Part 20

"I've been a long time, Teddy," she snuggled her arm in his, "but--well, first of all, my answer is 'Yes'."

He paused, and in the view of revolted passersby, kissed her.

"And--and, Teddy, we'll go to Beaulieu afterwards. Mr. Morelle has promised to let us have his house."

"Isn't that grand!" said Teddy. "We've got a town called Beaulieu in Saskatchewan."

X

"Wasn't it just like Christina not to get excited with the great news? But really Evie was to blame, because she kept the greater news to the last.

"I can't believe it. That young man who called on Christina? I really can't believe it," said Mrs. Colebrook, who could, and did, believe it.

"Why don't you yell, Chris!" demanded her indignant sister.

"I am yelling," said Christina placidly. "I've been yelling longer than you, for I knew that it was Ronnie's house when the letter came."

But the announcement of Evie's engagement had an electrifying effect.

"That is the first time I have ever seen Christina cry," said Mrs. Colebrook with melancholy satisfaction. "There's a lot more in Christina than people think. If she'd only showed a little more nice feeling over poor Mr. Sault, I'd have liked it better. But you can't expect everything in these days, girls being what they are. Well, Evie, you're the first to go. I don't suppose Christina will ever marry. She's too hard. Canada won't seem so far if I'm in Bolo, Boole--whatever they call it."

Evie was sitting with her mother in the kitchen; from Christina's room came crooning.

"My dear, oh my dear, Have ye come from the west--"

"Why Christina sings those old-fashioned songs when she knows 'Swanee' and 'The Bull Dog Patrol'--'Bull Frog', is it?--I can't understand."

A rat-tat at the door made Evie jump.

Mrs. Colebrook's eyes went to the faded face of a clock on the mantelshelf. Allowing for day to day variation, to which the timepiece was subject, she made it out to be past eleven.

"Don't open the door," she said. "It may be those Haggins; they've been fighting all day."

Evie went to the door.

"Who is there?"

"Beryl Merville."

Evie opened the door and admitted the girl. Outside she glimpsed the tail lamps of a car.

"You are Evie, aren't you?" Beryl was breathless. "Have you any idea where I can find Ronnie?"

"Is that Beryl?"

It was Christina's voice; she came down in her dressing gown.

"I want to find Ronnie--I have been to his flat, he is not at home. I must see him."

She was wild with fear, Christina saw that; something had happened which had thrown her off her balance and had driven her, frantic, to Ronnie Morelle.

"Come up to my room, Beryl," she said gently.

Mrs. Colebrook looked at Evie as the sound of a closing door came down.

"It looks to me like a scandal," she said profoundly.

Evie said nothing. She was wondering whether she ought not to have been indignant at the suggestion that she knew the whereabouts of Ronnie Morelle. She wished she knew Beryl better--then she might have been asked upstairs to share the secret. After all, she knew Ronnie better than anybody.

"Perhaps I am better out of it, Mother," she said. "I am not sure that Teddy would like me to be mixed up in other people's affairs."

Christina pushed the trembling girl on to the bed.

"Sit down, Beryl. What is wrong?"

Beryl's lips were quivering.

"I must see Ronnie--oh, Christina, I'm just cornered. That man--Talbot, I think his name is, he is a friend of Ronnie's, has written to father--the letter came by hand, marked 'Urgent', whilst daddy was out, and I opened it."

She fumbled in her bag and produced a folded sheet and Christina read:

"_Dear Dr. Merville_: I think it is only right that you should know that your daughter spent a night at Ronald Morelle's flat.

"Miss Merville, at Morelle's suggestion, told you that she had been to a ball at Albert Hall. I can prove that she was never at the Albert Hall that night. I feel it is my duty to tell you this, and I expect you to inform Mr. Steppe, who, I understand, is engaged to your daughter."

"How did he know?"

Beryl shook her head wearily.

"Ronald told him--about the ball. When the elevator was going down, the morning I left the flat, I saw a man walking up the stairs. He must have seen me. Ronnie told me the night before that Jeremiah Talbot was coming to breakfast with him. I just saw him as the lift passed him--he had stopped on the landing below Ronnie's and probably recognized me. Christina, what am I to do? Father mustn't know. It seems ever so much more important to me now."

