Part 4

“‘That’s juggling with words,’ he said, with a twisted little smile. ‘The great point is that I’m not in a position to ask this girl to marry me.’

“He glanced at the slip of paper I handed to him, then he rose.

“‘I would like you to go and see him,’ I said quietly. ‘You see I feel the gravity of what I’ve had to tell you this morning very much, and in fairness to myself as well as to you, my dear fellow, I’d like you to go to Sir John.’

“For a few seconds he stood there facing me, then he grinned as he had done at the beginning of the interview.

“‘All right, Doctor,’ he cried. ‘I’ll go, and Sir John shall drive the nail right in.’

“‘I’m sorry,’ I said—‘infernally sorry. You’ve taken it, if I may say so, like a very brave man.’

“He turned away abruptly. ‘What the deuce is the good of whining?’ he cried. ‘If it’s the same as in my mother’s case, the end will be very abrupt.’

“The next moment he was gone—a man under sentence of death. And the pitiful tragedy of it hit one like a blow. He was so essentially the type of man who should have married some charming girl and have children. He was just a first-class specimen of the sporting Englishman, but——” The Doctor paused and looked at the Soldier. “The type that makes a first-class squadron-leader,” and the Soldier nodded.

“It was in the afternoon,” continued the Doctor after a while, “that Sir John Longworth rang me up. Digby had been to him, and the result was as I expected. Two years, or possibly two days, and as for marriage, out of the question entirely. He had merely confirmed my own diagnosis of the case, and there for a time the matter rested. In the stress of work Jack Digby passed from my mind, until Fate decreed that we should meet again in what were to prove most dramatic circumstances.

“It was two months later—about the beginning of July—that I decided to take a short holiday. I couldn’t really spare the time, but I knew that I ought to take one. So I ran down for a long week-end to stop with some people I knew fairly well in Dorsetshire. They had just taken a big house a few miles from Weymouth, and I will call them the Maitlands. There were Mr. and Mrs. Maitland, and a son, Tom, up at the ’Varsity, and a daughter, Sybil. When I arrived I found they had a bit of a house-party, perhaps a dozen in all, and after tea the girl, whom I’d met once or twice before, took me round the place.

“She was a charming girl, very, very pretty, of about twenty-two or three, and we chattered on aimlessly as we strolled through the gardens.

“‘You’re quite a big party,’ I laughed, ‘and I thought I was coming for a quiet week-end.’

“‘We’ve got two or three more arriving to-night,’ she said. ‘At least I think so. One of them is a most elusive person.’ She was staring straight in front of her as she spoke, and for the moment she seemed to have forgotten my existence.

“‘Male or female—the elusive one?’ I asked lightly.

“‘A man,’ she answered abruptly, and changed the conversation.

“But being an old and wary bird, I read into her harmless remark a somewhat deeper significance than was perhaps justified, and it struck me very forcibly that if I were the man I would not be elusive in the circumstances. She surely was most amazingly pretty.”

“With great deductive ability,” murmured the Actor, as the Doctor paused to refill his pipe, “we place the elusive man as Jack Digby.”

“You go to blazes!” laughed the teller of the story. “I haven’t got to that yet. Of course you’re quite right—he was; though when I found it out a little later it came as a complete surprise to me. I’d almost forgotten his existence.

“It was her father who first mentioned his name. I was having a sherry and bitters with him in his study before going up to dress for dinner, and the conversation turned on the girl. I think I said how extraordinarily pretty I thought she was, and remarked that I supposed somebody would soon be walking off with her.

“Joe Maitland’s face clouded a little.

“‘As a matter of fact,’ he said, ‘both her mother and I have been expecting it for some time. A most charming man, and Sybil is in love with him, I’m sure. We all thought that he was in love with her,’ and then he exploded—‘damn it, it isn’t a question of thinking, I _know_ he’s in love with her! And for some extraordinary reason he won’t tell her so. He’s kept away from her for the last two months, after having lived in her pocket. And he’s not the type that monkeys round and makes a girl fond of him for no reason. He’s coming here to-night, and——’

“My host, still frowning slightly, lit a cigarette. So evidently this was the elusive man, I thought, putting down my glass. It was no business of mine, and then suddenly I stood very still as I heard him speak again.

