OR THE OBVIOUS ALTERNATIVE
"If one puts forward an idea to a true Englishman--always
a rash thing to do--he never dreams of considering
whether the idea is right or wrong. The one thing he
considers of any importance is whether one believes it
oneself.... The inherited stupidity of the race--sound
English common sense...."
OSCAR WILDE: "The Picture of Dorian Gray."
If the Seraph's quest for Sylvia was one of the strangest experiences
of my life, I count our return to London among its pleasantest
memories. Almost before I had time to cut the cords round her wrists
and ankles, I was telling myself that Joyce now lay free from the
menace of an inquisition at Adelphi Terrace. Thursday afternoon. She
had eight days to pick up sufficient strength for Maybury-Reynardson
to say I might smuggle her to Southampton and convey her on board the
S.Y. _Ariel_.... I hope I was not heartless or ungrateful in thinking
more of her than of the white, unconscious boy in front of me; there
was nothing more that I could do, and if there had been, Sylvia would
have forestalled me.
I count the return a pleasant memory for the light it threw on
Sylvia's character. Passion and pride had faded out of her dark eyes;
I could no longer call her Queen Elizabeth; but she was very tender
and remorseful to the man she had injured. This was the Sylvia of an
Oxford summer evening; I could recognise her from the Seraph's
description. I treasure the memory because it was the only glimpse I
ever caught of this side of her character; when next we met--before
her last parting from the Seraph--she had gone back to the earlier
hard haughtiness, and though I loved Sylvia at all times, I loved her
least when she was regal.
And lastly I dwell on this memory for the way she talked to me when my
tale was done. It was then she showed me the reverse side of her
relations with the Seraph, and filled in those spaces that the
manuscript narrative in Adelphi Terrace left blank. I remember most of
what she told me; their meetings and conversations, her deepening
interest, rising curiosity, growing attachment.... I had watched the
Sixth Sense as a spectator; she gave me her own curiosity--uneasiness--
belief and disbelief--ultimate uncertainty. I realised then what it
must have meant to such a girl to find a man who was conscious of her
presence at a distance and could see the workings of her mind before
they were apparent to herself in any definite form. I learned to
appreciate the thrill she must have experienced on discovering a soul
in sympathy with her own restless, volatile, hungry spirit.
I remember it all, but I will not be guilty of the sacrilege of
committing it to paper. No girl has ever spoken her heart to me as
Sylvia then spoke it; I am not sure that I want to be again admitted
to such confidences. It is all strange, and sad, and unsatisfactory;
but above all it is sacred. Her imprisonment had taken the fire out of
Sylvia's blood; and her meeting with the Seraph had worked on her
emotions. At another time she would have been more reticent. As after
our return from Oxford, I sometimes think we were punished by an
extreme of cold for having been injudiciously admitted to bask in an
extreme of heat. That is the way with the English climate, and with a
certain number of reserved, proud girls who grow up under its
influence....
I dropped Sylvia at Cadogan Square without going in, and carried the
Seraph straight back to Adelphi Terrace. Maybury-Reynardson was paying
Joyce an evening visit; the report was satisfactory so far as it went,
but indicated that we must exercise great patience before a complete
cure could be expected. I asked--on a matter of life and
death--whether she could be moved in a week's time. He preferred to
give no opinion, and reminded me that I must not attempt to see or
speak to the patient. Then I turned him over to the Seraph, ordered
myself some dinner, and went to bed.
In the morning a telephone message informed me that Arthur Roden would
like us both to go round to Cadogan Square. I answered that it was out
of the question so far as the Seraph was concerned; and it was not
till late on the Saturday afternoon that I felt justified in letting
him get out of bed and accompany me. He still looked perilously white
and ill, and though one strain had been removed by the discovery of
Sylvia, and another by the departure of the search-warrant bogey, I
could see no good purpose in his being called in to assist at an
affecting reconciliation, and having to submit to a noisy chorus of
congratulation.
