ON BOARD THE "SPHINX"
Brett glanced over the supper-table, laid for two, with an experienced
eye. The lights, shining down upon dainty silver and crystal, added a more
lustrous sheen to the crimson petals, like fringed velvet, of a bowl of
exquisite deep-red carnations, and flickered gaily on the bright neck of a
gold-foiled bottle which twinkled in the midst of the cool greyness of a
pail of ice.
Satisfied with his inspection, Brett gave a little nod of approval. His
manservant, Achille Dupont, who accompanied him wherever he went, had all
a Frenchman's quick grasp of a situation, he reflected. Moreover, the man
possessed the invaluable faculty of getting on well with the members of the
yacht's company, so that his coming on board with his master and waiting on
him exclusively failed to create any resentment. In addition to this, he
was dowered with the golden gift of discretion. Achille never suffered from
a misplaced curiosity concerning his master's doings. He accepted them
blandly, and although Brett supposed there would be a certain amount of
gossip on board the yacht concerning this night's doings, he felt serenely
sure that Achille himself would preserve a strict reticence concerning
anything that he might chance to observe or overhear in the performance of
his duty of serving the supper.
The clock had struck nine some few minutes ago, and Brett pictured the
dinghy slipping over the smooth water with Ann, hooded and cloaked, sitting
in the stern. He could almost visualise her young, tense-lipped face with
its courageous eyes gazing ahead into the darkness. She would have need
of all her courage before the evening was over. That he admitted. But he
comforted himself with the reflection, that, whatever happened, she had
brought it on herself. She had refused to marry him, while he was fully
determined that she should be his wife. In a way, he felt distinctly
resentful that her obstinacy had driven him into employing such methods
as he proposed to use to-night.
The door opened, and to the accompaniment of a respectful murmur of
"_Mademoiselle est arrivée_" from Achille, a woman's figure, shrouded in
furs and with a scarf twisted round her head, slipped past the Frenchman,
and stood poised just inside the threshold as though uncertain whether to
stay or go. Achille retired and closed the door noiselessly behind him,
thus deciding the matter.
"Ann!" cried Brett triumphantly. "I wondered--I half doubted whether you
would come, after all! Let me help you," he added quickly, as the woman
threw back the fur wrap she was wearing, and with a deft movement,
untwisted the scarf from her hair.
"It's not Ann," said a cool feminine voice, and with a swift turn of her
wrist the visitor drew the swathing scarf aside and revealed the small dark
head and pansy-purple eyes of the lady from the Priory.
Brett fell back a pace, his face wearing an expression of such blank
amazement that for a moment Cara could hardly refrain from laughing out
loud. But he recovered himself with surprising quickness, and looked her
up and down with characteristic coolness.
"I don't think I remember inviting you for to-night," he said slowly.
"No," she replied. "I've come instead of Ann. Brett, you had no right to
ask her here."
His eyes flashed wickedly, but he preserved his coolness.
"That, I think, is my business," he responded.
"It's not." A note of deep feeling came into her voice. "It's the
business of every one who cares for Ann to protect her from her own rash
unselfishness. Just to please yourself, you asked her to come here, without
a thought as to how it would affect her reputation--how people might talk.
And you used those bills of Tony's as a lever."
"Really, your perspicacity does you credit," he returned ironically. "I
saw no other way of getting her here, so, as you truthfully remark, I used
those bits of paper as a lever."
"Well"--quickly. "I've come for those bits of paper, as you call them."
Brett shook his head regretfully.
"I never made any bargain to give them to--you, even though you have
condescended to honour the _Sphinx_ with your presence to-night," he said.
Cara approached the table.
"No. I didn't expect them in return for that," she replied. "I'm proposing
to give you the usual return for notes of hand--payment of the amount
owing."
To make this proposal had been her intention when she had first suggested
to Ann that she should take her place as Forrester's guest. She had not
dared to offer the necessary money as an outright loan, realising that
the girl would have refused it on Tony's behalf peremptorily, so she had
inwardly resolved to redeem the bills Brett held without consulting her.