"When do you marry, Beryl?"

"The day after tomorrow. I know Ronnie has quarreled with this man. I read that story in the newspapers. It was splendid of Ronnie, splendid. It was a revelation to me."

Christina bit her lip in thought.

"I will see Ronnie--tonight. No, I will go alone. I have been resting all day. You must go home. Have you brought your car? Good. I will borrow it. Give me the letter."

Beryl protested, but the girl was firm.

"You must not go--perhaps I am wrong about Ronnie, but I don't think so. Sir John Maxton has the same mad dream."

"What do you mean?"

Christina smiled. "One day I will tell you."

The vision of her daughter dressed for going out temporarily deprived Mrs. Colebrook of speech. Before she could frame adequate comment, Christina was gone.

She dropped Beryl at her house and drove to Knightsbridge. The porter was not sure whether Mr. Morelle was in or out. It was his duty to be uncertain. He took her up to Ronnie's floor and waited until the door opened.

"My dear, what brings you here at this hour?"

He had been out, he told her. A Royal Society lecture on Einstein's Theory had been absorbing. He was so full of the subject, so alive, so boyish in his interest that for a while he forgot the hour and the obvious urgency of her call.

"I love lectures," he laughed, "but you know that. Do you remember how I was so late last night that your mother locked me out--no, not your mother--it must have been François." He frowned heavily. "How curious that I should confuse François with your dear mother."

She listened eagerly, delightedly, forgetting, too, the matter that brought her. The phenomenon had no terror for her, tremendous though it was. He was the first to recall himself to the present.

"From Beryl?" he said quickly, "what is wrong?"

She handed him the letter and he read it carefully.

"How terrible!" he said in a hushed voice, "how appallingly terrible! He says she is marrying Steppe! That can't be true, either. It would be grotesque--"

She was on the point of telling him that the marriage was due for the second day, when he went abruptly into his room. He returned, carrying his overcoat, which he put on as he talked.

"The past can only be patched," he said, "and seldom patched to look like new. Omar crystallizes its irrevocability in his great stanza. We can no more 'shatter it to bits,' than 'remould it nearer to our heart's desire.'"

"Ronnie, Beryl is to be married the day after tomorrow."

"Indeed?"

He looked at her with a half smile and then at the clock. It was a minute past midnight.

"Tomorrow?"

She nodded.

"Where are you going?"

"To see Talbot. He acted according to his lights. You can't expect a cockerel to sing like a lark. There is no sense in getting angry because things do not behave unnaturally. I made him feel very badly toward me yesterday. I think he can be adjusted. Some problems can be solved: some must be scrapped. Have you a car--Beryl's--good. Will you drop me in Curzon Street?"

She asked him no further questions and when in the car he held her hand in his, she felt beautifully peaceful and content.

"Good night, Christina. I will see Beryl tomorrow."

He closed the car door softly and she saw him knocking at No. 703 as she drove away.

The door was opened almost immediately.

"Is Mr. Talbot in, Brien?"

The butler stared.

"Why--why, yes, Mr. Morelle," he stammered.

He had not waited at table these past two days without discovering that Ronald Morelle was a name to be mentioned to the accompaniment of blasphemous et ceteras.

"He is in bed. I was just locking up. Does he expect you, Mr. Morelle?"

"No," said Ronnie. "All right, Brien, I know my way up."

He left an apprehensive servant standing irresolutely in the hall.

Jeremiah was not in bed. He was in his dressing gown before a mirror and his face was mottled with patches of gray mud--a cosmetic designed to remove wrinkles from tired eyes.

Ronnie he saw reflected in the mirror.

"What--what the devil do you want?" he demanded hollowly. "What are you doing?"

"Locking the door," said Ronnie, and threw the key on to the pillow of a four-poster bed.

"Damn you--open that door--you sneaking cad!"

Mr. Talbot experienced a difficulty in breathing, his voice was a little beyond his control. Also the plaster at the corner of his mouth made articulation difficult.

"I've come to see you on rather a pressing matter," said Ronnie evenly. "You wrote a letter to Dr. Merville making a very serious charge against my friend, Miss Merville. I do not complain and I certainly do not intend abusing you. I may kill you: that is very likely. I hope it will not be necessary. If you shout or make a noise, I shall certainly kill you, because, as you will see, being an intelligent man, I cannot afford to let you live until your servants come."

