting Lawless had said to him, with reference to Van
Bleit, that he was keener on killing the man than anything else.
"I wouldn't be too sure," he said, "that he didn't put his bullet into
him after you were gone."
But Tom Hayhurst had no doubts on that head.
"Grit isn't the man to shoot another with his hands tied, and unarmed,"
he said. "He wouldn't even lash him so, although I wanted him to. I've
got a blunter sense of honour, I suppose; but I don't believe in being
generous to swine like Karl Van Bleit."
"No," the Colonel agreed.
He smoked for a few moments in silence. Then he put the end of the
cigar down in the ashtray, and flung back the bedclothes.
"You say you've breakfasted! It must have been a fairly early meal.
You'd better stay and breakfast with me. When do you suppose Lawless
will be coming down?"
"To-night, I expect. He didn't say. But there's nothing to keep him
there. I shall meet the train anyway."
"I'd like to see him." The Colonel frowned thoughtfully. "Pity!" he
said. "I'm dining out to-night--at the Smythes'. If it had been any
other house I would have sent an excuse. But, owing to the trial,
things have been a bit strained. To-night will be the first time I have
been to the house since that affair... I can't very well get out of
it."
"Leave early, sir," Hayhurst suggested, "and come round to his hotel."
"And suppose he shouldn't arrive?"
"Oh! he'll arrive right enough... If he doesn't, I'll manage to let you
know."
There was no happier man in Cape Town that day than Colonel Grey when he
went into the city and cabled Home to the person it most concerned the
news of success. It had taken months to accomplish at a terrific cost,
but the matter was ended, and the incriminating letters were beyond
reach for any purpose evil or the reverse.
Because his conscience accused him of having misjudged the man, quite as
much as in recognition of his valuable services, he determined to use
his influence with the greater influence behind him in getting Lawless
some honourable occupation that would give him a fresh start. There was
use in the world for men like that. The idea grew in his mind and took
definite shape. He decided to talk it over with Lawless when they met
and then write home. Whatever his past, he merited some consideration
for his present services. The impulse of the moment is no correct index
to a man's nature, and only a crude sense of justice assigns life-long
punishment for the sins of youth. In Colonel Grey's opinion Grit
Lawless had expiated his crime.
He went to the Smythes' that evening with his thoughts still revolving
around Lawless' future, which quite suddenly had become of immense
importance to him. It was his liking for the man, that strange
unaccountable feeling he had had for him at their first meeting which,
despite prejudice and later distrust, he had never managed to conquer,
that made him so extraordinarily anxious to hold out a helping hand.
Simmonds, the man who was dead, had had a similar regard for him; and
the boy, Tom Hayhurst, in a more exaggerated degree realised the
magnetic attraction of his personality. Given a second chance. Colonel
Grey was fully convinced that Lawless would carve out a future for
himself of which no man need be ashamed. It remained for him to see
that a suitable chance offered.
By an odd coincidence the first person he came across in the Smythes'
drawing-room after greeting his hostess was Mrs Lawless. He was, he
discovered later, to take her in to dinner. He had not seen her to
speak to since the evening he had called upon her at the time of
Simmonds' murder, and he was not quite sure until she turned and spoke
to him how he stood in her regard.
She was looking very lovely, but older, he decided. He had never
observed anyone age as she had within a few months. There were lines in
her face that had not been there when he first knew her, and her eyes
were sadder, her bearing altogether less confident. Some people might
have considered her less attractive on this account; but to him, in the
clouded expression of the thoughtful eyes, in the thin line that ran
from nose to mouth, there was a pathetic appeal that was infinitely
womanly, and therefore more alluring than the proud defiance of youth.
She held out her hand to him, and smiled a welcome.
"I began to think that you and I were not to meet again," she said.
"That is a very gracious speech," he answered, "for it permits me the
belief that you were not unwilling for a meeting. But there is a grim
suggestion underlying the words that pleases me less. Is it my speedy
dissolution you anticipate?"
"No," she answered quietly. "But--I thought you might have heard--I'm
going Home."
"Indeed!" he said, and looked at her with quickened interest. "That's
news to me. Do you leave shortly?"
"Next week," she replied slowly, her fingers entwining themselves in the
silver girdle at her waist. "I never intended to stay very long, you
know. I came to... Just on a visit."
"And you return satisfied?" he asked, and knew not why he asked the
question, nor why she should look at him so strangely with so sad an
expression in the look.
"No," she replied.
There was a perceptible pause. He pulled his heavy moustache, and his
shrewd eyes met hers with a look of understanding and sympathy. He did
not know what her purpose had been in coming out, but he felt she had
followed no idle whim, nor sought merely health or pleasure from the
visit. She had come, as he had come, for a definite purpose, and while
he was leaving with his mission accomplished, she returned discouraged
with her object unattained.
"I'm sorry for that," he said... "If there is any way in which I can be
of service to you..."
She shook her head.
"I go back as I came," she said... "It was a venture. But at least I
have the consolation of knowing that the attempt has been made. One
can't help one's failures." She looked into the grave, distinguished
face and smiled. "We are in danger of growing serious," she said.
"Look here," he cried quickly, moved by some inexplicable and
irresistible impulse, a sense of chivalry perhaps that her evident
depression roused in him. "You say you are going home next week. I
propose going also. If I can make my arrangements in the time, would it
be agreeable to you that I should travel in the same boat?"