She opened a small, ivory-mounted wrist-bag she carried, and withdrew a
bundle of crisp Bank of England notes.
"I think the sum owing is twelve hundred," she said composedly. "There's
the money. Will you count it, please, and let me have the bills Tony has
given you."
Brett stood quietly looking down at the small heap of notes, but he made no
effort to pick them up.
"I'd forgotten you were a wealthy woman," he remarked contemplatively.
Cara laughed rather bitterly.
"Heaven knows I've not found my wealth of much value to me before," she
said. "But I shall think more of it in the future if it can get a friend
out of trouble. Come, take the money, Brett, and give me the bills," she
added, with a touch of impatience.
He picked up one of the notes and fingered it thoughtfully, then replaced
it on the pile once more.
"I'm sorry," he said mildly. "But it isn't you who owe me this money. It's
Brabazon. So I can't accept repayment from you."
Cara glanced at him swiftly. Her lips felt suddenly dry.
"What do you mean?" she asked nervously.
"Just what I say. Brabazon is my debtor--you haven't authority to act for
him, by any chance, have you?"
"Authority? No. But I'm willing--I'm only too glad to be able to do this
for him."
Brett pushed the bundle of notes across the table towards her.
"I'm sorry," he repeated pensively. "It's very good of you, of course.
But I couldn't possibly take your money. I happen to be the holder of the
bills, and I only give them back to Brabazon for the amount owing--or to
Ann on the terms I suggested. Otherwise"--a sudden flame leapt up in his
eyes--"I keep them."
Cara stood as though turned to stone. The whole thing became perfectly
clear to her on the instant. It had not been just a carelessly selfish
proposal--that bargain he had made with Ann--but a deliberately thought-out
scheme. Slowly she replaced the useless notes in the little silken bag
which had held them.
"Ah! I see you understand," he observed, watching her with some amusement.
She looked at him with a desperate demand in her eyes.
"Brett, what did you mean to do? What was your plan--if Ann had come?" she
asked in a low, shaken voice.
He laughed.
"Can't you guess? Really, Cara, I think I complimented you on your
perspicacity too soon! It seems to be--halting a little, shall we
say?--now."
"You didn't ask her here just for the pleasure it would give you--there was
something else--"
"It was partly for that. I at least made sure of a few hours alone with
her!" A note of passion roughened his voice for a moment. Then he forced
it back and his blue eyes laughed at her again, audaciously. "But it was
partly for the _dis_pleasure which I thought it might give to some one
else."
"_Eliot!_"
"Even so. He's not got precisely what you'd call an equable temperament,
has he?"
"And you knew"--slowly--"that if he discovered Ann had been here--"
"Exactly"--with a mocking bow. "You've guessed it. 'The marriage
arranged'--would not take place."
Cara stared at him in frank horror.
"Then it was a trap!" she exclaimed, and beneath the utter scorn and
contempt which rang in her voice any other man would have winced. But it
affected Brett not one jot.
"Yes. And would have succeeded admirably, but for your interference. Tell
me, how did you persuade Ann not to come? It isn't like her to back out of
a bargain."
"No, it isn't," agreed Cara warmly. "Ann would always keep her word--even
if the keeping of it half killed her."
"Then how?"
There was a suspicion of veiled triumph in her smile.
"It was quite simple," she said. "I sent her a wire, saying, 'Don't come
to-night'--and signed it 'Forrester.'"
Brett burst out laughing.
"My felicitations! That was quite a stroke after my own heart! But still,
you'll agree, it was rather a liberty to take with my name, wasn't it?"
"A liberty? Perhaps. But you were trying to _ruin_ Ann's name--and her
happiness. Won't you change your mind, Brett, and sell me those notes of
hand?" she added, with a sudden entreaty.
"I hate refusing you," he smiled back.
She realised the futility of pleading with him further, and drew her furs
round her shoulders preparatory to leaving him.