We were spared both. I suppose I shall never know the true reason for
the reception that awaited us, but I distribute the responsibility in
equal shares between Lady Roden and Nigel Rawnsley. And of course I
have to keep reminding myself that I had been present at the search,
while they were not; that they were plain, matter-of-fact
materialists with a rational cause for every effect, while I--well, I
put myself out of court at once by asking them to believe in an
absurdity called a Sixth Sense.
I find it hard, however, to forgive Nigel his part in the scene that
followed; so far as I can see he was actuated first by jealousy on
Sylvia's account, secondly by personal venom against the Seraph as a
result of the unauthorised search-party, and lastly by the obstinate
anger of a strong-willed, successful egoist, who has been driven to
dwell even temporarily in the shade of unsuccess. Lady Roden, it must
never be forgotten, had to sink the memory of Rutlandshire
Morningtons, and the quarterings and armorial devices of an entire
Heralds' College, before she could be expected to do justice to a man
like the Seraph.
We were shown into the library, and found Arthur, Nigel and Philip
seated before us like the Beasts in Revelation. Lady Roden and Sylvia
entered later and sat to one side. There was much bowing and no
hand-shaking.
The story of the search was already known--Sylvia had told it as soon
as she got home, probably in my own words; and in the first, fine,
careless rapture, I have no doubt she had spoken of the Seraph in the
strain I had heard in the car. If this were the case, Lady Roden's
eyes must have been abruptly and painfully opened. I felt sorry for
her. Rutlandshire Morningtons frowned sour disfavour from the walls at
the possibility of her daughter--with her daughter's faith and
wealth--allying herself with an infidel, unknown, relationless vagrant
like Lambert Aintree. Rationalism in the person of Nigel Rawnsley was
called in to discredit the story of the search and save Sylvia from
squandering herself on a common adventurer.
"You remember the terms of our agreement last Wednesday?" he began. "I
undertook to suspend application for a search warrant...."
"If we discovered Sylvia," I said. "Yes?"
"And my sister Mavis."
I hope Nigel did not see my jaw drop. Save for the moment when I
looked casually through the other rooms in the Maidenhead bungalow I
had completely forgotten the Mavis stipulation. Every plan and hope I
had cherished in respect of Joyce had been cherished in vain.
"The time was to expire on Monday, at noon," said the Seraph.
"Exactly. I thought I would remind you that only half the undertaking
had been carried out. That is all."
Nigel would make an admirable proctor; he is to the manner born. I had
quite the old feeling of being five shillings the poorer for straying
round the streets of Oxford at night without academical dress.
I caught the Seraph's eye and made as if to rise.
"One moment," said Arthur. "There is a good deal more to come."
I folded my arms resignedly. Any one may lecture me if it amuses him
to do so, but the Seraph ought to have been in bed instead of having
to submit to examination by an old K.C.
"The question is a good deal wider," Arthur began. "You, Aintree, are
suspected of harbouring at your flat a woman who is wanted by the
police on a most serious charge...."
"I thought we'd cleared all this up on Wednesday," I said, with an
impatient glance at Nigel.
"No arrangement you may have made on Wednesday is binding on me."
"It was binding on your son, who sits on one side of you," I said,
"and on Mr. Nigel Rawnsley, who sits on the other."
Arthur drew himself up, no doubt unconsciously.
"As a Minister of the Crown I cannot be a party to any connivance at
crime."
"Philip and Nigel," I said. "As sons of Ministers of the Crown, I hope
you will take that to heart."
"What I have to say----" Arthur began.
"One moment!" I interrupted. "Are you speaking as a Minister of the
Crown or a father of a family? Sylvia's been restored to you as the
result of your son and Nigel conniving at what you hope and believe to
be a crime. You wouldn't have got her back without that immoral
compromise."
"The flat would have been searched," said Nigel.
"It was. Paddy and Gartside searched it and declared themselves
satisfied...."
"They lied."
"Will you repeat that to Gartside?" I asked invitingly. "I fancy not.
They searched and declared themselves satisfied. I offered to show the
detectives round ten minutes after--by all accounts--this woman ought
to have taken refuge there. Anybody could have searched it if they'd
approached the owner properly."
He ignored my implied reproof and stuck to his guns.