“‘Jack Digby is as white as they’re made,’ he was saying, but I didn’t hear any more. Luckily my back was towards him, so he couldn’t see my face. Jack Digby! Poor devil! With Sybil Maitland, the girl, in his mind, the blow I’d given him must have been even crueller than I’d thought. And what a strange coincidence that I should be going to meet him again in such circumstances. Maitland was still rambling on, but I was paying no attention to him. I could, of course, say nothing unless Digby gave me permission; but it struck me that if I told him how the land lay—if I told him that not only was his silence being completely misconstrued, but that it was making the girl unhappy, he might allow me to tell her father the truth. After all, the truth was far better; there was nothing to be ashamed of in having a rotten heart.

“And it was just as I had made up my mind to see Digby that night that the door opened and Tom, the boy, came in. I hadn’t seen him since he was quite a child, and the first thing that struck me about him was that he was almost as good-looking as his sister. He’d got the same eyes, the same colouring, but—there was the devil of a but. Whereas his sister gave one the impression of being utterly frank and fearless, the boy struck me immediately as being the very reverse. That he was the apple of his mother’s eye, I knew—but that signifies nothing. Thank God! mothers are made that way. And as I stood watching him talking to his father I recalled certain vague rumours that I’d heard recently and had paid scant attention to at the time. Rumours of wild extravagance up at Oxford—debts well into the four figures. . . . They came back to my mind, those idle bits of gossip, and they assumed a definite significance as I studied the boy’s face. It was weak—utterly weak; he gave one the impression of having no mental or moral stamina whatever. He poured himself out a glass of sherry, and his hand wasn’t quite steady, which is a bad sign in a boy of under twenty-one. And he was a little frightened of his father, which is bad in a boy of any age when the father is a man like Joe Maitland. And that wasn’t all, either. There was something more—something much bigger on his mind: I was sure of it. There was fear in his heart; you could see it lurking round his eyes—round his mouth. I glanced at Joe, but he seemed quite oblivious of it, and then I left them and went up to dress for dinner. I remember wondering as I turned into my room whether the boy had got into another scrape—then I dismissed him from my mind. Jack Digby was a more interesting and more pressing problem.

“I met him in the hall as I came down, and he gave a sudden start of astonishment.

“‘Why, Doctor,’ he said quietly as we shook hands, ‘this is a surprise. I’d no idea you were to be here.’

“‘Nor I that you were coming,’ I answered, ‘until Mr. Maitland happened to mention it a little while ago.’

“‘You haven’t said anything to him, have you?’ he cried anxiously.

“‘My dear fellow,’ I said, ‘you ought to know that doctors don’t.’ He muttered an apology, and I went on: ‘You know, Digby, I can’t help thinking you’re making a mistake in not telling the truth.’

“He shook his head vigorously. ‘I’m sure I’m not,’ he answered. ‘The mistake I’ve made has been in coming here at all. I haven’t seen her since the day—when you told me. And I oughtn’t to have come now. It’s the last—I swear that. I couldn’t help it; I had to see her once again. I’m going to Africa in August—big game shooting.’

“I stared at him gravely, and after a while he went on:

“‘No one knows better than you,’ he said gravely, ‘my chance of returning. And when I don’t come back—she’ll forget me.’ I saw his hands clench at his side. ‘But if I tell her now—why, she’ll want me to stop in England—to go to specialists—to eke out life to the full two or three years. It’ll be hell—hell! Hell for both of us. Every day she’ll be wondering if she is going to hear I’m dead; it’ll ruin her life. Whereas Africa, if she doesn’t know about my heart, will be sudden. You see, Doctor, she is the only one to be considered—the only one.’

“I drew a deep breath; truly Joe Maitland had been right. This man was white clean through. And then he gave a little choking gasp, and, turning round, I saw the girl coming towards us across the hall.

“‘I didn’t know you’d come, old man,’ I heard her say, and then I moved away and left them. It was one of those occasions when you say it’s the smoke that has got into your eyes—and you lie.”

For a while the Doctor was silent; then he gave a short laugh.

