Fielding opened his newspaper the next morning with unusual eagerness,
and, turning to the Parliamentary reports, glanced down column after
column in search of Drake's speech. The absence of it threw him into some
consternation. He tossed the newspaper on to the breakfast-table and rose
from his seat. As he moved, however, he caught sight of Drake's name at
the beginning of a leader, and he read the leader through. It dealt with
the accusation of the _Meteor_, and expressed considerable surprise that
Drake had not seized the opportunity of denying it in the House of
Commons. It was mentioned that Drake had not been seen there at any time
during the course of the evening.
Fielding jumped to the conclusion that he had met with an accident,
and set out for his chambers on the instant. He found Drake quietly
eating his breakfast. Only half the table, however, was laid for the
meal; the other half was littered with papers and correspondence,
while a pile of stamped letters stood on one corner. 'I was expecting
you,' said Drake quietly.
'Why, what on earth has happened?' asked Fielding. 'Why didn't you speak
last night?'
'I thought it would be the wisest plan to leave the matter alone.'
'But you can't,' exclaimed Fielding. 'Read this!' and he handed to him
the newspaper. 'You can't leave it alone.'
'I can, and shall,' replied Drake, and he returned to his breakfast.
'But, my dear fellow, you can't understand what that means! Read the
leader, then.' Drake glanced quickly down it. 'Now, do you understand? It
means utter ruin, utter disgrace, unless you answer this charge, and
answer it at once. You will have created a false enough impression
already.' Drake, however, made no response beyond a shrug of his
shoulders. 'But, good Lord, man,' continued Fielding, 'your name's at
stake. You can't sit quiet as if this was an irresponsible piece of
paragraph-writing. You would have to resign your seat in Parliament, your
connection with the Matanga Company--everything. You couldn't possibly
live in England.'
'Do you think I haven't counted up precisely what inaction is going to
cost me?' interrupted Drake. 'Look here!' and he took a couple of letters
from the pile and handed them to Fielding. One was addressed to the whip
of his party, and the other to the directors of the Matanga Concessions.
'And I leave Charing Cross at ten o'clock this morning.'
Fielding looked at his watch; it was half-past nine. 'Then you mean to
run away?' he gasped. 'But, in Heaven's name, why?'
'For an obvious reason. Yesterday I believed that I could meet the
charge. But something has happened since then, and I know now that I
can't.'
Fielding started back. 'Do you mean to tell me, as man to man, that the
accusation's true.'
'As man to man,' repeated Drake steadily, 'I tell you that it is true.'
Fielding stared at him for a minute. Then he said, 'Drake, you're a
damned liar.'
'We haven't much time,' said Drake, 'and I would like to say something to
you about the future of the Matanga settlement. You will take my place, I
suppose. You can, and ought to'; and he entered at once into details on
administration.
The advice, however, was lost upon Fielding. Once he interrupted Drake.
'How many white men were with you on the Boruwimi expedition?' he asked.
'Four,' answered Drake, and he gave the names. 'They are dead, though.
Two died of fever on the way back; one was killed in a subsequent
expedition, and the fourth was drowned about eighteen months ago off
Walfisch Bay.' A noise of portmanteaux being dragged along the passage
penetrated through the closed door. Drake looked at his watch, and
started to his feet. 'I must be off,' he said; 'I am late as it is. You
might do something for me, and that is to post these letters.'
'But, man, you are not really going?'
Drake for answer put on his hat and took up his stick. 'Good-bye,' he
said.
'But, look here! Do you ask me to believe that you would have been giving
me all this advice, if you had really done what that infernal paper makes
you out to have done?'
'I'll give you a final piece of advice too. Give up philandering and
get married!'
With that he opened the door and went out, and a few seconds later
Fielding heard the sound of his cab-wheels rattle on the pavement.
Drake, on reaching Charing Cross, found that he had more time to spare
than he had reckoned. He was walking slowly along the train in search of
an empty compartment when, from a window a few paces ahead of him, a face
flashed out, and as suddenly withdrew. The face was Conway's, and Drake
felt that the sudden withdrawal meant a distinct desire to avoid
recognition. He set the desire down to the unrepulsed attack of the
_Meteor_, and since he had no inclination to force his company upon
Conway, he turned on his heel and moved towards the other end of the
train. He was just opposite the archway of the booking-office when a
woman, heavily veiled and of a slight figure, came out of it. At the
sight of Drake she came to a dead stop, and so attracted his attention.
Then she quickly turned her back to him, walked to the bookstall, and
slipped round the side of it into the waiting-room. Drake wheeled about
again. Conway's head was stretched out of the window; and he was gazing
towards the bookstall.
Drake was in no doubt as to who the woman was, and he felt his heart turn
to stone. He walked quickly back until he reached Conway's compartment.
It was empty save for him, but there was a reserved label in the window.
'Holloa!' said Conway, awkwardly enough. 'Are you going by this train?
You had better find a seat if you are.'
'But I'm not,' said Drake; 'I thought of going, but I have changed my
mind.' He leaned against the door of the carriage chatting incessantly to
Conway, with an eye upon the waiting-room. Once he saw the woman appear
at the door, but she retired again. Meanwhile Conway's embarrassment
increased. He said 'Good-bye' to Drake at least half-a-dozen times, but
on each occasion Drake had something new to say to him. At last the
whistle sounded and the train began to move. 'I say,' cried Drake,
running along by the carriage. 'My luggage is in the van. You might bring
it back with you from Dover, if you will,' and he stood watching the
train until it disappeared under the shed.
Then he walked into the waiting-room. He saw Clarice seated in a
corner, and went straight to her. She noticed that his face was white
and set, and she rose with some instinct of defiance. 'I owe you an
apology,' he said abruptly. 'The _Meteor_ is untrue from the first word
to the last. I mean to stay in London, and fight it; yesterday
afternoon I told you lies.'
'Why?' she asked.
'Sheer lunacy,' said he; and he got into a cab and drove to the offices
of his solicitor.