"There was a woman there when Gartside said there was not."
"Gartside only said Miss Davenant wasn't there."
It was the Seraph speaking, slowly and almost for the first time. His
face flushed crimson as he said it. I could not help looking at
Sylvia; I looked away again quickly.
"There was _some_ woman there, then?" said Nigel.
My cue was plain, and I took it.
"Miss Davenant is the only person whose name is before the house," I
interposed. "Gartside said she was not there. Were you satisfied,
Phil? I thought so. It's no good asking you, Nigel; you won't be
satisfied till you've searched in person, and that you can't do till
after Monday. Every one who agreed to Wednesday's compromise is bound
by it till Monday midday. If after that Nigel _still_ thinks it worth
while to conduct Scotland Yard over the flat, of course we shan't
attempt to stop him. As for any one who was not present or personally
bound by Wednesday's compromise, that is to say, you, Arthur--do you
declare to win by 'Father of a Family' or 'Minister of the Crown'? You
must take one or the other."
"The two are inseparable," he answered shortly.
"You must contrive to separate them. If you declare 'Father of a
Family,' you must hold yourself bound by Phil's arrangement. If you
declare 'Minister of the Crown,' you oughtn't to have profited by the
compromise, you oughtn't to have allowed us to restore Sylvia to you.
Common schoolboy honour tells you that. Incidentally, why haven't you
had the flat searched already? As a Minister of the Crown, you
know...."
If my heart had not been beating so quickly, I should have liked to
study their faces at leisure. The history of the last two days was
written with tolerable clearness. Nigel had told Arthur--and possibly
his own father--the story of his visit to Adelphi Terrace; he had
hinted sufficient to incite one or both to take the matter up
officially. Then Philip had intervened and depicted himself as bound
in honour to take no step until the expiration of the armistice. Their
faces told a pretty tale of "pull devil, pull baker," with Nigel at
the head, Philip at the feet, and Arthur twisting and struggling
between them.
I had no need to ask why the flat had not yet been searched, but I
repeated my question.
"And when _are_ you going to search it?" I added.
Arthur attempted a compromise.
"If you will give me your word...." he began.
"Not a bit of it!" I said. "Are you bound or are you not? Sylvia's in
the room to settle any doubts on the subject."
He yielded after a struggle.
"I will take no steps to search the flat until after midday on Monday,
provided Mavis is restored by then."
I made another attempt to rise, but Arthur waved me back into my seat.
"I have not finished yet. As you point out, Sylvia is in the room. I
wish to know how she got here, and I wish still more to know how she
was ever spirited away in the first instance."
"I know nothing about the getting away. She may be able to throw light
on that. Hasn't she told you how we found her?"
"She has given me your version."
"Then I don't suppose I can add anything to it."
"You might substitute a story that would hold a little more water."
"I am afraid I am not naturally inventive."
"Since when?"
His tone told me that I had definitely lost Arthur as a friend--which
was regrettable, but if I could play the part of whetstone to his
repartee I was content to see him draw profit from the _débris_ of our
friendship.
"It is only fair to say that you and Aintree are regarded with a good
deal of suspicion," he went on. "Apart from the question of the
flat...."
"Not again!" I begged.
"I have not mentioned the report of the officers who watched Miss
Davenant's house in...."
"Nigel has," I interrupted. "_Ad nauseam._ My interview was apparently
very different from their report. Suppose we have them in?"
"They are not in the house."
"Then hadn't we better leave them out of the discussion? What else are
we suspected of?"
Arthur traced a pattern on the blotting-pad, and then looked up very
sternly.
"Complicity with the whole New Militant campaign."
I turned to the Seraph.
"This is devilish serious," I said. "Incitement to crime, three
abductions, more in contemplation. I shouldn't have thought it to look
at you. Naughty boy!"
Arthur was really angry at that. I knew it by his old habit of growing
red behind the ears.
"You appear to think this is a fit subject for jesting," he burst out.
"I laugh that I may not weep," I said. "A charge like this is rather
upsetting. Have you bothered about any evidence?"
