E. Phillips Oppenheim - The Betrayal

E >> E. Phillips Oppenheim >> The Betrayal

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My heart leaped with joy to think that after all I was not to go into
exile. Then the quiet significance of Lord Chelsford's last words were
further impressed upon me by the added gravity of his manner.

"Mr. Ducaine," he said, "you must see for yourself that I am running a
very serious risk in making these plans with you behind the backs of the
Duke of Rowchester and Colonel Ray. The Duke is a man of the keenest
sense of honour, as his recent commercial transactions have shown. He
has parted with a hundred thousand pounds rather than that the shadow of
a stigma should rest upon his name. He is also my personal friend, and
very sensitive of any advice or criticism. Then Ray--a V.C., and one of
the most popular soldiers in England to-day--he also is quick tempered,
and he also is my friend. You can see for yourself that in acting as I
am, behind the backs of these men, I am laying myself open to very grave
trouble. Yet I see no alternative. There is a rank traitor either on
the Military Board or closely connected with the Duke's household. He
does not know it, nor do they know it, but everyone of his servants has
been vigorously and zealously watched without avail. The circle has
been drawn closer and closer, Mr. Ducaine. Down in Braster you may be
able to help me in narrowing it down till only one person is within it.
Listen!"

Lady Chelsford entered, gorgeous in white satin and a flaming tiara.
She looked at me, I thought, a little gravely.

"Morton," she said, "I want you to spare me a minute. Mr. Ducaine will
excuse you, I am sure."

Lord Cheisford and she left the room together. I, feeling the heat of
the apartment, walked to the window, and raising the sash looked out
into the cool dark evening. At the door, drawn up in front of Lord
Cheisford's brougham, was a carriage with a tall footman standing facing
me. I recognized him and the liveries in a moment. It was the
Rowchester carriage. Some one from Rowchester House was even now with
Lord and Lady Chelsford.

Fresh complications, then! Had the Duke come to see me off, or had his
suspicions been aroused? Was he even now insisting upon an explanation
with Lord Cheisford? The minutes passed, and I began to get restless
and anxious. Then the door opened, and Lord Chelsford entered alone.
He came over at once to my side. He was looking perplexed and a little
annoyed.

"Ducaine," he said, "Lady Angela Harberly is here."

I started, and I suppose my face betrayed me.

"Lady Angela--here?"

"And she wishes to see you," he continued. "Lady Chelsford is
chaperoning her to-night to Suffolk House, but she says that she should
have come here in any case. She believes that you are going to China."

"Did you tell her?" I asked.

"I have told her nothing," he answered. "The question is, what you are
to tell her. I understand, Ducaine, that Lady Angela was engaged to be
married to Colonel Ray."

"I believe that she is," I admitted.

"Then I do not understand her desire to see you," Lord Chelsford said.
"The Duke of Rowchester is my friend and relative, Ducaine, and I do not
see how I can permit this interview."

"And I," said a quiet thrilling voice behind his back, "do not know how
you are going to prevent it."

She closed the door behind her. She was so frail and so delicately
beautiful in her white gown, with the ropes of pearls around her neck,
the simply parted hair, and her dark eyes were so plaintive and yet so
tender, that the angry exclamation died away on Lord Cheisford's lips.

"Angela," he said, "Mr. Ducaine is here. You can speak with him if you
will, but it must be in my presence. You must not think that I do not
trust you--both of you. But I owe this condition to your father."

She came over to me very timidly. She seemed to me so beautiful, so
exquisitely childish, that I touched the fingers of the hand she gave me
with a feeling of positive reverence.

"You have come to wish me God-speed," I murmured. "I shall never forget
it."

"You are really going, then?"

"I am going for a little time out of your life, Lady Angela," I
answered. "It is necessary: Lord Chelsford knows that. But I am not
going in disgrace. I am very thankful to be able to tell you that."

"It was not necessary to tell me," she answered. "Am I not here?"

I bent low over her hand, which rested still in mine.

"Mine is not a purposeless exile--nor altogether an unhappy one--now," I
said. "I have work to do, Lady Angela, and I am going to it with a good
heart. When we meet again I hope that it may be differently. Your
coming--the memory of it will stand often between me and loneliness. It
will sweeten the very bitterest of my days."

"You are really going--to China?" she murmured.

I glanced towards Lord Chelsford. His back was turned to us. If he
understood the meaning of my pause he made no sign.

