KICKED OUT
Reginald Henson had had more than one unpleasant surprise lately,
but none so painful as the sight of Lord Littimer seated in the
Longdean Grange drawing-room with the air of a man who is very much
at home indeed.
The place was strangely changed, too. There was an air of neatness and
order about the room that Henson had never seen before. The dust and dirt
had absolutely vanished; it might have been the home of any ordinary
wealthy and refined people. And all Lady Littimer's rags and patches had
disappeared. She was dressed in somewhat old-fashioned style, but
handsomely and well. She sat beside Littimer with a smile on her face.
But the cloud seemed to have rolled from her mind; her eyes were clear,
if a little frightened. From the glance that passed between Littimer and
herself it was easy to see that the misunderstanding was no more.
"You are surprised to see me here?" said Littimer.
Henson stammered out something and shrank towards, the door. Littimer
ordered him back again. He came with a slinking, dogged air; he avoided
the smiling contempt in Enid's eyes.
"My presence appears to be superfluous," he said, bitterly.
"And mine appears to be a surprise," Littimer replied. "Come, are you not
glad to see me, my heir and successor? What has become of the old
fawning, cringing smile? Why, if some of your future constituents could
see you now they might be justified in imagining that you had done
something wrong. Look at yourself."
Littimer indicated a long gilt mirror on the opposite wall. Henson
glanced at it involuntarily and dropped his eyes. Could that abject,
white-faced sneak be himself? Was that the man whose fine presence and
tender smile had charmed thousands? It seemed impossible.
"What have I done?" he asked.
"What have you not done?" Littimer thundered. "In the first place you did
your best to ruin Hatherly Bell's life. You robbed me of a picture to do
so, and your friend Merritt tried to rob me again. But I have both those
pictures now. You did that because you were afraid of Bell--afraid lest
he should see through your base motives. And you succeeded for a time,
for the coast was clear. And then you proceeded to rob me of my son by
one of the most contemptible tricks ever played by one man on another. It
was you who stole the money and the ring; you who brought about all that
sorrow and trouble by means of a forgery. But there are other people on
your track as well as myself. You were at your last gasp. You were coming
to see me to sell that ring for a large sum to take you out of the
country, and then you discovered that you hadn't really got the ring."
"What--what are you talking about?" Henson asked, feebly.
"Scoundrel!" Littimer cried. "Innocent and pure to the last. I know all
about Van Sneck and those forgeries of Prince Rupert's ring. And I know
how Van Sneck was nearly done to death in Mr. Steel's house; and I know
why--good heavens! It seems impossible that I could have been deceived
all these years by such a slimy, treacherous scoundrel. And I might have
gone on still but for a woman--"
"A lady detective," Henson sneered. "Miss Lee."
Littimer smiled. It was good, after all, to defeat and hoodwink
the rascal.
"Miss Chris Henson," he said. "It never occurred to you that Miss Chris
and Miss Lee were one and the same person. You never guessed. And she
played with you as if you had been a child. How beautifully she exposed
you over those pictures. Ah, you should have seen your face when you saw
the stolen Rembrandt back again in its place. And after that you were mad
enough to think that I trusted you. My dear, what shall we do with this
pretty fellow?"
Lady Littimer shook her head doubtfully. It was plain that the presence
of Henson disturbed her. There was just a suggestion of the old madness
in her eyes.
"Send him away," she said. "Let him go."
"Send him away by all means," Littimer went on. "But letting him go is
another matter. If we do the police will pick him up on other charges.
There is a certain consolation in knowing that his evil career is likely
to be shortened by some years. But I shall have no mercy. Scotland Yard
shall know everything."
There was a cold ring in Littimer's voice that told Henson of his
determination to carry out his threat. The other troubles he might
wriggle out of, but this one was terribly real. It was time to try
conciliation.
"It will be a terrible scandal for the family, my lord," he whined.
Littimer rose to his feet. A sudden anger flared into his eyes. He was a
smaller man than Henson, but the latter cowed before him.
"You dog!" he cried. "What greater scandal than that of the past few
years? Does not all the world know that there is, or has been, some heavy
cloud over the family honour? Lord and Lady Littimer have parted, and her
ladyship has gone away. That is only part of what the gossips have said.
And in these domestic differences it is always the woman who suffers.
Everybody always says that the woman has done something wrong. For years
my wife has been under this stigma. If she had chosen to keep before the
world after she left me most people would have ignored her. And you talk
to me of a family scandal!"
"You will only make bad worse, my lord."
