But that he held the key to it in the shape of Violet's communication,
the reserve, not to say coldness, of his reception by the family, would
have astonished Sellon not a little. Now, however, it in no wise
disconcerted him; rather, it struck him in the light of a joke. He had
got his cue, and meant to act up to it.
So when his somewhat involuntary host asked if he would mind giving him
a private interview, he replied with the jolliest laugh in the world--
"Certainly, certainly, my dear fellow. Delighted, Well, Miss Effie"--as
that young person ran against them in the hall--"here I am, back again
to tease you, you see."
"Where's Uncle Renshaw, Mr Sellon?" said the child.
Maurice stared. The straight question--the straight look accompanying
it, disconcerted him for a moment.
"Renshaw! Oh, coming on," he answered quickly, "coming on. Be here
soon, I dare say."
He had made the same sort of reply to the same inquiry on the part of
his host. He thought he had done with the subject. It irritated him to
be called upon to repeat the same lie over and over again.
"By the way, Mr Sellon," began the latter, "did you get the letter I
sent you at Maraisdorp?"
"Mister Sellon!" Maurice started. Old Chris, was taking the thing
seriously indeed, he thought with an inward laugh.
"Not I," he answered. "Probably for the best of all possible reasons.
I didn't come through Maraisdorp, or anywhere near it."
"Before going any further, I want you to look at this," said Selwood,
unlocking a small safe and taking out the unfortunate missive. "Wait--
excuse me one moment, I want you to look attentively at the direction
first."
He still held the envelope. Maurice took one glance at the address--the
handwriting--and as he did so his face was not pleasant to behold.
"All right. I know that calligraphy well enough. Ought to by this
time. Ha, ha! So she has been favouring you with her peculiar views on
things in general and me in particular. You ought to feel honoured."
"I? Favouring me?" echoed the other, in a state of amazement.
"Yes--you. I suppose the communication is an interesting one."
"My dear Sellon, look at the address again," said Christopher, handing
him the envelope.
"By Jove! It's for me, after all," looking at it again. "What a treat!
Why the devil can't the woman write legibly!" he muttered. Then aloud:
"Why, it looks exactly as if it was addressed to you, Selwood."
"Ha! I am very glad indeed to hear you say that. I thought the same.
You see, I'd got it mixed up among a crowd of other letters, and opened
it by mistake."
"The devil you did!"
"Yes. I can only tell you how sorry I am, and how I have spent life
cursing my blundering asinine stupidity ever since. But there is
another thing. I feel bound in honour to tell you that I didn't become
aware of the mistake until I had run my eye down the first page. You
will notice there is no beginning. I turned to the signature for
enlightenment; but between the first page and the signature I did not
read a word."
Sellon burst into a roar of laughter--apparently over the mistake, in
reality as he realised how quickly he would be in a position to turn the
enemy's flank.
"My dear fellow, don't say another word about it. The joke is an
exceedingly rich one. See what comes of our names being so infernally
alike. Two Sells--eh? But you don't suppose I am going to share in
your entertainment over this charming epistle? Not much. Just oblige
me with a match."
"Wait, wait," cried the other. "Better read it this time--or, at any
rate, as much of it as it was my misfortune to see."
"H'm! Well, here goes," said Maurice, jerking the letter out of the
envelope as though it would burn his fingers, "Quite so," he went on,
with a bitter sneer, running his eye down the sheet. "That's about
enough of this highly entertaining document, the rest can be taken as
read, like a petition to the House of Commons. That match, if you
please. Thanks. I need hardly remind you, Selwood," he went on,
watching the flaming sheet curling up in the grate, "I need hardly
remind you how many men there are in this world who marry the wrong
woman. I dare say I needn't remind you either that a considerable
percentage of these are entrapped and defrauded into the concern by lies
and deception, against which it is next to impossible for any man to
guard--at all events any young man. When to this I add that there are
women in this world who for sheer, gratuitous, uniform fiendishness of
disposition could give the devil points and beat him at an easy canter.
I think I've said about enough for all present purposes."
"This is an awkward and most unpleasant business," said Selwood.
"Excuse me if I feel bound to refer once more to that letter. The--er--
writer makes reference by name to Miss Avory, who is a guest in my
house, and a relation of my wife's--and that, too, in a very
extraordinary manner, to put it as mildly as I can."
"My dear fellow, that's a little way of hers. I can assure you I am
most awfully put out that you should have been annoyed about the
business. As to the mistake, don't give it another thought."
"How did Mrs--er--the writer--know Miss Avory was here?"
This was a facer--not so much the question as the fact that the
knowledge of Violet's whereabouts on the part of the writer implied that
he, Sellon, had not met her there at Sunningdale for the first time.
But he hoped the other might not notice this side of it.
"That's beyond me," he answered. "How did she know I was here? For I
need hardly tell you we don't correspond every mail exactly. I can only
explain it on the score that more people know Tom Fool than T.F. knows;
that there are, I suppose, people in this neighbourhood who hail from
the old country, or have relations there, and the postage upon gossip is
no higher than that upon business."
"You will not mind my saying that it is a pity we did not know you were
a married man."
"`Had been,' you should have said, not `were.' Not but what legally I
am still tied up fast enough--chained and bound--which has this
advantage, that it keeps a man from all temptation to make a fool of
himself a second time in his life. Still, it doesn't count otherwise."