"Then I'll go back. I'm sorry I've failed. But thank God I at least
prevented Ann from coming here herself."
She moved towards the door, but Brett was before her, and planted himself
with his back against it.
"Let me pass, Brett," she said quietly, though her heart beat a shade
faster in her breast.
"Again I'm sorry to refuse you," he returned mockingly.
"You can't--keep me here!"
"Can't I? If you interfere with other people's love affairs, you must be
prepared to take the consequences. In this case the consequence is supper
with me."
Cara hesitated. She could not struggle with him, and in his present mood
she thought it quite possible he might oppose with actual physical force
any attempt on her part to leave the yacht. If he did, of course, she would
be perfectly helpless. Forcing herself to a composure she was far from
feeling, she turned away from the door he was guarding with a slight shrug
of her shoulders.
"I've no wish to have supper with you," she said.
"No? Yet, after all, it's you who've despoiled me of my rightful guest," he
returned, with bland mockery in eyes and voice. "It's certainly up to you
to provide a substitute. Perhaps"--banteringly--"we might even discuss the
question of those notes of hand again--later on! A man's obstinacy
sometimes melts as the evening advances, you know."
A faint hope stirred in Cara's heart. Perhaps, if she yielded to his wishes
now, without further argument, she might be able, later on, to induce him
to reconsider his decision--to persuade him to be merciful. He seemed to
read her thoughts with an uncanny insight.
"You'll stay?" he said.
She nodded, and he helped off the heavy fur wrap she was wearing. Then he
pressed the bell-push and, when Achille appeared, gave a curt order for
supper to be served. As the Frenchman departed his quick eyes flickered a
moment over Cara's beautiful face and milk-white shoulders. Decidedly, he
reflected, his master had good taste.
The supper, as might have been expected, was a very perfectly chosen
repast, and as the meal progressed Cara was fain to acknowledge that Brett
knew how to act the part of host most charmingly. On her side she played up
pluckily, hoping that by falling in with his humour she might yet win the
odd trick of the game.
It was not until they had reached the coffee and cigarette stage that he
reverted to the avowed object of her visit to the yacht.
"It was really rather a sporting attempt on your part," he remarked, "even
though foredoomed to failure. Will you tell me"--curiously--"what induced
you to do it?"
"I'm very fond of Ann," returned Cara evasively.
He shook his head.
"I don't think that can have been all. You were running"--he regarded her
through narrowed lids--"a pretty big risk, and you're woman of the world
enough to know it. You are quite at my mercy, you see. A woman doesn't run
that kind of risk--for another woman." He leaned across the little table,
his compelling blue eyes concentrated on her face. "Do tell me why you did
it?"
For a moment she was silent. Then, lifting her eyes to meet his, she said
simply:
"I did it because once--years ago--I robbed Eliot Coventry of his
happiness. I wanted to give it back to him."
"And you were prepared to risk your reputation over the job?"--swiftly.
"Yes," she answered quietly. "I was prepared."
"Then you must have felt quite convinced he was in danger of losing his
happiness--to me?"--with lightning triumph.
"Not _to_ you--through you," she corrected quietly.
"Ann would have promised to marry me to-night."
"I'm sure she would not. But it was almost inevitable that Eliot would
misunderstand--distrust her, if he learned that she had been here with
you--this evening."
Brett nodded composedly.
"Yes. And I don't think the only explanation she could have offered would
have helped her much--that it was done for the sake of Tony Brabazon! It
was a big thing for any woman to do for a man--_unless she cared for him_!
And"--he uttered a light laugh--"I fancy Coventry's jealousy of Brabazon
would have wakened up again quite quickly in the circumstances. Oh!"--with
an impatient gesture--"it was a lovely scheme--absolutely watertight, if
only you hadn't meddled!"
He looked across at her with an expression that held a droll mixture of
anger and mortification, not unlike the expression, of a child who, having
banged a new toy too ecstatically upon the floor, sees it suddenly drop to
pieces.