Mr. Talbot sat down suddenly, a comical figure, the more so since the dried mud about his eyes and the corner of his mouth made it impossible that he should express his intense fear. As it was, he spoke with difficulty and without opening his mouth wider than the mud allowed.

"You shall pay for thish, Morelle--vy God!"

"I want you to write me a letter which I shall give to Miss Merville apologizing for your insulting note to the doctor--"

With a gurgle of rage, Talbot sprang at him. Ronnie half turned and struck twice.

The butler heard the thud of a falling body; it shook the house. Still he hesitated.

"Get up," said Ronnie. "I am afraid I have dislocated your beauty spots, Jerry, but you'll be able to talk more freely."

Mr. Talbot nursed his jaw, but continued to sit on the floor. His jaw was aching and his head was going round and round. But he was an intelligent man.

When he did get up he opened a writing bureau and, at Ronnie's dictation, wrote.

"Thank you, Jerry," Ronnie pocketed the letter. "Perhaps when I have gone you will regret having written and will complain to the police; you may even write a worse letter to the doctor--who hasn't seen your first epistle, by the way. I must risk that. If you do, I shall certainly destroy you. I shall be sorry because--well, because I don't think you deserve death. You can be adjusted. Most people can. Will you put a stamp on the envelope, Jerry?"

At the street door: "Perhaps you will lose your job because you have admitted me, Brien. If that happens, will you come to me, please?"

The dazed butler said he would.

Ronnie stopped at a pillar box to post the letter and walked home.

XI

Jan Steppe was an early riser. He was up at six; at seven o'clock he was at his desk with the contents of the morning newspapers completely digested. By the time most people were sleepily inquiring the state of the weather, he had dealt with his correspondence and had prepared his daily plan.

In view of his early departure from London he had cleared off such arrears of work as there was. It was very little, for his method did not admit of an accumulation of unsettled affairs. A man not easily troubled, he had been of late considerably perturbed by the erratic behavior of certain stocks. He had every reason to be satisfied on the whole, because a miracle had happened. Klein River Diamonds had soared to an unbelievable price. A new pipe had been discovered on the property and the shares had jumped to one hundred and twelve, which would have been a fortunate development for Dr. Merville who once held a large parcel, had not Steppe purchased his entire holding at fifteen. He did this before the news was made public that the pipe had been located. Before Steppe himself knew--as he swore, sitting within a yard of the code telegram from his South African agent that had brought him the news twenty-four hours before it was published. So that the doctor was in this position: he owed money to Steppe for shares which had made Steppe a profit.

Ronnie had had a large holding. He was deputy chairman of the company. The day following the execution of Ambrose Sault, Steppe sent him a peremptory note enclosing a transfer and a cheque. Ronnie put cheque and transfer away in a drawer and did not read the letter. For some extraordinary reason on that day he could not read easily. Letters frightened him and he had to summon all his will power to examine them. Nearly a week passed before he got over this strange repugnance to the written word.

In the meantime Jan Steppe had not seen his lieutenant. He never doubted that the transfer, signed and sealed, was registered in the books of the company. Ronnie was obedient: had signed transfers by the score without question.

On this morning of March, Mr. Steppe was delayed in the conduct of his business by the tardy arrival of the mail. There had been a heavy fog in the early hours and letter distribution had been delayed, so that it was well after half-past eight before the mail came to him.

Almost the first letter he opened was one from the secretary of Klein River. He read and growled. The writer was sorry that he could not carry out the definite instructions which he had received. Apparently Mr. Steppe was under a misapprehension. No shares held by Mr. Morelle had been transferred. There was a postscript in the secretary's handwriting:

"I have reason to believe that Mr. Morelle has been selling your stocks very heavily. He is certainly the principal operator in the attack upon Midwell Tractions which you complained about yesterday."

Jan Steppe, dropping the letter, pushed his chair back from the desk. A thousand shares in Klein River were at issue, he could not afford to tear bullheaded at Ronnie Morelle. So this was the bear--the seller of stock! Ronnie had done something like this before, and had been warned. Steppe let his fury cool before he got Merville on the wire. When, in answer to the summons, Merville arrived, Steppe was pacing the floor, his hands deep in his trousers pockets.