“They sat next to one another at dinner, opposite me, and I’m afraid my partner must have thought I was a little wanting in intellect. They were such a perfectly ideal couple; and I noticed old Joe Maitland watching them every now and then. But gradually, as the meal progressed, a puzzled look began to creep into the girl’s eyes, and once she bit her lip suddenly and turned abruptly to the man on her other side. It was then that Digby looked across the table at me, and in that moment I realised that he was right. For him to remain in England would be impossible for both of them; the end, quick and sudden in an African jungle—if he ever got as far—was the only way out.

“‘My God! Doctor,’ he said as he came round and sat down next to me after the ladies had gone, ‘I knew I was a fool to come, but I didn’t think it was going to be as bad as this.’

“‘When are you going to start?’ I asked.

“‘As soon as I can get things fixed up at home, here, and make some sort of arrangements for carriers and people the other end. One must act, I suppose, even though it’s the last appearance.’ He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘I’ve always wanted to go South from Khartoum—I wonder how far I’ll get.’ Then he began to drum on the table with his fingers. ‘And what I wonder still more,’ he went on slowly, ‘is how in Heaven’s name I’ll get through this evening. You see, though I didn’t actually propose in so many words before I came to see you, I’d—I’d let things drift to such a position that a proposal was hardly necessary. That’s the devil of it. . . . She knows I worship the ground she walks on—and I know she cares too.’

“‘How long are you going to stop here?’ I asked.

“‘I accepted for the week-end,’ he said abruptly. ‘I shall go first thing to-morrow. I can’t stand it.’

“At that we left it, and I didn’t speak to him again until the thing occurred which even now—though seven years have slipped by—is as clearly imprinted on my brain as if it had happened last night.

“I couldn’t sleep very well that night, and at about two I switched on my light, with the idea of reading. I was just reaching out for a book when I heard the sound of voices from a room almost opposite. I listened for a moment, then I got up and went to the door. For the voices were excited and angry; something unusual was evidently happening. For a moment or two I hesitated; then I slipped on a dressing-gown and looked out. Across the passage the door of a room was open, and through it the light was streaming out. And then I heard Joe Maitland speak, and his words literally rooted me to the ground with amazement.

“‘So, Mr. Digby, you’re just a common damned thief. The gentleman crook—what? The amateur cracksman. That’s what they call them on the stage, I believe. Sounds better. But I prefer the more homely name of thief.’

“It was then that I appeared in the door, and Maitland swung round.

“‘Oh, it’s you, is it, Tranton?’ He had a revolver in his hand, and he lowered it when he saw who it was. ‘A pretty tableau, isn’t it? It appears that a second edition of—what was the gentleman’s name—Raffles, wasn’t it?—has been honouring me with his presence. Unfortunately, Tom and I both happened to hear him.’

“But I was paying no attention to what he was saying; my eyes were fixed on Digby and—Tom. Digby, with a quiet smile on his face and his hands in his pockets, was standing beside an open safe. He was still in evening clothes, and once he glanced my way. Then he looked back again at his host, and I looked at Tom. He was in his dressing-gown, and he was shivering as if he had the ague. He was standing close to his father, and a little behind him—and Joe Maitland was too engrossed with Digby to notice the condition he was in.

“‘Can you advance any reason, Mr. Digby,’ he demanded, ‘why I shouldn’t call up the local police?’

“‘None whatever, Mr. Maitland,’ he answered gravely. ‘Your son caught me fair and square.’

“And it seemed to me that Tom made an effort to speak, though no words came from his lips.

“‘You damned scoundrel!’ cried Maitland. ‘You come to my house—you make love to my daughter—and then you abuse my hospitality by trying to steal my wife’s jewellery!’

“It was at that moment that the girl came in. I saw Digby catch his breath and lean against the wall for support; then he straightened up and faced his host again. Just once had he glanced at her, with her glorious hair falling over her shoulders and a startled look of wonder in her great eyes. Then resolutely he looked away.

“‘What’s happened, Daddy?’ she whispered. ‘I heard your voice and——’

“‘This has happened, my dear,’ said Maitland grimly. ‘We have been privileged to discover Mr. Digby’s method of earning a livelihood.’ He pointed to the open safe. ‘He apparently ingratiates himself with people for the express purpose of stealing their valuables. In other words, a common thief.’

