E. Phillips Oppenheim - The Betrayal

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"Boy," he exclaimed, "there are limits even to my forbearance. You are
where you are at my suggestion, and I could as easily send you adrift.
I do not say this as a threat, but I desire to be treated with common
consideration. I appeal to your reason. Is it well to treat me like an
enemy?"

"Whether you are indeed my friend or my enemy I am not even now sure," I
answered. "I am learning to be suspicious of every person and thing
which breathes. But as for this matter between the Prince and myself,
it can make little difference who knows the truth. He shammed a fall
over the cliff and a sprained ankle. Lady Angela and I started for the
house to send a cart for him, but, before we were halfway across the
Park, Grooton fetched me back. I found the Prince examining the papers
on which I had been working, and when I charged him with it he offered
me a bribe."

"And you?"

"I struck him!"

Ray groaned.

"You struck him! And you had him in your power--to play with as you
would. And you struck him! Oh, Ducaine, you are very, very young. I
am your friend, boy, or rather I would be if you would let me. But I am
afraid that you are a blunderer."

I faced him with white face.

"I seem to have found my way into a strange place," I answered. "I have
neither wit nor cunning enough to know true men from false. I would
trust you, but you are a murderer. I would have trusted the Prince of
Malors, but he has proved himself a common adventurer. So I have made
up my mind that all shall be alike. I will be neither friend nor foe to
any mortal, but true to my country. I go my way and do my duty, Colonel
Ray."

He blew out dense volumes of smoke, puffing furiously at his pipe for
several minutes. There seemed to be many things which he had it in his
mind to say to me. But, as though suddenly altering his purpose, he
stood on one side.

"You shall go your own way," he said grimly. "The Lord only knows where
it will take you."

It took me in the first place to the Duke, to whom I recounted briefly
what had happened. I could see that my story at once made a deep
impression upon him. When I had finished he sat for several minutes
deep in thought. For the first time since I had known him he seemed
nervous and ill at ease. He was unusually pale, and there were deep
lines engraven about his mouth. One hand was resting upon the table,
and I fancied that his fingers were shaking.

"The Prince of Malors," he said at last, and his voice lacked altogether
its usual ring of cool assurance, "is of Royal blood. He is not even in
touch with the political powers of France to-day. He may have been
guilty of a moment's idle curiosity--"

"Your Grace must forgive me," I interrupted, "but you are overlooking
facts. The fall over the cliff was premeditated, the sprained foot was
a sham, the whole affair was clearly planned in order that he might be
left alone in my room. Besides, there is the bribe."

The Duke folded his hands nervously together. He looked away from me
into the fire.

"It is a very difficult position," he declared, "very difficult indeed.
The Prince has been more than a friend to Blenavon. He has been his
benefactor. Of course he will deny this thing with contempt. Let me
think it out, Ducaine."

"By all means, your Grace," I answered, a little nettled at his
undecided air. "So far as I am concerned, my duty in the matter ends
here. I have, told you the exact truth concerning it, and it seems to
me by no means improbable that the Prince has been in some way
responsible for those former leakages."

The Duke shook his head slowly.

"It is impossible," he said.

"Your Grace is the best judge," I answered.

"The Prince was not in the house last night when the safe was opened, he
objected.

"He probably has accomplices," I answered. "Besides, how do we know
that he was not here?"

"Even if he were," the Duke said, raising his head, "how could he have
known the cipher?"

I made no answer at all. It seemed useless to argue with a man who had
evidently made up his mind not to be convinced.

"Have you mentioned this matter to any one?" the Duke asked.

"To Colonel Ray only, your Grace," I answered.

"Ray!" The Duke was silent for a moment. He was looking steadily into
the fire. "You told Ray what you have told me?"

"In substance, yes, your Grace. In detail, perhaps not so fully."

"And he?"

"He did not doubt my story, your Grace," I said quietly.

The Duke frowned across at me.

"Neither do I, Ducaine," he declared. "It is not a question of veracity
at all. It is a question of construction. You are young, and these
things are all new to you. The Prince might have been trying you, or
something which you did not hear or have forgotten might throw a
different light upon his actions and suggestion. I beg that you will
leave the matter entirely in my hands."

I abandoned the subject then and there. But as I left the room I came
face to face with Blenavon, who was loitering outside. He at once
detained me. His manner since the morning had altered. He addressed me
now with hesitation, almost with respect.