"I may not tell you where I am going or why," I answered. "But I will
tell you this, Lady Angela. I shall come back, and as you have come to
see me to-night, so shall I come to you before long. If you will trust
me I will prove myself worthy of it."

She did not answer me with any word at all, but with a sudden little
forward movement of both her hands, and I saw that her eyes were
swimming in tears. Yet they shone into mine like stars, and I saw
heaven there.

"I am sorry," Lord Chelsford said, gravely interposing, "but Lady
Chelsford will be waiting for you, Angela. And I think that I must ask
you to remember that I cannot sanction, or appear by my silence to
sanction, anything of this sort."

So he led her away, but what did I care? My heart was beating with the
rapture of her backward glance. I cared neither for Ray nor the Duke
nor any living person. For with me it was the one supreme moment of a
man's lifetime, come too at the very moment of my despair. I was no
longer at the bottom of the pit. The wonderful gates stood open.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

A TERRIBLE DISCOVERY

I Called softly to Grooton from my room upstairs.

"Grooton!"

"Yes, sir."

"You are alone?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is Mr. Hill still up at the Court?"

"He will be there until midnight, sir."

A gust of wind came suddenly roaring through the wood, drowning even the
muffled thunder of the sea below. The rain beat upon the window panes.
The little house, strongly built though it was, seemed to quiver from
its very foundations. I caught up my overcoat, and boldly descended the
narrow staircase. Grooton stood at the bottom, holding a lamp in his
hand.

"You are quite safe to-night, sir," he said. "There'll be no one about
in such a storm."

I stood still for a moment. The raging and tearing of the sea below had
momentarily triumphed over the north wind.

"The trees in the spinney are snapping like twigs, sir," Grooton
remarked. "There's one lying right across the path outside. But you'll
excuse me, sir--you're not going out!"

"I think so, Grooton," I answered, "for a few minutes. Remember that I
have been a prisoner here for three days. I'm dying for some fresh
air."

"I don't think it's hardly safe, sir," he protested, deprecatingly.
"Not that there's any fear of your being seen: the wind's enough to
carry you over the cliff."

"I shall risk it, Grooton," I answered. "I think that the wind is going
down, and there won't be a soul about. It's too good a chance to miss."

I waited for a momentary lull, and then I opened the door and slipped
out. The first breath of cold strong air was like wine to me after my
confinement, but a moment later I felt my breath taken away, and I was
lifted almost from my feet by a sudden gust. I linked my arm around the
trunk of a swaying pine tree and hung there till the lull came. Up into
the darkness from that unseen gulf below came showers of spray, white as
snow, falling like rain all about me. It was a night to remember.

Presently I turned inland, and reached the park. I left the footpath so
that I should avoid all risk of meeting any one, and followed the wire
fencing which divided the park from the belt of fir trees bordering the
road. I walked for a few hundred yards, and then stopped short.

I had reached the point where that long straight road from Braster
turned sharply away inland for the second time. At a point about a
quarter of a mile away, and rapidly approaching me, came a twin pair of
flaring eyes. I knew at once what they were--the head lights of a motor
car. Without a moment's hesitation I doubled back to the "Brand."

"Grooton!" I called sharply.

Grooton appeared.

"Is any one at Braster Grange?" I asked.

"Not that I have heard of, sir," he answered.

"You do not know whether Mrs. Smith-Lessing is expected back?"

"I have not heard, sir. They left no servants there--not even a
caretaker."

I stepped back again into the night and took the shortest cut across the
park to the house. As I neared the entrance gates I left the path and
crept up close to the plantation which bordered the road. My heart gave
a jump as I listened. I could hear the low level throbbing of a motor
somewhere quite close at hand. The lights had been extinguished, but it
was there waiting. I did not hesitate any longer. I kept on the turf
by the side of the avenue and made my way up to the house.

The library alone and one small window on the ground floor were lit. I
crept up on the terrace and tried to peer in, but across each of the
library windows the curtains were too closely drawn. There remained the
small window at the end of the terrace. I crept on tiptoe towards this,
feeling my way through the darkness by the front of the house. Suddenly
I came to a full stop. I flattened myself against the stonework and
held my breath. Some one else was on the terrace. What I had heard was
unmistakable. It was the wind blowing amongst a woman's skirts, and the
woman was very close at hand.

I almost felt her warm breath as she stole past me. I caught a gleam of
a pale face, sufficient to tell me who she was. She passed on and took
up her stand outside that small end window.