"You will find there is perhaps more evidence than you relish. Apart
from your intimacy with Miss Davenant...."
"She's a very pretty woman," I interrupted.
"...you have successfully kept one foot in either camp. You were
present when Rawnsley told me of the abduction of Mavis, and added
that the matter was being kept secret. Miss Davenant at once
published an article entitled 'Where is Miss Rawnsley?'"
"If she really abducted the girl, she'd naturally notice it was being
kept quiet," I objected.
"On the day after Private Members' time had been appropriated,
Jefferson's boy disappeared; Miss Davenant must have been warned in
time to have her plans laid. She referred to my midland campaign, and
had an accomplice lying in wait for my daughter with a car, the same
day that Rawnsley made his announcement that there would be no autumn
session."
"You will find all this on the famous Time Table," I reminded him.
"She got her information from some one who knew the arrangements of
the Government."
"I'm surprised you continued to know me," I said, and turned to the
Seraph. "It's devilish serious, as I said before, but it seems to be
my funeral."
Arthur soon undeceived me.
"You are both equally incriminated. Aintree, is it not the case that
on one occasion in Oxford and another in London, you warned my
daughter that trouble was in store for her?"
The Seraph had been sitting silent and with closed eyes since his
single intervention. He now opened his eyes and bowed without
speaking.
"I suggest that you knew an attempt would be made to abduct her?"
"No."
"You are quite certain?"
"Quite."
"Then why the warning?"
"I knew trouble was coming; I didn't know she would be abducted."
"What form of trouble did you anticipate?"
"No form in particular."
"Why trouble at all?"
"I knew it was coming."
"But how?"
He hesitated, and then closed his eyes wearily.
"I don't know."
Arthur balanced a quill pen between the first fingers of both hands.
"On Wednesday last your rooms were visited, and the question of a
search-warrant raised. You obtained a promise that the warrant would
not be applied for if my daughter and Miss Rawnsley were restored
within five days. Did you know at that time where they were?"
"No."
"When did you find out?"
"I don't know where Miss Rawnsley is. I didn't know where your
daughter was till we came to the house."
"We none of us know our hats are in the hall till we look to make
certain," Nigel interrupted; "but you found her?"
"Yes."
"No one told you where she was?" Arthur went on.
"No."
"Then how did you find her?"
"I believe she has told you."
"She has given me Merivale's version. I want yours."
"I don't know."
"How did you start?"
"She's told you. I walked out of the house, and went on till I found
her."
"How did you know where to look?"
"I didn't."
"It was pure coincidence that you should walk some thirty miles,
passing thousands of houses, and walk straight to the right house--a
house you didn't know, a house standing away from any main road? This
was pure coincidence?"
"I knew she was there."
"I think you said you didn't know till you got there. Which do you
mean?"
"I felt sure she _was_ there."
"You felt that when you left London?"
"I knew she was in that direction. That's how I found the way."
"No one had told you where to look?"
"No."
"Of the scores of roads out of London, you took just the right one. Of
the millions of houses to the west of London you chose the right one.
You ask me to believe that you walked thirty miles, straight to the
right house, because you knew, because you 'felt' she was there?"
"I ask you to believe nothing."
"You make that task quite easy. I suggest that when you were given
five days' grace you went to some person who knew of my daughter's
whereabouts, and got the necessary information?"
"No."
Arthur retired from the examination with a smile of
self-congratulation, and Nigel took up the running.
"Do you know where my sister is?"
"No."
"Can you--er--_feel_ where she is?"
"No."
"Can you walk from this house and find her?"
"No."
"How soon will you be able to do so?"
With eyes still closed, the Seraph shook his head.
"Never, unless some one tells me where she is."
"Is any one likely to, before Monday at noon?"
"No."
"Then how do you propose to find her?"
"I don't."
"You know the consequences?"
"Yes."
Nigel proceeded to model himself on his leader with praiseworthy
fidelity.
"I suggest that the person who told you where to look for Miss Roden
is no longer available to tell you where to look for my sister?"
"No one told me where to look for Miss Roden."
"But you found her, and you can't find my sister?"
"That is so."
