Part 12

"I am not sure of that," Wilfrid said. "If your uncle were well and we suggested calling the police, I am certain that he would oppose the idea strongly."

A little colour crept into Beatrice's face.

"You speak so strangely," she said. "You hint at such dark things. Do you know that all the years I have lived with my uncle I have never found him anything but the best of men? It is only latterly that this cloud has come between us. There was none of it until you came into my life again."

The words were quietly spoken, yet they stung Wilfrid to the core.

"That is easily remedied," he said bitterly. "I can take myself out of your life as I brought myself into it. I could school myself to forget you in time. But do not forget that I have saved your uncle's life twice, though, in so doing, I have rendered a very doubtful service to humanity."

"What do you mean?" Beatrice asked hotly.

Wilfrid advanced a step or two closer and took the girl's hands in his. His face was grave and set.

"Then I will tell you," he said. "Samuel Flower might have been even more to you than you say he has, but that does not prevent him from being a great scoundrel. You may bridle and colour, but I ask you to hear me to the finish. You may say, quite sincerely, you have never heard anything of this before. But if you could go amongst business men who knew nothing of your relationship to Samuel Flower, and ask them what they thought of him and his methods, you would learn some startling things. Do you know that for over two years I was a servant of your uncle's on board one of his ships? Have you ever heard him mention a boat called the _Guelder Rose_?"

"I have heard of it," Beatrice murmured. "There was a mutiny on board and a great loss of life. It was a shameful thing altogether, and if my uncle had cared to bring the mutineers to justice most of them would have suffered long terms of imprisonment, but he refrained from doing so----"

"Because he was afraid," Wilfrid said sternly. "He dared not face the ordeal of a court of justice. I was the doctor on board that ill-fated boat and could tell you all about it. If I could only put my hand upon one other survivor, poor and friendless as I am, I would fight your uncle to the last gasp. I hesitated to come to Maldon Grange the day I was sent for, because I was afraid I might be recognized and have to pay the penalty of my interference in that mutiny. And I was recognized--I realized that almost as soon as I entered the house."

"My uncle said nothing to me," Beatrice protested.

"Oh, no, he would not," Wilfrid said bitterly. "That is not the way in which he works, but he has lost no time in trying to ruin me. He lost no time in getting into communication with the people from whom I borrowed money to buy my practice. He bought the security I gave, and if the money is not forthcoming to-morrow, I shall be a ruined man without a house over my head. I daresay you wonder why I tell you this, but sooner or later you are bound to know, and if it happens that somebody else----"

What more Wilfrid might have said was cut short by a sudden moan from the bedroom. Without another word Wilfrid turned and Beatrice crept silently down the stairs.

It was only for a moment or two, however, and the patient lapsed into the absent stage again. The minutes were creeping along; the nurse would be here soon and Wilfrid would be glad to turn his back upon that house of mystery. His mind was full of his own troubles; he found his thoughts wandering to the desk in the dressing-room where he had seen Cotter arranging those papers. Then it suddenly struck him that the security he was in search of was actually within his grasp. As far as he could see, Cotter had not even turned the key in the desk. Overwhelming curiosity drew Wilfrid from his seat and impelled his lingering footsteps towards the dressing-room.

Here was the desk with the key still in it. There was the heap of papers in the top drawer. A long, pale blue slip with a red stamp in the corner caught his eye. There was no occasion for him to ask what it was. He could see his own bold handwriting across it. Here was the precious document that meant so much to him, so little for the man in the next room. He had only to tear it in two and throw the fragments in the fire and he would be free from all anxiety for ever. It was only for a moment, but that moment was long enough, for the dressing-room door stood open and the shadow of Beatrice blocked the light.

"The nurse is here," she said coldly. Her eyes were fixed upon the paper which Wilfrid held in his hand. "I thought I would bring her this way. And now, Dr. Mercer, don't you think that we shall be able to dispense with your services?"

*CHAPTER XXXI*

*A QUESTION OF HONOUR*

The thing was done beyond recall. Wilfrid had only to look into the face of his companion to see that everything seemed plain to her as an open book. He had been rummaging amongst her uncle's papers for the compromising document. He had it in his hand at that moment.