"You!" Her voice as well as her face expressed astonishment. "Then
you--Have you accomplished your purpose in coming out?" she asked.
A glow of satisfaction overspread his features.
"I have," he answered, and was conscious of feeling half ashamed to show
his joy in the successful issue of his undertaking.
She rested her hand, oblivious of the people about them, for a moment on
his arm.
"Oh! I'm glad," she said... "I'm glad. That's finished with. I have
always felt those letters would cost another life."
"God forbid!" he muttered, and added reassuringly: "They're past doing
harm now... They're destroyed. I burnt them myself--to-day."
She drew a long breath that was, he felt, a sigh of genuine relief. He
looked at her curiously. He had never understood her interest in the
letters, but he knew she was very greatly interested; and her relief in
the knowledge of their destruction conclusively proved that in this
matter at least she had no sympathy with Karl Van Bleit. He sometimes
wondered whether he had not been mistaken in his opinion as to her
feeling for Van Bleit.
"They are making a move," he said to her. And then, as Theodore Smythe
spoke to him in passing, he turned to her and offered her his arm. "I
have the pleasure of taking you in," he added.
And neither of them remembered, then or later, that his question as to
travelling Home with her remained unanswered.
Colonel Grey left the Smythes' early as he had arranged to do, and Mrs
Lawless, who was going on elsewhere, took her departure at the same
time.
"I am crowding all the dissipation possible into my last week," she
explained, but withheld the reason for this feverish activity.
He gave her his arm and led her out to the waiting motor. As he came
out of the gate Tom Hayhurst, who had been dawdling about for him for
the past half-hour, stepped quickly forward; then seeing who was with
him stopped abruptly, and drew back. But Mrs Lawless had seen and
recognised him.
"Mr Hayhurst!" she exclaimed, in a voice of surprise, and held out her
hand.
"You were going to cut me," she said, as he came forward again.
He laughed self-consciously. He was a fool for harbouring malice.
Whatever part she had played in the matter of his broken head, she was
an alluringly beautiful woman, and that in his opinion excused a great
deal.
"Pardon!" he returned. "I was merely diffident as to my welcome."
She suddenly smiled.
"I rather suspect," she said, "that you are accustomed to being
forgiven. I haven't any faith in your diffidence."
Hayhurst opened the door of the car for her and she got in.
"How is it you are not in evening dress? If you had been I would have
taken you on to the subscription dance, which is where you ought to be,
instead of hanging about other people's doorways."
"If I'd only known sooner..." he murmured regretfully.
She looked at Colonel Grey, who, grave and silent, stood behind the
younger man.
"Can I drop you anywhere?" she asked.
"Thank you, no," he answered. "I've an engagement with Mr Lawless at
his hotel."
Mrs Lawless started.
"He hasn't come, sir," she heard Tom Hayhurst saying. And then, in
reply to an inaudible question: "I met the train. He wasn't there. Van
Bleit came by it."
There was a muttered exclamation from the Colonel, and Hayhurst added:
"Yes! I don't like the look of it myself."
"Well, tell me presently."
The words were spoken as a caution. Mrs Lawless leaned forward over
the door, the light of the street lamp shining on her white face.
"Tell him now," she said in a low voice. "I want to hear."
Hayhurst stared back at her.
"There's nothing to tell," he stammered. "We expected Lawless by the
train this evening... He didn't come. That's all."
"Where is he?" she asked.
"At Kraaifontein."
She thought for a moment.
"And Karl Van Bleit was at Kraaifontein too?"
"Yes... He's back now."
Mrs Lawless looked straight into the Colonel's eyes.
"He got the letters for you," she said, and he knew that she referred to
Lawless though she did not utter his name.
"Yes."
For the life of him the Colonel could think of nothing further to say.
He was aware that the same suspicion that was in his own mind was in
hers; and he had no reassurance to offer. He could find no word to
supplement his bald affirmative. The pause lengthened.
"Another life!" she whispered... "I always felt--"
She touched Tom Hayhurst's sleeve.
"Tell him to drive home," she said, and sat back in her seat.
Colonel Grey stepped quickly to the door.
"Don't worry," he said... "I'm going up to-morrow... I'll let you know
immediately."
The car drove away, and the two men were left staring blankly into one
another's eyes.
"What's he to her?" Tom Hayhurst asked.
But the Colonel shook his head. Here was a complication he had not
foreseen. They turned and walked on together. Hayhurst was excited and
inclined to hunt up Van Bleit and have an explanation, but his companion
quashed the idea.
"You are positive, I suppose, it was Van Bleit you saw?"
"Of course I am. I got quite close to him once, and he grinned at me.
I tell you, I didn't like that grin. I followed after him. I wanted to
hit his face for showing his teeth at me, but he got into a taxi and
drove off. He was looking sick too, beastly sick... There's been foul
play,--I'm certain of it. I'd have suspected it by Van Bleit turning up
and Grit not; but when I saw that beast's smug, vindictive grin, I knew
it."
"Well, I'll find out to-morrow," Colonel Grey said.
"I'm going up the line with you. If anything's happened to Grit,
whatever hole Van Bleit sneaks into, I'll see he pays."