"Not altogether watertight," observed Cara calmly. "There was a
chance--quite a good chance, too--that Eliot might not have heard a single
word about the matter--might never have known that Ann had been here."
"Bah!"--arrogantly. "I don't leave things like that--to chance. I wasn't
taking any chances. I arranged that Coventry should know all right."
Cara started.
"What do you mean?" she demanded.
"What do I mean?" He smiled derisively. "Why, that old chap who lives at
the lodge at Heronsmere, old chap with a face like a gargoyle--Brady,
what's his name?"
"Bradley," supplied Cara.
"Yes, that's it. Bradley. A cunning old rascal, if ever there was one--he'd
sell his immortal soul for the price of a drink. I told him"--watching her
keenly while he spoke--"that his master would probably like to know that a
certain young lady in whom he was interested would be found on board the
_Sphinx_ this evening if he wanted to see her."
"You told him _that_?" gasped Cara, stricken with dismay.
"Certainly I did"--triumphantly. "And I gave him a five-pound note to jog
his memory. I don't think he'll omit to hand on the information as desired.
I should say"--glancing at the clock--"that we might expect Coventry along
at any moment now."
Cara half rose from the table. Her face was very white, her eyes dilated
with horror.
"Perhaps--perhaps he won't come--won't believe it," she stammered faintly,
with a desperate hope that she might be speaking the truth.
Brett smiled unpleasantly.
"I think he'll believe it all right. I gave Bradley very clear
instructions. But, in any case," he added easily, "I'd prepared for the
possible contingency that the old fool might bungle matters."
"How?" Her voice was almost inaudible.
"Why, then, I should simply have steamed away with my honoured guest on
board. After a day or two's trip at sea, I think there'd be no question Ann
would accept me as her husband. The position would be an even more awkward
one than her predicament at the Dents de Loup. Her presence on the yacht
could hardly be explained away as an--accident"--significantly. "But I
preferred my first plan--it entailed less publicity"--with a short laugh.
Cara sprang up, her eyes blazing. In the torrent of scorn and anger which
swept over her at his duplicity--at the nonchalant recital of it all--the
embarrassment of her own situation was temporarily lost sight of.
"Brett, I think you must be absolutely devoid of any sense of right or
wrong! I never heard of anything more utterly fiendish and heartless in the
whole of my life. Have you _no_ conscience, _no_ decent feeling, that you
could plot and plan to ruin a woman's happiness as you would have ruined
Ann's? Oh! It's unbelievable! I think you must be a devil incarnate!"
He rose too, his eyes smouldering dangerously. The veneer of polished
mockery had dropped from him suddenly.
"I'm not. I'm a man in love," he said thickly. "I wanted her--God, how I
wanted her! And, but for you, I'd have succeeded. You've robbed me--robbed
me of my mate!..." His lips drew back over his teeth in a kind of snarl. "I
think you deserve to be punished," he went on slowly and significantly.
"What's to prevent my putting out to sea--now--this minute--and taking you
with me?"
"Brett--" She shrank back, suddenly terrified. His eyes were blazing with a
reckless fury--mad eyes. She made a dart for the door, but before she could
reach it he had caught her by the arm, his strong fingers crushing deep
into her white flesh.
"Well, why not?" he jeered savagely. "You came here in Ann's place of your
own free will! Supposing you _take_ her place--altogether--"
A tap sounded on the door. Brett's hand fell away from her arm, and she
stood quiveringly waiting for what might come. After a discreet pause
Achille entered, advancing with soft, cat-like tread.
"For mademoiselle," he said, tendering a note to Cara on a salver.
As she took the note she vaguely noticed that it bore no superscription.
With trembling fingers she tore it open.
_"I hear you are on the_ Sphinx. _I'm quite sure you must have a
good reason for being there, if you are there of your own free
will. But in case you are not, and need help, I wanted you to know
I've come on board and will take you home whenever you wish,--E."_
Cara glanced across at Brett, who was watching her curiously. She slipped
the note, intended for Ann, into the bosom of her gown and turned to
Achille.