"Can you spare me a few minutes, Mr. Ducaine?" he asked. "I will not
detain you long."

"I am at your service, Lord Blenavon," I answered. "We will go into the
hall and have a smoke," he suggested, leading the way. "To me it seems
the only place in the house free from draughts."

I followed him to where, in a dark corner of the great dome-shaped hall,
a wide cushioned lounge was set against the wall. He seated himself and
motioned me to follow his example. For several moments he remained
silent, twisting a cigarette with thin nervous fingers stained yellow
with nicotine. Every now and then he glanced furtively around. I
waited for him to speak. He was Lady Angela's brother, but I disliked
and distrusted him.

He finally got his cigarette alight, and turned to me.

"Mr. Ducaine," he said, "I want you to apologize to my friend, the
Prince of Malors, for your behaviour this afternoon."

"Apologize to the Prince!" I exclaimed. "Why should I?"

"Because this is the only condition on which he will consent to remain
here."

"I should have thought," I said, "that his immediate departure was
inevitable. I detected him in behaviour--"

"That is just where you are wrong," Blenavon interrupted eagerly. "You
were mistaken, entirely mistaken."

I laughed, a little impolitely, I am afraid, considering that this was
the son of my employer.

"You know the circumstances?" I asked. He nodded.

"The Prince has explained them to me. It was altogether a
misunderstanding. He felt his foot a little easier, and he was simply
looking for a newspaper or something to read until you returned.
Inadvertently he turned over some of your manuscript, and at that moment
you entered."

"Most inopportunely, I am afraid," I answered, with an unwilling smile.
"I am sorry, Lord Blenavon, that I cannot accept this explanation of the
Prince's behaviour. I am compelled to take the evidence of my eyes and
ears as final."

Blenavon sucked at his cigarette fiercely for a minute, threw it away,
and commenced to roll another.

"It's all rot!" he exclaimed. "Malors wouldn't do a mean action, and,
besides, what on earth has he to gain? He is a fanatical Royalist. He
is not even on speaking terms with the Government of France to-day."

"I perceive," I remarked, looking at him closely, "that you are familiar
with the nature of my secretarial work."

He returned my glance, and it seemed to me that there was some hidden
meaning in his eyes which I failed to catch.

"I am in my father's confidence," he said slowly.

There was a moment's silence. I was listening to a distant voice in the
lower part of the hall.

"Am I to take it, Mr. Ducaine, then," he said at last, "that you
decline to apologize to the Prince?"

"I have nothing to apologize for," I answered calmly. "The Prince was
attempting to obtain information in an illicit manner by the perusal of
papers which were in my charge."

Blenavon rose slowly to his feet. His eyes were fixed upon the opposite
corner of the hall. Lady Angela, who had just descended the stairs, was
standing there, pale and unsubstantial as a shadow, and it seemed to me
that her eyes, as she looked across at me, were full of trouble. She
came slowly towards us. Blenavon laid his hand upon her arm.

"Angela," he said, "Mr. Ducaine will not accept my word. I can make no
impression upon him. Perhaps he will the more readily believe yours."

"Lady Angela will not ask me to disbelieve the evidence of my own
senses," I said confidently.

She stood between us. I was aware from the first of something
unfamiliar in her manner, something of which a glimmering had appeared
on our way home through the wood.

"It is about Malors, Angela," he continued. "You were there. You know
all that happened. Malors is very reasonable about it. He admits that
his actions may have seemed suspicious. He will accept an apology from
Mr. Ducaine, and remain."

She turned to me.

"And you?" she asked.

"The idea of an apology," I answered, "appears to me ridiculous. My own
poor little possessions were wholly at his disposal. I caught him,
however, in the act of meddling with papers which are mine only on
trust."

Lady Angela played for a moment with the dainty trifles which hung from
her bracelet. When she spoke she did not look at me.

"The Prince's explanation," she said, "is plausible, and he is our
guest. I think perhaps it would be wisest to give him the benefit of
the doubt."

"Doubt!" I exclaimed, bewildered. "There is no room for doubt in the
matter."

Then she raised her eyes to mine, and I saw there new things. I saw
trouble and appeal, and behind both the shadow of mystery.

"Have you spoken to my father?" she asked.

"Yes," I answered.

"Did he accept--your view?"

"He did not," I answered bitterly. "I could not convince him of what I
saw with my own eyes."

"You have done your duty, then," she said softly. "Why not let the rest
go? As you told us just now, this is not a personal matter, and there
are reasons why he did not wish the Prince to leave suddenly."