"You suggest no reason for the difference?"
For an instant the Seraph opened his eyes and looked across to Sylvia.
Had she wished, she could have saved him, and his eyes said as much.
I, too, looked across and found her watching him with the same
expression that had come over her face when he suggested the
possibility of a woman being hidden in his rooms the previous
Wednesday morning.
"I suggest no reason," he said at last.
Nigel's examination closed, and I thought it prudent to ask for a
window to be opened and water brought for the Seraph. Sylvia's eyes
melted in momentary compassion. I walked over and sat beside her at a
discreet distance from her mother.
"Not worth saving, Sylvia?" I asked.
A sceptical chin raised itself in the air, but the eyes still believed
in him.
"How did they get hold of me?" she asked, "and how did he find me? How
_could_ he, if he didn't know all along?"
"Remember Brandon Court," I said.
"Why didn't he mention it?"
I pointed to the Bench.
"My dear child, look at them! Why not talk higher mathematics to a
boa-constrictor?"
"If he can't make them believe it, why should I?"
"Because you _know_."
"What?"
"Everything. You know he's in love with you, and you're in love with
him."
"I'm not!"
Her voice quivered with passion; there was nothing for it but a bold
stroke. And one risk more or less hardly mattered.
"Can you keep a secret, Sylvia?"
"It depends."
"No. Absolutely?"
"All right."
I lowered my voice to a whisper.
"There _was_ a woman in his rooms last Wednesday, and she is the woman
I am engaged to marry."
Her look of scorn was caused less by concern for my morals than by
pity for my simplicity in thinking she would believe such a story.
"I don't believe it."
"You must. It's your last chance. If you let him go now, you'll lose
him for ever, and I'm not going to let you blight your life and his,
if I can stop it. You must make up your mind now. Do you believe me?"
Her expression of scorn had vanished and given place to one of painful
perplexity.
"I'm not...."
"Do you believe me, Sylvia?"
She hesitated in an agony of indecision, until the moment was lost.
The water had arrived, and Arthur was dismissing me from the Presence.
"You're not going to arrest us, then?" I said.
"I reserve perfect freedom of action," he answered, in the Front Bench
manner.
"Quite right," I said. "I only wish you'd reserved the inquisition
till this boy was in a better state to receive it. Would it interfere
with your liberty of action if I asked you to say a word of thanks
either to Aintree, myself, or both? I believe it is usual when a man
loses his daughter and has her restored to him."
A few minutes more would have tried my temper. Arthur sat down again
at his table, opened a drawer, and took out a cheque-book.
"According to your story it was Aintree who was chiefly instrumental
in making the discovery?"
"That was the lie we agreed on," I said.
Arthur wrote a cheque for two thousand pounds, and handed it to the
Seraph with the words--
"That, I think, clears all obligations between us."
"Except that of manners," I exclaimed. "The House of Commons----"
But he had rung the bell, and was tidying his papers into neat,
superfluous bundles.
Philip had the courage to shake me by the hand and say he hoped to see
me again soon. I am not sufficiently cynical to say it was prompted by
the reflection that Gladys was my niece, because he was every whit as
cordial to the Seraph.
I shook hands with Sylvia, and found her watching the Seraph fold and
pocket the two thousand pound cheque.
"He's taking it!" she said.
"Your father should have been ashamed to make the offer. It serves him
right if his offer's accepted. Don't blame the Seraph. If Nigel and
your father proceed on the lines they've gone on this afternoon, one
or both of us will have to cut the country. The Seraph's not made of
money; he'll want all he can lay hands on. Now then, Sylvia, it's two
lives you're playing with."
She had not yet made up her mind, and indecision chilled the warmth of
her eyes and the smile on her lips. I watched the effort, and wondered
if it would suffice for the Seraph. Then question and answer told
their tale.
"When shall we see you again?" I heard her ask as I walked to the
door.
"I can hardly say," came the low reply. "I'm leaving England shortly.
I shall go across India, and spend some time in Japan--and then visit
the Islands of the South Seas. It's a thing I've always wanted to do.
After that? I don't know...."