“‘I don’t believe it!’ she flashed out, imperiously. ‘Jack—a thief! How can you say such a thing?’

“‘Then may I ask what he was doing when your brother discovered him by the open safe? Besides, he admits it himself.’

“‘Jack!’ The cry seemed to come from the very depths of her soul. ‘Say it’s a lie!’

“For one second he hesitated; then he spoke quite steadily, though he didn’t look at her.

“‘I am afraid, Miss Maitland—that I can’t say it’s untrue.’

“And then there fell one of those silences that can be felt. She was staring at Jack Digby, was the girl—staring at him with a great amazement dawning on her face.

“‘Jack,’ she whispered, ‘look at me!’

“He raised his eyes and looked at her, and a little pulse was beating just above his jaw. Then, after what seemed an interminable time, she gave a little laugh that was half a sob and turned away.

“‘I see,’ she said below her breath. ‘I see.’

“But what it was she saw, I didn’t at the moment realise. It was to be made clear a little later.”

The Doctor paused and threw a log on the fire.

“Yes, I found out later what she thought,” he went on after a while, “and for the first and probably the last time in my life I was guilty of a breach of professional confidence. It was about half an hour later that I went round to Jack Digby’s room. Maitland, after thinking it over—and it is possible that I had something to do with his decision—had dismissed the idea of sending for the police. Digby was to clear out by the first train next morning, and was never to make an attempt to communicate with the girl again. And Jack Digby had bowed in silence and gone to his own room. He wouldn’t look at me as he passed; I think he knew that he hadn’t deceived me.

“He was sitting by the open window when I went in, still in his evening clothes, and he looked round with a start as I entered. His face was drawn and grey.

“‘My dear chap,’ I said, before he could speak, ‘is it worth while?’

“‘I don’t understand what you mean, Doctor,’ he said slowly.

“‘Oh, yes, you do!’ I answered. ‘You deceived Mr. Maitland all right—you didn’t deceive me. It was Tom who opened the safe—not you.’

“For a moment I thought he was going to deny it; then he gave a little mirthless laugh.

“‘Perfectly correct,’ he said. ‘As you say, it was Tom who opened the safe. I caught him absolutely in the act. And then Mr. Maitland came.’

“‘But—good God!’ I cried, ‘what an unutterable young waster he must be to let you shoulder the blame!’

“Digby faced me steadily. ‘I made him. You see, I saw it was the chance I had been looking for.’

“‘You mean you told him about your heart?’

“‘No,’ he answered quietly. ‘But I told him I was entangled with another woman, and that the best way of saving his sister’s feelings was to let her think——’

“And then the boy broke down utterly. With his hands on my shoulders he stood there facing me, and he made me swear I wouldn’t tell the girl.

“‘She must never know, Doctor. I’ve done it for her. She must never know.’

“And even as he spoke, the words died away on his lips, and he stood motionless, staring past me at the door. Without looking round I knew what had happened—I could smell the faint scent she used.

“‘What have you done for me, Jack, and why must I never know?’

“She came steadily up to him, and his hands fell to his side.

“‘Why, you’ve been crying, dear,’ she said. ‘What’s the matter?’

“True to his purpose, he started some fantastic story about sorrow at having been found out, but she cut him short.

“‘Don’t lie, Jack—not now,’ she whispered. ‘I know it wasn’t you who opened the safe. I know it was Tom. But what I want to know is why you said you did it.’

“It was then I made up my mind.

“‘I’m going to tell her, Digby, whether you like it or not,’ and she looked at me quickly. He didn’t say anything; things had got beyond him. And very briefly I told her the truth about his heart.

“She listened to me in absolute silence, and when I’d finished she just turned round to him and held out both her arms.

“‘Thank God! I know, my darling,’ she whispered. ‘I thought it was because you’d got fond of another woman. I thought—oh! Heaven knows what I thought! But now—oh! you stupid, wonderful boy!’

“I went to the window and looked out! It must have been five minutes later that I found the girl at my side.

“‘Is it absolutely hopeless?’ she asked.

“‘Humanly speaking,’ I answered, ‘yes.’

“‘How long?’ and she put her hand on my arm.

“‘Two days; two months; at the utmost, two years,’ I said gravely.