"No, I suppose not," said the other, significantly. "Perhaps it doesn't
keep a man from making a fool of other people, though."
"Now, my dear Selwood, what the very deuce are you driving at? For
Heaven's sake let us be straight and open with each other."
"Well, I mean this. It's a most unpleasant thing to have to say to any
man. But, you see, Miss Avory is our guest, and a relation as well.
You must know as well as I do that your attentions to her were very--
er--marked."
One of those jolly laughs which has so genuine a ring, and which Maurice
knew so well when to bring in, greeted this speech.
"Look here, Selwood," he said, "I don't want to hurt your feelings, but
the fact is you don't understand women in the least. You are quite on
the wrong tack, believe me. Miss Avory doesn't care the ghost of a
straw for me, or my `attentions.' You must remember that we both knew--
er--the same people in England. There, you must fill in the outline. I
am not at liberty to say more. But there won't be much time to put the
matter to the test, for I've got to leave you again to-morrow."
To Christopher Selwood's honourable mind no doubt suggested itself as to
the genuineness of this explanation. There was a frank
straightforwardness about it which, with a man of his character, was
bound to tell. He felt intensely relieved. But to this feeling there
succeeded one of humiliation. Had he not made an inordinate fuss over
the concern at the start? Had he not raised a veritable storm in a
teapot, and set everybody by the ears for weeks? Had he not in his
anxiety to unburden himself abdicated his own mature judgment in favour
of the less reliable decision of his wife? In short, had he not made a
consummate ass of himself all round? Of course he had.
"By the way, Selwood, there is one thing I want to tell you about now we
are together," said Maurice, after a pause. "You and the others were
asking about Fanning just now. The fact is, he is not with me, but I
couldn't say so without entering into further explanations, which would
certainly have alarmed the ladies. We found our `Valley of the Eye' all
right, and a deuce of a job it was. Pheugh! I wouldn't go on that
jaunt again for twice the loot. The `Eye' is a genuine concern, I can
tell you--a splendid stone--Fanning has got it. Well, we spent the day
picking up a few other stones, and just as we were clearing out we were
attacked by a lot of Bushmen or Korannas, or whatever they were, and had
to run. By Jove! it was touch and go. They pressed us hard until dark,
and then we had to separate--to throw them off the scent, don't you see?
We agreed to meet at his place--that is, if we were to meet anywhere
again in this world. Well, I had an awful time of it in those infernal
mountains, dodging the niggers. I couldn't show my nose in the daytime,
and didn't know the country well enough to make much headway at night,
and I nearly starved. It took me more than a week before I could fetch
the river, and get through to Fanning's place, and when I got there he
hadn't turned up. But I found a letter which had been sent by special
messenger, requiring me at Cape Town, sharp, about some infernal but
important law business, and I'm on my way there now. I left a note for
Fanning, telling him what to do with my share of the swag when it came
to dividing, for we hadn't had time to attend to that then, and except a
few small stones he has it all on him. It'll be something good, I
guess. I dare say he's turned up at home again long before this. He
was just laughing in his sleeve at the idea of a few niggers like that
thinking to run him to earth. And he seems to know that awful country
like ABC. I never saw such a fellow."
"That's bad news, Sellon, right bad news," said the other, shaking his
head. "Renshaw has been all his life at that sort of thing, so we must
hope he'll turn up all right. But--the pitcher that goes too often to
the pump, you know."
"Well, I need hardly say I devoutly hope he will, for if not I shall be
the loser to a very large extent, as all the swag is with him. But I
somehow feel certain we shall hear from him almost directly."
We may be sure that in narrating his adventures that evening to the
household at large Sellon in no wise minimised his experiences of the
undertaking, or his own exploits. It is only fair to say that he really
had undergone a very hard time before he had succeeded in striking the
river at the drift where they had crossed; and, indeed, it was more by
good luck than management that he had reached it at all. And during his
narrative one listener was noting every word he said, with breathless
attention. Whenever he looked up, Marian Selwood's blue eyes were fixed
upon his face. He began to feel very uncomfortable beneath that steady
searching gaze.
But he felt more so when, his story finished, Marian began to ply him
with questions. "A regular cross-examination, confound it!" he thought.
And then, by way of a diversion, he went to fetch the few diamonds
which he had kept apart to show as the sole result of the expedition.
These were examined with due interest.
The fact of Sellon arriving alone created no suspicion in the minds of
Selwood and his wife, nor yet uneasiness. Was he not a newly imported
Briton--and to that extent a greenhorn? If he could find his way out
and successfully dodge his pursuers, was it likely that a seasoned
adventurer such as Renshaw would fare any worse? So on the latter's
account they felt but small anxiety.
Not so Marian, however. A terrible suspicion had taken shape within her
mind during Sellon's narrative. "He has murdered him!" was her
conclusion. "He has murdered him," she repeated to herself during a
night of sleepless agony--such as a strong concentrative nature will
sometimes be called upon to undergo. But she kept her suspicions to
herself--for the present, at any rate. She was helpless. What could
she do? There was nothing to go upon.
Then, on the morrow, Sellon took his departure, as he had announced his
intention of doing, and the equanimity with which the circumstance was
regarded by Violet, together with their indifferent demeanour towards
each other on the previous evening, completely lulled any suspicions
which might have lingered in Christopher Selwood's mind; confirming as
it did the other's frank and straightforward explanation.
For his wife had not yet told him all that had transpired between
herself and Violet.