"Tell Mr. Coventry Miss Lovell is not on board the _Sphinx_," she said
quietly.
"Coventry!" broke violently from Brett. "Where is he, Achille?"
"He come in a boat from the shore, monsieur. Just now. He wait only an
answer to zis lettaire." The man bowed and retired, leaving Brett and Cara
staring at each other.
"You would not have come between Eliot and Ann, after all," she said
proudly. "Your trick would have misfired. He trusts her--absolutely."
She had hardly finished speaking when the sound of a scuffle came from the
companion-way, accompanied by a stream of voluble French. Then: "Get out
of my way!" came in good, robust English, and an instant later Eliot's big
frame appeared in the doorway.
"I want an explanation, Forrester--" he began sternly. Then fell silent,
while his senses quietly absorbed the whole scene before him--the man and
woman in evening dress, the flower-decked table with its half-emptied
coffee-cups and evidences of a recent gay little supper, the mingled scent
of cigarette smoke and carnations. Last of all, his glance, cold and
contemptuous, swept over Cara's white face.
He gave a short laugh.
"Bradley misled me," he observed coolly. "There's no one here in whom I'm
interested." For a moment his eyes--accusing, utterly scornful--met and
held Cara's. Then he looked across at Brett. "I understood you were alone,
Forrester. I regret my intrusion." With a curt bow he was gone.
As the door closed behind him Cara sank down mutely into her chair. She
gazed wearily in front of her. There was no need to ask herself what Eliot
thought. It had been written plainly in his eyes.
Presently she turned her head and looked across at Brett.
"Well?" she said tonelessly. "I hope you're satisfied. I don't think you
need bother any more about--punishing me."
The savage anger had died out of his face. He was regarding her with an odd
look of surprise. There had been no mistaking the anguish of her expression
as she had grasped Eliot's swift and cruel interpretation of the scene. She
had looked like a woman on the rack.
"So ... Coventry was the man ... before you married that bounder, Dene."
Brett spoke very quietly, like a man communing with himself, fitting
together the pieces of a puzzle.
She nodded.
"Yes," was all she said.
He sat down on the opposite side of the table and leaned forward, still
with that half-surprised curiosity on his face.
"Then why didn't you clear yourself just now? You could have done. Why on
earth didn't you explain?"
A twisted little smile tilted her mouth.
"Because--because I wanted to keep Ann out of it. Don't you see--he thinks
Bradley made a mistake. He need never know--now--that Ann even thought of
coming. I've ... made sure ... of his happiness. I took it away once. Now
I've given it back."
Brett got up abruptly. That twisted little smile hiding a supreme agony
touched him as no woman's grief had ever touched him yet.... The low,
toneless confession with its quiet immolation of self.... He put his hand
into his pocket, and, drawing out a packet of loose papers, banded together
with elastic, flung them down on to the table.
"Oh, hang!" he said gruffly. "There are the bills Brabazon gave me. By God,
you've earned them!"
Cara stretched her hand out slowly and touched the packet with hesitating
fingers.
"Do you mean this, Brett?"
"Certainly I mean it."
She stared at him almost incredulously.
"I believe you're--sorry," she said slowly.
But in that she miscalculated. Brett would be an unrepentant sinner to the
end of his days. He laughed and shook his head.
"Not in the way you mean. Frankly and honestly--Oh, yes"--catching the
faint quizzical gleam in her eyes--"I can be both when I want to. The Devil
quoting Scripture, you know! Frankly, then, I'm merely sorry that my plan
miscarried. It was a splendid plan! Its only fault was that it didn't
succeed.... But I know when I'm beaten. And you've beaten me."
A few minutes later they stood together on the deck, waiting for the dinghy
to come alongside.
"Good-night, Brett," she said, holding out her hand.
He lifted it to his lips with audacious grace.
"It will be a bad night--thanks to you!" he returned with a last flash of
mocking humour.