“‘And why shouldn’t I look after him for those two years?’ she demanded fiercely.

“‘I’m thinking of a possible child,’ I said quietly, and she began to tremble a little.

“‘That’s ridiculous,’ she cried—‘quite ridiculous.’”

The Doctor was carefully cleaning out the bowl of his pipe. “In the morning Jack Digby had gone, leaving behind him a note for her. She showed it to me later.

“‘The Doctor is right, my darling,’ it ran. ‘It’s just Fate, and there’s not much use kicking. I’m glad though that you know the truth—it helps. Good-bye, dear heart. God bless you.’”

The Doctor paused.

“Is that all?” said the Ordinary Man.

“Very nearly,” answered the Doctor. “I had been right when I said two months, only the cause of death was not what I expected. How he got across the water so soon I don’t know. But he did—in a cavalry regiment. And he stopped one—somewhere up Ypres way.”

“And the girl?” asked the Soldier.

“Has not got over it yet,” said the Doctor.

“And did she ever hear from him again?” demanded the Barrister.

“Once, from France. Written just before—the end. She didn’t show me _that_ one. Pass the whisky, Actor-man. Talking makes one’s throat infernally dry.”

_IV_ _The Ordinary Man’s Story, being The Pipes of Death_

“ANY of you know Burma?” asked the Ordinary Man, putting out his hand for the tobacco-jar.

“I’ve been there,” grunted the Soldier. “Shooting. Years ago. West of the Irawadi from Rangoon.”

“It’s years since I was there, too,” said the Ordinary Man. “More than a score. And if I wasn’t so beastly fat and lazy I’d like to go back for a visit. Only a visit, mind you. I’ve got to the time of life when I find that London is quite good enough for my needs. But the story which I propose to inflict on you fellows to-night concerns Burma, and delving into the past to get the details right has brought the fascination of the place back to me.

“I was about thirty-five at the time—and my benevolent Aunt Jane had not then expired and endowed me with all her worldly goods. I was working for a City firm who had considerable interests out there—chiefly teak, with a strong side-line in rubies.

“At that time, as you may know, the ruby mines in the Mandalay area were second to none, and it was principally to give my employers a report on the many clashing interests in those mines that I went back to England after a few months in the country. And it was in their office that I met a youngster, who had just joined the firm, and who, it turned out, was going out to Burma on the same boat as myself. Jack Manderby was his name, and I suppose he must have been ten or eleven years younger than I. He was coming to my district, and somewhat naturally I was a bit curious to see what sort of a fellow he was.

“I took to him from the very first moment, and after we’d lunched together a couple of times my first impression was strengthened. He was a real good fellow—extraordinarily good-looking and straight as a die, without being in the least degree a prig.

“We ran into a good south-westerly gale the instant we were clear of the Isle of Wight, which necessitated a period of seclusion on my part. In fact, my next appearance in public was at Gibraltar.

“And the first person I saw as I came on deck was Jack Manderby. He was leaning over the side bargaining with some infernal robber below, and at his side was a girl. In the intervals of haggling he turned to her, and they both laughed; and as I stood for a few minutes watching them, it struck me that Master Jack had made good use of the four days since we left England. Then I strolled over and joined them.

“‘Hullo, old man!’ he cried, with a twinkle in his eyes. ‘Is the rumour correct that you’ve been engaged in research work below, and had given orders not to be disturbed?’

“‘Your vulgar jests leave me unmoved,’ I answered with dignity. ‘At any rate, I appear to have arrived in time to save you being robbed. That man is a thief and the son of a thief, and all his children are thieves.’

“Jack laughed; then he swung round to the girl.

“‘By the way, you haven’t met Mr. Walton, have you? This is Miss Felsted, old boy, who is going out to Rangoon.’

“We shook hands, and no more was said at the time. But one thing was definitely certain. Whatever the girl was going to Rangoon for, the gain was Rangoon’s. She was an absolute fizzer—looked you straight in the face with the bluest of eyes that seemed to have a permanent smile lurking in them. And then, suddenly, I noticed her left hand. On the third finger was a diamond ring. It couldn’t be Jack she was engaged to, and I wondered idly who the lucky man was. Because he was lucky—infernally lucky.