I, too, crept nearer to it.--About a yard away there was a projection of
the front. I stole into the deep corner and waited. A few feet from me
I knew that she too was waiting.

Half an hour, perhaps an hour, passed. My ears became trained to all
sounds that were not absolutely deadened by the roar of the wind. I
heard the crash of falling boughs in the wood, the more distant but
unchanging thunder of the sea, the sharp spitting of the rain upon the
stone walk. And I heard the opening of the window by the side of which
I was leaning.

I was only just in time. Through the raised sash there came a hand,
holding a packet of some sort, and out of the darkness came another hand
eagerly stretched out to receive it. I brushed it ruthlessly aside,
tore the packet from the fingers which suddenly strove to retain it, and
with my other hand I caught the arm a little above the wrist. I heard
the flying footsteps of my fellow-watcher, but I did not even turn
round. A fierce joy was in my heart. Now I was to know. The veil of
mystery which had hung over the doings at Braster was to be swept aside.
I stooped down till my eyes were within a few inches of the hand. I
passed my fingers over it. I felt the ring--

Then I remember only that mad headlong flight back across the park,
where the very air seemed full of sobbing, mocking voices, and the
ground beneath my feet swayed and heaved. I could not even think
coherently. I heard the motor go tearing down the road past me, and
come to a standstill at the turn. Still I had no thought of any danger.
It never occurred to me to leave the footpath and make my way back to
the "Brand," as I might well have done, by a more circuitous route. I
kept on the footpath, and just as I reached the little iron gate which
led into the spinney, I felt a man's arm suddenly flung around my neck,
and with a jerk I was thrown almost off my feet.

"He is here, madame," I heard a low voice say. "Take the papers from
him. I have him safe."

I think that my desperate humour lent me more than my usual strength.
With a fierce effort I wrenched myself free. Almost immediately I heard
the click of a revolver. "If you move," a low voice said, "I fire!"
"What do you want?" I asked. "The papers." I laughed bitterly. "Are
they worth my life?" I asked. "The life of a dozen such as you," the
man answered. "Quick! Hand them over."

Then I heard a little cry from the woman who had been standing a few
feet off. In the struggle I had lost my cap, and a faint watery moon,
half hidden by a ragged bank of black clouds, was shining weakly down
upon us.

"Guy," she cried, and her voice was shaking as though with terror.
"Guy, is that you?"

I lost my self-control. I forgot her sex, I forgot everything except
that she was responsible for this unspeakable corruption. I said
terrible things to her. And she listened, white--calm--speechless.
When I had finished she signed to the man to leave us. He hesitated,
but with a more peremptory gesture she dismissed him.

"Guy," she said, "you have not spared me. Perhaps I do not deserve it.
Now listen. The whole thing is at an end. Those few papers are all we
want. Your father is already in France. I am leaving at once. Give me
those papers and you will be rid of us for ever. If you do not I must
stay on until I have received copies of a portion of them, at any rate.
You know very well now that I can do this. Give me those that you have.
It will be safer--in every way."

"Give them to you?" I answered scornfully. "Are you serious?"

"Very serious, Guy. Do you not see that the sooner it is all over--the
better--the safer--up there?"

She pointed towards the house. I could have struck the white fingers
with their loathsome meaning.

"I shall take this packet to Lord Chelsford," I said. "I am down here
as a spy--a spy upon spies. He is up at the house now, and to-morrow
this packet will be in his hands. I shall tell him how I secured it. I
think that after that you will not have many opportunities for plying
your cursed trade."

"You know the consequences?"

"They are not my concern," I answered coldly.

She looked over her shoulder.

"If I," she said, "were as unwavering in my duty as you I should call
Jean back."

"I am indifferent," I answered. "I do not value my life enough to
shrink from fighting for it."

She turned away.

"You are very young, Guy," she said, "and you talk like a very young
man. You must go your own way. Send for Lord Chelsford, if you will.
But remember all that it will mean. Can't you see that such stern
morality as yours is the most exquisite form of selfishness? Good-bye,
Guy."

She glided away. I reached the "Brand" undisturbed.

CHAPTER XXXIX

THE TRAITOR

"I do not understand you, Ducaine," Lord Chelsford said slowly. "You
have been a faithful and valuable servant to your country, and you know
very well that your services are not likely to be forgotten. I want you
only to be consistent. I must know from whom you received this packet."

"I cannot tell you, sir," I answered. "It was a terribly dark night,
and it is not easy to identify a hand. Besides, it was snatched away
almost at once."