What would he have done with it had Beatrice not appeared? Would he have yielded to temptation or not? For the life of him Wilfrid could not say. He tried to think that he would have put the matter behind him. But he had not done so; he had not even attempted to do so. For a second or two he had even tried to justify himself in a course of action which would have been distinctly dishonourable. If he had gone down on his knees and made a full confession to Beatrice he could have told her no more than she already knew.

He glanced into her face, eager to see if there was any sympathy in her eyes. But Beatrice's face was stern and set. There was a compression of her lips that he had not noticed before. He could not know how deeply wounded and disappointed she was. She could not add anything to the humiliation which he was then suffering.

"You wish me to go?" he stammered.

"Would it not be better?" she said scornfully. "Is it not a pity you ever came at all?"

"Perhaps it was," Wilfrid said, stung to retort. "But if fortune had never brought us together again Samuel Flower would have been in his grave by now. Had we not met once more I should have been spared an enemy whose sole desire it is to ruin me. Then, at the appointed time, I might have sought you out and, in the language of the fairy stories----"

Wilfrid paused, conscious that he was going a little too far. He saw the vivid colour creep into Beatrice's cheeks, but there was no relaxation of her lips.

"Go on," she said. "You might as well finish."

"And live happily ever afterwards," Wilfrid said defiantly. "You think I have done a wrong thing to-day, and possibly I have. May you be ever spared such a temptation as has been placed in my way during the last half-hour! You cannot understand these things. Brought up as you have been how could you make allowance for people in dire trouble? Oh, never mind the nurse; she can wait a few minutes. Since I have gone so far I must finish. Whether you like it or not, you shall hear all that I have to say. It is only due to me that you should."

Beatrice hesitated. Wilfrid's voice thrilled with passion, his words rang with sincerity. It was almost impossible to believe that a man distinguished for bravery should stoop to common theft. The hesitancy passed and Beatrice turned away.

"What is the good of it?" she cried. "What do I gain by hearing you? And, surely, this is a wrong time and place for a confession----"

"A confession!" Wilfrid echoed scornfully. "I was going to make no confession. But bring in the nurse, so that I may explain what she has to do; after that I will detain you very little longer. Perhaps you are right."

There was no sign of heat or passion on Wilfrid's face as he shook hands with the nurse. She looked white and fragile for so difficult a task, but that was no business of his. Perhaps the nurse guessed what was passing through his mind, for she smiled at him unsteadily.

"I shall be all right," she said. "Dr. Shelton is a very good friend of mine. He knows that I have been ill for some time, and I am sure he would not send me a troublesome case. I know exactly what to do, thank you."

Wilfrid had only to take his departure. He had received his dismissal. He was not likely to see Beatrice again, therefore he could devote all his energies to the great fight before him. Nevertheless, he lingered in the hall on the off-chance of a last word with Beatrice, nor was he disappointed. The dining-room door opened in hesitating fashion and she stood before him. The hard, proud look had left her face now; her lips inclined to quiver.

"I cannot part with you like this," she murmured. "I have been thinking of what you said just now, and perhaps I am disposed to judge other people harshly."

"Did you ever know any prosperous man or woman who didn't?" Wilfred said with a bitter smile. "Oh, it maddens me to hear people prating their honesty when they have everything to make the path of existence smooth. Does it never strike these smug Pharisees that they would be born fools to be anything but honest? Why, there are thousands of criminals who die honourable and respected, either because they have never been found out or because they have never been under the necessity of knowing temptation. Take your case. What has your life been--one constant round of pleasure, a succession of years during which you have had everything you wanted and have been denied nothing? Do you suppose that you are any better than I am? Suppose you had somebody wholly dependent upon you for the mere necessaries of life, would you pry too minutely into things? But I am forgetting myself."

"Is it as bad as that?" Beatrice whispered.