I was staggered. I held my peace, and the two stood watching me. Then
I heard footsteps approaching us, and a familiar voice.

"What trio of conspirators is this talking so earnstly in the shadows?
Ah!"

The Prince had seen me, and he stood still. I faced him at once.

"Prince," I said, "it has been suggested to me that my eyesight is
probably defective. It is possible in that case that I have not seen
you before to-day, that the things with which I charge you are false,
that in all probability you were in some other place altogether. If
this is so, I apologize for my remarks and behaviour towards you."

He bowed with a faint mirthless smile.

"It is finished, my young friend," he declared. "I wipe it from my
memory." It seemed to me that I could hear Blenavon's sigh of relief,
that the shadow had fallen from Lady Angela's face. There was a little
murmur of satisfaction from both of them. But I turned abruptly, and
with scarcely even an attempt at a conventional farewell I left the
house, and walked homewards across the Park.

CHAPTER XV

TWO FAIR CALLERS

After three days the house party at Rowchester was somewhat unexpectedly
broken up. Lord Chelsford departed early one morning by special train,
and the Duke himself and the remainder of his guests left for London
later on in the day. I remained behind with three weeks' work, and a
fear which never left me by day or by night. Yet the relief of solitude
after the mysteries of the last few days was in itself a thing to be
thankful for.

For nine days I spoke with no one save Grooton. For an hour every
afternoon, and for rather longer at night, I walked on the cliffs or the
sands. Here on these lonely stretches of empty land I met no one, saw
no living thing save the seagulls. It was almost like a corner of some
forgotten land. These walks, and an occasional few hours' reading, were
my sole recreation.

It was late in the afternoon when I saw a shadow pass my window, and
immediately afterwards there was a timid knock at the door. Grooton had
gone on his daily pilgrimage with letters to the village, so I was
obliged to open it myself. To my surprise it was Blanche Moyat who
stood upon the threshold. She laughed a little nervously.

"I'm no ghost, Mr. Ducaine," she said, "and I shan't bite!"

"Forgive me," I answered. "I was hard at work and your knock startled
me. Please come in."

I ushered her into my sitting-room. She was wearing what I recognized
as her best clothes, and not being entirely at her ease she talked
loudly and rapidly.

"Such a stranger as you are, Mr. Ducaine," she exclaimed. "Fancy, it's
getting on for a month since we any of us saw a sign of you, and I'm
sure never a week used to pass but father'd be looking for you to drop
in. We heard that you were living here all by yourself, and this
morning mother said, perhaps he's ill. We tried to get father to come
up and see, but he's off to Downham market to-day, and goodness knows
when he'd find time if we left it to him. So I thought I'd come and
find out for myself."

"I am quite well, thanks, Miss Moyat," I answered, "but very busy. The
Duke has been giving me some work to do, and he has lent me this
cottage, so that I shall be close at hand. I should have looked you up
the first time I came to Braster, but as a matter of fact I have not
been there since the night of my lecture."

She was nervously playing with the fastening of her umbrella, and it
seemed to me that her silence was purposeful. I ventured some remark
about the weather, which she interrupted ruthlessly.

"It's a mile and a half to our house from here," she said, "not a step
farther. I don't see why you shouldn't have made a purpose journey."

I ignored the reproach in her eyes, as I had every right to do. But I
began to understand the reason of her nervousness and her best clothes,
and I prayed for Grooton's return.

"If I had had an evening to myself," I said, "I should certainly have
paid your father a visit. But as it happens, the Duke has required me
at the house every night while he was here, and he has left me enough
work to do to keep me busy night and day till he comes back."

She looked down upon the floor.

"I had to come and see you," she said in a low tone. "Sometimes I can't
sleep for thinking of it. I feel that I haven't done right."

I knew, of course, what she meant.

"I thought we had talked all that out long ago," I answered, a little
wearily. "You would have been very foolish if you had acted
differently. I don't see how else you could have acted."

"Oh, I don't know," she said. "We were always brought up very
particular--especially about telling the truth."

"Well, you haven't said anything that wasn't the truth," I reminded her.

"Oh, I don't know. I haven't said what I ought to say," she declared.
"It seems all right when you are with me, and talk about it," she
continued slowly, raising her eyes to mine. "It's when I don't see you
for weeks and weeks that it seems to get on my mind, and I get afraid.
I don't understand it, I don't understand it even now."