"In your own mind, Ducaine," Chelsford said, "have you hazarded a guess
as to who that unseen person might be?"

"It is too serious a matter to hazard guesses about, sir," I answered.

"Nevertheless," Lord Chelsford continued, eyeing me closely, "in your
own mind you know very well who that person was. You are a bad liar,
Ducaine. There was something about the hand which told you the truth--a
ring, perhaps. At any rate, something."

"I had no time to feel for such things, sir," I answered.

"Ducaine," Lord Chelsford said, "I am forced to connect your refusal to
hazard even a surmise as to the identity of that hand with your sudden
desire to break off all connection with this matter. I am forced to come
to a conclusion, Ducaine. You have discovered the truth. You know the
traitor!"

"On the contrary, Lord Chelsford," I answered, "I know nothing.".

Later in the day he came to me again. I could see that he had made no
fresh discovery.

"Ducaine," he said, "what time did you say that you left here last
night?"

"At midnight, sir."

"And you were back?"

"Before one."

"That corresponds exactly with Grooton's statement," Lord Chelsford
said. "And yet I have certain information that from a few minutes
before eleven till two o'clock not one member of the Military Board
quitted the library."

I bowed.

"That is conclusive," I remarked.

"It is remarkably inconclusive to me," Lord Chelsford remarked grimly.
"Whom else save one of your friends who are all upon the Board could you
possibly wish to shield?"

"That I even wish to do so," I answered, "is purely an assumption."

"You are fencing with me, young man," Lord Chelsford said grimly, "and
it is not worth while. Hush!"

There was a rap at the door downstairs. We heard the Duke's measured
tones.

"I understood that Lord Chelsford was here," he said.

"Lord Chelsford has left, your Grace," Grooton answered.

"And Mr. Hill?"

"He has been at the house all day, your Grace."

The Duke appeared to hesitate for a moment.

"Grooton," he said, "I rely upon you to see that Lord Cheisford has this
note shortly. I am going for a little walk, and shall probably return
this way. I wish you to understand that this note is for Lord
Chelsford's own hand."

"Certainly, your Grace."

"Not only that, Grooton, but the fact that I called here and left a
communication for Lord Chelsford is also--to be forgotten."

"I quite understand, your Grace," Grooton assured him.

The Duke struck a match, and a moment or two later we saw him strolling
along the cliff side, smoking a cigarette, his hands behind him, prim,
carefully dressed, walking with the measured ease of a man seeking an
appetite for his dinner. He was scarcely out of sight, and Lord
Chelsford was on the point of descending for his note, when my heart
gave a great leap. Lady Angela emerged from the plantation and crossed
the open space in front of the cottage with swift footsteps. Her hair
was streaming in the breeze as though she had been running, but there
was not a vestige of colour in her cheeks. Her eyes, too, were like the
eyes of a frightened child.

Lord Chelsford descended the stairs and himself admitted her.

"Why, Angela," he exclaimed, "you look as though you had seen a ghost.
Is anything the matter?"

"Oh, I am afraid so," she answered. "Have you seen my father?"

"Why?" he asked, fingering the note which Grooton had silently laid upon
the table.

"Something has happened!" she exclaimed. "I am sure of it. Last night
he came to me before dinner. He told me that Blenavon was in trouble.
It was necessary to send him money by a special messenger, by the only
person who knew his whereabouts. He gave me a packet, and he told me
that at a quarter-past twelve last night I was to be in my music-room,
and directly the stable clock struck that I was to open the window, and
some one would be there on the terrace and take the packet. I did
exactly as he told me, and there was someone there; but I had just held
out the packet when a third person snatches it away, and held my hand
close to his eyes as though to try and guess who I was. I managed to
get it away and close the window, but I think that the wrong person must
have taken the packet. I told my father to-day, and--you know that
terribly still look of his. I thought that he was never going to speak
again. When I asked him if there was a good deal of money in it--he
only groaned."

Up on the top of the stairs I was shaking with excitement. I heard Lord
Cheisford speak, and his voice was hoarse.

"Since then," he asked, "what?"

"A man came to see father. He drove from Wells. He looked like a
Frenchman, but he gave no name. He was in the library for an hour.
When he left he walked straight out of the house and drove away again.
I went into the library, and--you know how strong father is--he was
crouching forward across the table, muttering to himself. It was like
some sort of a fit. He did not know me when I spoke to him. Lord
Chelsford, what does it all mean?"