"I can see no difference," Wilfrid said wearily. "If it were myself alone it would not matter. My household might be wrecked and everything taken away from me with impunity, because I have health and strength and would smile at the scandals of a place like Oldborough. But for the last four or five years I have promised my mother that I would settle down on shore and be near her in her old age. But why worry you with all this? Why should I picture her delight and pleasure in the new home she has to look after, which she regards merely as the beginning of my prosperity? And now I must go home to-night and tell her the bitter truth. I shall have to let her know that I have been deceiving her from the first, and that my so-called home is really the property of strangers. A few moments ago I had it in my power to secure that home. I had only to take a certain piece of paper and drop it in the fire and there would have been an end of the matter."

"That was when I came in," Beatrice whispered.

She was interested in spite of herself. She began to see there might be something in Wilfrid's point of view, and it was really dreadful that a rich man like Samuel Flower should stoop to crush another who was powerless to help himself. Indignation was warming Beatrice's blood. To her it almost seemed that Wilfrid would have been justified in his action. She turned towards him eagerly.

"But, surely, something can be done," she said. "I blame myself for not having seen your mother. If you will remember I promised to call upon her, but, really, there has been very little opportunity. Perhaps when we get back to Oldborough----"

"You forget that there will be no Oldborough for me after to-day," Wilfrid said quietly. "I am going to see this thing through to the bitter end, and your uncle and his tool, Cotter, can do what they please. Well, what is it?"

Wilfrid turned impatiently as a maid-servant came into the dining-room. The girl seemed to be distressed.

"Please, sir, it's the nurse," she said. "She doesn't seem at all well. She asked me to see if you had gone. Perhaps you wouldn't mind going upstairs again."

Though unwillingly, Wilfrid went back to the bedroom where Flower was lying. A regular conspiracy of circumstances had combined to keep him in that dreadful house. He found the nurse standing at the foot of the bed gazing at her patient with a white face and tearful eyes. Flower was sitting up now glaring about him and muttering strange things.

"Oh, I am so glad you have come," the nurse said. "I am afraid I shall not be able to manage this case. I am not as strong as I thought I was. I don't know what to make of the patient. He has been violent more than once since you went downstairs. I dare not be left alone."

Wilfrid's ill-nature vanished as he glanced at the pathetic face of the speaker. He forgot his own pressing affairs. He only knew that a fellow-creature in trouble was appealing to him for sympathy and help.

"Very well," he said, "I will do what I can. Go downstairs to the dining-room and tell Miss Galloway I sent you. Ask her to give you a glass of wine, and then go and telephone at once to Dr. Shelton, letting him know what has happened. Don't worry. I will see that no harm comes to the patient till some one more suitable takes your place."

The nurse stole thankfully away, and once again Wilfrid was alone with his deadliest enemy.

*CHAPTER XXXII*

*NO PLACE LIKE HOME*

Samuel Flower had taken a turn for the worse and, as Wilfrid's practised eye could tell, this was no case for the average woman nurse. Flower was sitting up with his hands round his knees glaring at Wilfrid, though there was no recognition in his eyes.

"Send for Cotter," he muttered. "Why isn't Cotter here? Don't tell me that that rascal has betrayed me like the rest of them! Not that I trust him, not that I trust any of them for that matter. But he ought to have been here an hour ago. Who are you?"

The question was asked with an abruptness that almost startled Wilfrid. For a moment the cloud hanging over Flower's brain had cleared away and he knew where he was and in whose presence he was lying.

"I am Mercer," Wilfrid said soothingly. "Don't you know me?"

"Oh, I know you," Flower whispered. "I recognize you. Keep those fellows away, will you? Don't let them come here again. I tell you it is terrible. I lie fast asleep and then dream, and dream, and dream, and yet my brain is clear and I know everything that is going on around you. But that is nothing to what has to come, Mercer. It is pleasure compared with the awful sensation when they wind that dreadful thing about the head and you lie helpless, watching those knots coming closer and closer till the brain sets fire----"

The words trailed off incoherently and Flower closed his eyes for a moment. The brief interval of sense vanished and he began again to fume and threaten.

"Keep them away from me!" he cried. "Keep them away from me! What did you say your name was? It wasn't Cotter. Oh, I remember, it was Mercer--Mercer, the dog that I am going to crush when the time comes as if he were an empty eggshell. He saved my life once, but what of that? The fellow is in the way and he must go. But that isn't what I want you for. I want you to send for that doctor. Telephone for him at once. Find him at any cost. I can't stay here. I dare not stay here. Whatever happens I must get back to Maldon Grange. Now go and find him."