"No," Littimer cried. "I am going to make bad infinitely better. We come
together again, but we say nothing of the past. And the world sneers and
says the past is ignored for politic considerations. And so the public
is going to know the truth, you dog. The whole facts of the case have
gone to my solicitor, and by this time to-morrow a warrant will be
issued against you. And I shall stand in open court and tell the whole
world my story."
"In fairness to Lady Littimer," said Enid, speaking for the first time,
"you could do no less."
"You were always against me," Henson snarled
"Because I always knew you," said Enid. "And the more I knew of you the
greater was my contempt. And you came here ever on the same
errand--money, money, money. From first to last you have robbed my aunt
of something like £70,000. And always by threats or the promise that you
would some day restore the ring to the family."
"As to the ring," Henson protested, "I swear--"
"I suppose a lie more or less makes no difference to an expert like
yourself," Enid went on, with cold contempt. "You took advantage of my
aunt's misfortunes. Ah, she is a different woman since Lord Littimer came
here. But her sorrow has crushed her down, and that forgery of the ring
you dangled before her eyes deceived her."
"I never showed her the ring," Henson said, brazenly.
"And you can look me in the face and say that? One night Lady Littimer
snatched it from you and ran into the garden. You followed and struggled
for the ring. And Mr. David Steel, who stood close by, felled you to the
earth with a blow on the side of your head. I wonder he didn't kill you.
I should have done so in his place. And yet it would be a pity to hang
anyone for your death. See here!"
Enid produced the ring from her pocket. Lord Littimer looked at it
intently.
"Have you seen this before, my dear?" he asked his wife.
"Many a time," Lady Littimer said, sadly. "Take it away, it reminds me of
too many bitter memories. Take it out of my sight."
"An excellent forgery," Littimer murmured. "A forgery calculated
to deceive many experts even. I will compare it with the original
by and by."
Henson listened with a sinking feeling at his heart. Was it possible, he
wondered, that Lord Littimer had really recovered the original? He had
had hopes of getting it back even now, and making it the basis of terms
of surrender. Lady Littimer snatched the ring from Littimer's grasp and
threw it through the open window into the garden.
She stood up facing Henson, her head thrown back, her eyes flaming with a
new resolution. It seemed hardly possible to believe that this fine,
handsome woman with the white hair could be the poor demented creature
that the others once had known.
"Reginald Henson, listen to me," she cried. "For your own purpose you
cruelly and deliberately set out to wreck the happiness of several lives.
For mere money you did this; for sheer love of dissipation you committed
this crime. You nearly deprived me of my reason. I say nothing about the
money, because that is nothing by comparison. But the years that are lost
can never come back to me again. When I think of the past and the past of
my poor, unhappy boy I feel that I have no forgiveness for you. If
you--Oh, go away; don't stay here--go. If I had known you were coming I
should have forbidden you the house. Your mere presence unnerves me.
Littimer, send him away."
Littimer rose to his feet and rang the bell.
"You will be good enough to rid me of your hateful presence," he said,
"at once; now go."
But Henson still stood irresolute. He fidgeted from one foot to the
other. He seemed to have some trouble that he could find no
expression for.
"I want to go away," he murmured. "I want to leave the country. But at
the present moment I am practically penniless. If you would advance me--"
Littimer laughed aloud.
"Upon my word," he said, "your coolness is colossal. I am going to
prosecute you, I am doing my best to bring you into the dock. And you ask
me--_me_, of all men--to find you money so that you can evade justice!
Have you not had enough--are you never satisfied? Williams, will you see
Mr. Henson off the premises?"
The smiling Williams bowed low.
"With the greatest possible pleasure, my lord," he said. "Any further
orders, my lord?"
"And he is not to come here again, you understand." Williams seemed to
understand perfectly. With one backward sullen glance Henson quitted the
room and passed into the night with his companion. Williams was whistling
cheerfully, with his hands thrust deep into his pockets.
"Is that how you treat a gentleman?" Henson demanded.
"I ain't a gentleman," Williams said. "Never set up to be. And I ain't a
dirty rascal who has just been kicked out of a nobleman's house. Here,
stop that. Try that game on again and I'll call the dogs. And don't show
me any of your airs, please. I'm only a servant, but I am an honest man."
Henson stifled his anger as best he could. He was too miserable and
downcast to think of much besides himself at present. Once the
lodge-gates were open, Williams stood aside for him to pass. The
temptation was irresistible. And Henson's back was turned. With a kick of
concentrated contempt and fury Williams shot Henson into the road, where
he landed full on his face. His cup of humiliation was complete.