"Huh, Merville? Seen Ronald Morelle lately?"

"No: he hasn't been to the house for a very long time."

"Hasn't, huh? Like him?"

The doctor hesitated.

"Not particularly: he is a distant cousin of mine. You know that."

Steppe nodded. He was holding himself in check and the effort was a strain.

"He's selling Midwell Tractions: you know that?" he mimicked savagely. "I'll break him, Merville! Smash him! The cur, the crafty cur!"

He gained the upper hand of his tumultuous rage after a while.

"That doesn't matter. But I sent him a cheque and a transfer--one minute!"

He seized the telephone and shouted a number.

"Yes, Steppe. Has a cheque been passed through payable to Ronald Morelle--I'll give you the number if you wait."

He jerked out a drawer, found the stub of a cheque book and turned the counterfoil.

"There? March seventeenth. Cheque number L.V. 971842."

He waited at the telephone, scowling absentmindedly at the doctor.

"Huh? It hasn't been presented--all right."

He smashed the receiver down on the hook.

"If he had paid in the cheque I would have got him--the swine! But he hasn't. I sent orders to transfer his Klein Rivers. I thought I was doing him a good turn--just as I thought I was doing one for you, Merville."

"And he refused to allow you to make the sacrifice," said the doctor drily.

"I don't like that kind of talk, Merville," Steppe's face was dark with anger. "I want you to come with me. I'm going to see this--this thing. And I'm going to get the transfer! Make no mistake about that! Call up the filthy hound and tell him you are coming round. Don't mention me. It will give him a chance of getting rid of his women."

He listened to the telephone conversation that followed.

"What was he saying?"

"He asked me if there was anything wrong. It struck me that he was anxious--he asked me twice."

"That fellow has an instinct for trouble," said Steppe.

Ronnie was dressed, which was unusual for him, at this early hour. And the doctor noticed, could hardly help noticing, that the library was gay with flowers. This also was remarkable, for Ronnie disliked to have flowers in a room. There were daffodils, _pierce-niege_, bowls of violets, and through the open casement with its curtains fluttering in the stiff breeze, Merville saw new window boxes ablaze with tulips.

"You're admiring my flowers, Bertram," smiled Ronnie. "I had to buy them ready-grown and the gentleman who owns the flat has misgivings as to the wisdom of flower boxes--he thinks they may fall on to somebody's head. Good morning, Steppe, you look happy."

Mr. Steppe was looking and feeling quite the reverse. He forced his face into a contortion intended to be a smile.

"Good morning, Ronnie. I thought I'd come along and see you about the transfer I sent to you. You forgot to fill it up."

"Did I?" Ronnie was genuinely surprised. "I remember I had a letter from you--"

He took a heap of papers from a drawer and as he turned them over, Steppe's eyes lit up.

"That's it," he said, and offhandedly, "put your name against the seal."

Ronnie took up a pen--and paused.

"I am transferring a thousand shares in the Klein River Diamond Mining Corporation--at twelve. They are worth more than that surely? I thought I saw them quoted at a hundred and something?"

"They were twelve when I sent you the transfer," said Steppe.

"Why did you send it? I don't remember expressing a wish to sell."

Here Steppe made a fatal mistake. He had but to say, "You agreed to sell," and Ronnie would have signed. There were some incidents in his past life that he could not remember. But the temper of the big man got the better of him.

"You're not expected to ask!" he roared, bringing his big fist down on the table with a crash. "You're expected to do as you're told! Get that, Morelle! I sent you the transfer and a cheque--"

"This must be the cheque," said Ronnie. He looked at the oblong slip and tore it into four pieces before he dropped the scraps into the waste basket.

Steppe was purple with rage, inarticulate.

Then the transfer followed the cheque.

"Don't let us have a scene," said Dr. Merville nervously. "You must meet Steppe in this, Ronnie."

"I'll meet him with pleasure. I have a thousand shares apparently; he wants them--good! He can pay me the market price."

"You dog!" howled Steppe, his face thrust across the table until it was within a few inches of Ronnie's, "you damned swindler! You're going straight to the office of the Klein River Company and sign another transfer. D'ye hear?"