"Go on!" he answered. "Tell me the rest."

"There is nothing else," she faltered. "He got better presently, and he
kissed me. I have never known him to do such a thing before, except at
morning or night. And then he locked himself in the study and wrote.
About an hour afterwards I heard him--asking everywhere for you. The
servants thought that you had come here. I saw him crossing the park,
so I followed."

Lord Chelsford came to the bottom of the stairs and called me by name.
I heard Lady Angela's little cry of surprise. I was downstairs in a
moment, and she came straight into my arms. Her dear tear-stained
little face buried itself upon my shoulder.

"I am so thankful, so thankful that you are here," she murmured.

And all the while, with the face of a man forced into the presence of
tragedy, Lord Chelsford was reading that letter. When he had finished
his hands were shaking and his face was grey. He moved over to the
fireplace, and, without a moment's hesitation, he thrust the letter into
the flames. Not content with that, he stood over it, poker in hand, and
beat the ashes into powder. Then he turned to the door.

"Take care of Angela, Ducaine," he exclaimed, and hurried out.

But Lady Angela had taken alarm. She hastened after him, dragging me
with her. Lord Cheisford was past middle age, but he was running along
the cliff path like a boy. We followed. Lady Angela would have passed
him, but I held her back. She did not speak a word. Some vague
prescience of the truth even then, I think, had dawned upon her.

We must have gone a mile before we came in sight of him. He was
strolling along, only dimly visible in the gathering twilight, still
apparently smoking, and with the air of a man taking a leisurely
promenade. He was toiling up the side of the highest cliff in the
neighbourhood, and once we saw him turn seaward and take off his hat as
though enjoying the breeze. Just as he neared the summit he looked
round. Lord Chelsford waved his hand and shouted.

"Rowchester," he cried. "Hi! Wait for me."

The Duke waved his hand as though in salute, and turned apparently with
the object of coming to meet us. But at that moment, without any
apparent cause, he lurched over towards the cliff side, and we saw him
fall. Lady Angela's cry of frenzied horror was the most awful thing I
had ever heard. Lord Chelsford took her into his arms.

"Climb down, Ducaine," he gasped. "I'm done!"

I found the Duke on the shingles, curiously unmangled. He had the
appearance of a man who had found death restful.

CHAPTER XL

THE THEORIES OF A NOVELIST

The novelist smiled. He had been buttonholed by a very great man, which
pleased him. He raised his voice a little. There were others standing
around. He fancied himself already the centre of the group. He forgot
the greatness of the great man.

"In common with many other people, my dear Marquis," he said, "you
labour under a great mistake. Human character is governed by as exact
laws as the physical world. Give me a man's characteristics, and I will
undertake to tell you exactly how he will act under any given
circumstances. It is a question of mathematics. We all carry with us,
inherited or acquired, a certain amount of resistance to evil influence,
certain predilections towards good and _vice versa_, according as we are
decent fellows or blackguards. Some natures are more complex than
others, of course--that only means that the weighing up of the good and
evil in them is a more difficult matter. There are experts who can tell
you the weight of a haystack by looking at it, and there are others who
are able at Christmas-time to indulge in an unquenchable thirst by
accurately computing the weight, down to ounces, of the pig or turkey
raffled for at their favourite public-house. So the trained student of
his fellows can also diagnose his subjects and anticipate their
actions."

The Marquis smiled.

"You analytical novelists would destroy for us the whole romance of
life," he declared. "I will not listen to you any longer. I fear
ignorance less than disillusion!"

He passed on, and the little group at once dispersed. The novelist was
left alone. He went off in a huff. Lord Chelsford plucked me by the
arm.

"Let us sit down, Ducaine," he said. "What rubbish these men of letters
talk!"

I glanced towards the ballroom, but my companion shook his head.

"Angela is dancing with the Portuguese Ambassador," he said, "and he
will never give up his ten minutes afterwards. You must pay the penalty
of having--married the most beautiful woman in London, Guy, and sit out
with the old fogies. What rubbish that fellow did talk!"

"You are thinking--" I murmured.

"Of the Duke! Yes! There was a man who to all appearance was a typical
English gentleman, proud, sensitive of his honour, in every action which
came before the world a right-dealing and a right-doing man. To do what
seemed right to him from one point of view he stripped himself of lands
and fortune, and when that was not enough he stooped to unutterable
baseness. He was willing to betray his country to justify his own sense
of personal honour."

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