"Don't understand what?" I repeated.

She looked around. Her air of troubled mystery was only half assumed.

"How that man died!" she whispered.

"I can assure you that I did not kill him, if that is what you mean," I
told her coolly. "The matter is over and done with. I think that you
are very foolish to give it another thought."

She shuddered.

"Men can forget those things easier," she said. "Perhaps he had a wife
and children. Perhaps they are wondering all this time what has become
of him."

"People die away from their homes and families every day, every hour," I
answered. "It is only morbid to brood over one particular example."

"Father would never forgive me if he knew," she murmured, irrelevantly.
"He hates us to do anything underhand."

I heard Grooton return with a sigh of relief.

"You will have some tea," I suggested.

She shook her head and stood up. I did not press her.

"No, I won't," she said. "I am sorry I came. I don't understand you,
Mr. Ducaine. You seem to have changed altogether just these last few
weeks. I can see that you are dying to get rid of me now, but you were
glad enough to see me, or at any rate you pretended to be, once."

My breath was a little taken away. I looked at her in surprise. Her
cheeks were flushed, her voice had shaken with something more like anger
than any form of pathos. I was at a loss how to answer her, and while I
hesitated the interruption which I had been praying for came, though
from a strange quarter. My door was pushed a few inches open, and I
heard Lady Angela's clear young voice.

"Are you there, Mr. Ducaine? May I come in?"

Before I could answer she stood upon the threshold, I saw the delightful
little smile fade from her lips as she looked in. She hesitated, and
seemed for a moment about to retreat.

"Please come in, Lady Angela," I begged, eagerly.

She came slowly forward.

"I must apologize for my abominable country manners," she said, resting
the tips of her fingers for a moment in mine. "I saw your door was not
latched, and it never occurred to me to knock."

"It was not necessary," I assured her. "A front door which does not
boast a knocker or a bell must expect to be taken liberties with. But
it is a great surprise to see you here. I had no idea that any one was
at Rowchester, or expected there, except Lord Blenavon. Has the Duke
returned?"

She shook her head.

"I came down alone," she answered. "I found London dull. Let me see, I
am sure that I know your face, do I not?" she added, turning to Blanche
Moyat with a smile. "You live in Braster, surely?"

"I am Miss Moyat," Blanche answered quietly.

"Of course. Dear me! I ought to have recognized you. We have been
neighbours for a good many years."

"I will wish you good-afternoon, Mr. Ducaine," Blanche said, turning to
me. "Good-afternoon--your Ladyship," she added a little awkwardly.

I opened the door for her.

"I will come down and see your father the first evening I have to
spare," I said. "I hope you will tell him from me that I should have
been before, but for the luxury of having some work to do."

"I will tell him," she said almost inaudibly.

"And thank you very much for coming to inquire after me," I added.
"Good-afternoon."

"Good-afternoon, Mr. Ducaine."

I closed the door. Lady Angela was lounging in my easy chair with a
slight smile upon her lips.

"Two lady callers in one afternoon, Mr. Ducaine," she remarked quietly.
"You will lose your head, I am afraid."

"I can assure you, Lady Angela," I answered, "that there is not the
slightest fear of such a catastrophe."

She sat looking meditatively into the fire, swinging her dogskin gloves
in her hands. She wore a plain pearl grey walking dress and deerstalker
hat with a single quill in it. The severe but immaculate simplicity of
her toilette might have been designed to accentuate the barbarities of
Blanche Moyat's cheap finery.

"I understood that you would be in town for at least three weeks," I
remarked. "I trust that his Grace is well."

"I trust that he is," she answered. "I see nothing of him in London.
He has company meetings and political work every moment of his time. I
do not believe that there is any one who works harder."

"He has, at least," I remarked, "the compensation of success."

"You are wondering, I suppose," she said, looking up at me quickly,
"what has brought me back again so soon."

"I certainly did not expect you," I admitted.

She rose abruptly.

"Come outside," she said, "and I will show you. Bring your hat."

We passed into the March twilight. She led the way down the cliff and
towards the great silent stretch of salt marshes. An evening wind,
sharp with brine, was blowing in from the ocean, stirring the surface of
the long creeks into silent ripples, and bending landwards the thin
streaks of white smoke rising amongst the red-tiled roofs of the
village. I felt the delicate sting of it upon my cheeks. Lady Angela
half closed her eyes as she turned her face seawards.