"How could I not hear," said Ronnie, getting up, "as to signing the transfer, I will do so, on terms--if you are civil."

"If I'm civil, huh? If I'm civil! I'll break you, Morelle! I'll break you! There's a little document in my safe that would get you five years. That makes you look foolish!"

"Take it out of your safe," said Ronnie coolly, "which I understand the police have. They will be glad to see it opened. I could open it myself if--if I could only remember. I've tried. When I saw a paragraph in the paper about Moropulos, it made me shiver--because I knew I could open the safe. I sat up all one night trying to get the word."

"You're a liar--the same damned liar that you've always been! I want that transfer, Morelle. I'm through with you--after your appearance in the police court. You're a damned fine asset to a company! You and your Lola! You will resign from the board of my companies. Get that! And whilst I'm dealing with you, I'd like to tell you that if you attack my stocks, I'll attack you in a way that will make hell a cosy corner, huh?"

His hand shot out and he gripped Ronnie.

"Come here--you! D'ye hear me. I'll--"

Ronnie took the hand that grasped his collar and pried loose the fingers; he did this without apparent effort. The fingers had to release their hold or be broken. Then with a twist of his wrist he flung the hand away.

"Don't do that, please," he said calmly.

Steppe stood panting, grimacing--afraid. Merville felt the fear before he saw its evidence.

"How did you do that?" panted Steppe. It was the resentful curiosity of the beaten animal.

Ronnie opened his mouth and laughed long and joyously. He was, thought the doctor, like a boy conjuror who had mystified his elders and was enjoying the joke of it. Then, without warning, he became serious again and pressed a bell on his table.

"François, open the door--must you go, Bertram? I wanted to see you rather pressingly. Steppe can find his way home, can't you, Steppe? One can't imagine him getting lost--and he can ask a policeman."

"I'll settle with you later, Morelle. Come on, Merville."

The doctor vacillated.

"Come on!" roared Steppe.

"I'll see you this afternoon. I have an engagement now."

Merville went hastily after the big man. Ronnie followed, overtaking them as they were getting into the elevator.

"Will you tell Beryl that I am coming to see her tonight?"

"She'll not see you!" exploded Steppe, "no decent woman would see you--"

"What an ape you are!" said Ronnie reproachfully, "don't you realize that I'm not talking to you?"

XII

Jan Steppe's solitary lunch was served at midday, an hour which ensured his solitude, for he was a man who liked his meals alone. He was nearing the finish of his repast, his enormous appetite unimpaired by his unhappy experience of the morning, when two men mounted the steps of his Berkeley Square residence. They were unknown to one another; one had walked, the other had descended from a taxi, and they stood aside politely.

"You are first, sir," said the taller and healthier of the two.

Their cards went in to Jan Steppe together. He saw the tall man first, jumping up from the table and wiping his fingers on his serviette.

"In the library, huh?"

He looked at himself in the glass, pulled his cravat straight, and smoothed his black hair before he made his way to where the tall man, hat in hand, was waiting his pleasure.

"Well, inspector, what do you want?"

Steppe jerked open the lid of a box and presented its contents for approval.

"Thank you, sir," the inspector of police chose a cigar with care. "It is about this Traction Company of your friend's--I think I remember you saying that you were not in the flotation yourself?"

"No--I bought shares. I have a large number. What about it?"

"Well, sir," said the inspector, speaking slowly, "I am afraid that matters are very serious--very serious indeed. The Public Prosecutor has taken action and a warrant has been issued."

Steppe was prepared for this.

"Have you the warrant?"

The officer nodded.

"Can it be put off until tomorrow?"

"Absolutely impossible, sir. The best I can do is to defer its execution until late tonight. Even then I am taking a risk."

Steppe tugged at his little beard.

"Make it tonight," he said, "I'll undertake that he doesn't leave the country--you won't let him know, of course?"

"No, sir."

If Steppe had offered as much money as he could command to secure the escape of his victim, the bribe would have been rejected. But a postponement of arrest--that was another matter.

"Thank you, inspector."

"Thank you, sir; I shall put a couple of men on to watch him. I must do that, he will never know."

Steppe went back to the dining room very much occupied.

"No, I can't see anybody else--order the car. Who is he?"

He took up the second card.

"Mr. Jeremiah Talbot."