"I came for this," she murmured. "There is nothing like it anywhere
else."

We stood there in silence for several long minutes. Then she turned to
me with a little sigh.

"I am content," she said. "Will you come up and dine with us to-night?
Blenavon will be there, you know." I hesitated.

"I am afraid it is rather a bother to you to leave your work," she
continued, "but I am not offering you idle hospitality. I really want
you to come."

"In that case," I answered, "of course I shall be delighted."

She pointed to Braster Grange away on the other side of the village. I
noticed for the first time that it was all lit up.

"Have you heard anything of our new neighbours?" she asked.

"Only their names," I answered. "I did not even know that they had
arrived."

"There is only a woman, I believe," she said. "I have met her abroad,
and I dislike her--greatly. I hear that my brother spends most of his
time with her, and that he has dined there the last three nights. It is
not safe or wise of him, for many reasons. I want to stop it. That is
why I have asked you to come to us."

"It is quite sufficient," I told her. "If you want me for any reason I
will come. I am two days ahead of my work."

We threaded our way amongst the creeks. All the time the salt wind blew
upon us, and the smell of fresh seaweed seemed to fill the air with
ozone. Just as we came in sight of the road we heard the thunder of
hoofs behind. We turned around. It was Blenavon, riding side by side
with a lady who was a stranger to me. Her figure was slim but elegant.
I caught a glimpse of her face as they flashed by, and it puzzled me.
Her hair was almost straw coloured, her complexion was negative, her
features were certainly not good. Yet there was something about her
attractive, something which set me guessing at once as to the colour of
her eyes, the quality of her voice, if she should speak. Blenavon
reined in his horse.

"So you have turned up, Angela," he remarked, looking at her a little
nervously. "You remember Mrs. Smith-Lessing, don't you--down at
Bordighera, you know?"

Angela shook her head, but she never glanced towards the woman who sat
there with expectant smile.

"I am afraid that I do not," she said. "I remember a good many things
about Bordighera, but--not Mrs. Smith-Lessing. I shall see you at
dinner-time, Blenavon. I have some messages for you."

I saw the whip come down upon the woman's horse, but I did not dare to
look into her face. Blenavon, with a smothered oath and a black look at
his sister, galloped after her. I rejoined Lady Angela, who was already
in the road.

"Dear me," she said, "what a magnificent nerve that woman must have! To
dare to imagine that I should receive her! Why, she is known in every
capital in Europe--a police spy, a creature whose brains and body and
soul are to be bought by any one's gold."

"What on earth can such a woman want here?" I remarked.

"In hiding, very likely," Lady Angela remarked. "Or perhaps she may be
an additional complication for you."

I laughed a little scornfully.

"You, too, are getting suspicious," I declared. "The Prince and Mrs.
Smith-Lessing are a strong combination."

"Be careful then that they are not too strong for you," she answered,
smiling. "I have heard a famous boast of Mrs. Smith-Lessing's, that
never a man nor a lock has yet resisted her."

I thought of her face as I had seen it in the half light--a faint
impression of delicate colourlessness, and for the life of me I could
not help a little shiver. Lady Angela looked at me in surprise.

"Are you cold?" she asked. "Let us walk more quickly."

"It is always cold at this time in the evening," I remarked. "It is the
mist coming up from the marshes. One feels it at unexpected moments."

"I am not going to take you any farther," she declared, "especially as
you are coming up to-night. Eight o'clock, remember. Go and salve your
conscience with some work."

I protested, but she was firm. So I stood by the gate and watched her
slim young figure disappear in the gathering shadows.

CHAPTER XVI

LADY ANGELA'S ENGAGEMENT

I dined that night at Rowchester. Lord Blenavon was sulky, and Lady
Angela was only fitfully gay. It was not altogether a cheerful party.
Lady Angela left us the moment Blenavon produced his cigarette-case.

"Do not stay too long, Mr. Ducaine," she said, as I held the door open
for her. "I want a lesson at billiards."

I bowed and returned to my seat. Blenavon was leaning back in his
chair, smoking thoughtfully.

"My sister," he remarked, looking up at the ceiling and speaking as
though to himself, "would make an admirable heroine for the
psychological novelist. She is a bundle of fancies; one can never rely
upon what she is going to do. What other girl in the world would get
engaged on the Thursday, and come down here on the Friday to think it
over--leaving, of course, her _fiance_ in town? Doesn't that strike you
as singular?"

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