The last words came in a harsh tone of command, then Flower's sudden access of strength failed him and he collapsed upon the bed an inert mass, scarcely moving and hardly breathing. Wilfrid hurried downstairs into the dining-room. The nurse was seated by the fire sipping at a glass of port-wine and Beatrice was trying to soothe her.

"It is all right," Beatrice explained. "I have managed to get Dr. Shelton on the telephone and he may be here at any moment. I suppose he will tell us what to do."

In a minute or two Shelton's car drove up to the door and the doctor alighted. He listened gravely to all that Wilfrid had to say and found time to address a few words to the distressed nurse.

"You are not to blame," he said. "I did not expect complications like this. I shall have to trespass still farther upon Dr. Mercer's time. It will take me an hour to find a competent male nurse."

Beatrice glanced imploringly at Wilfrid. In as many words she was asking him to stay and see her through her trouble. He shrugged his shoulders more or less carelessly. What did it matter? It was only a question of a few hours till his house of cards fell about his ears. It would only mean postponing his explanation to his mother till the following day.

"I am in your hands," he said. "As Miss Galloway knows, there is nothing I would not do for her. So long as I get back to Oldborough some time to-night I shall be satisfied."

Flower still lay unconscious as Wilfrid and his companion reached the bedroom. Wilfrid gave Shelton a graphic account of what had taken place during the last half-hour.

"Upon my word, I am half disposed to let the patient have his own way," he said. "It is very likely he will do much better at Maldon Grange. Mr. Flower has something distressing on his mind, and I fancy he has been the victim of some outrage that has more or less unhinged his reason. In point of fact, we ought to call in the police. But it may be wiser to get our man back to Maldon Grange first."

"You are disposed to try it?" Wilfrid asked.

"Assuredly," Shelton replied. "It is not very difficult. If we wait till evening we can hire a covered motor and take Mr. Flower to his country house as quietly and comfortably as if he were going out to dinner. It is repeatedly done, as you know, in cases of infectious disease. And if you don't mind, I should like you to go down to Maldon Grange with him. I cannot manage it myself as I have two operations this afternoon. I know that it is abusing your kindness----"

"Not at all," Wilfrid said. "I will see the thing through. I presume you will come down to Maldon Grange to-morrow?"

Shelton promised and went his way. He had forgotten almost all about the case before he reached his motor, and Wilfrid watched him whirling down the street not without envy. What was almost a matter of life or death to him was merely an ordinary incident to the distinguished surgeon.

The afternoon began to drag. Luncheon was a thing of the past and still there was no male nurse. Not that he was needed, for Flower still lay comatose, opening his eyes from time to time to take such medicine as Shelton had prescribed. Wilfrid slipped out presently and despatched a couple of telegrams by means of the telephone. One was to Swan Russell, the other to his friend Vardon at Oldborough. He would know the worst of his position in an hour or two. When the replies came, they were by no means reassuring. Russell was detained and could hold out no hope of seeing Wilfrid till to-morrow, whilst Vardon's reply was more unsatisfactory. He had failed to get the money from his client in Castlebridge and was awaiting Wilfrid's further instructions. With a bitter laugh Wilfrid screwed up the telegrams and threw them into the fire.

The end of another act of the drama, so far as it concerned himself, could not be delayed more than four-and-twenty hours. And yet, close to Wilfrid's hands, lay the document which would make him a free man if he only had the courage to destroy it. But that temptation was past and gone. He would do nothing dishonourable. Wilfrid beheld the desk in which the bill lay without the slightest desire to lay hands upon the paper. In a restless fashion he wandered about the bedroom till dusk began to fall, waiting patiently to be relieved. It was nearly dinner-time before the male nurse put in an appearance and Wilfrid was free to leave the house if he liked. As he came down the stairs he met Beatrice.

"You are not going yet?" she said. "You must dine with me? Besides, I understand you promised Dr. Shelton you would come down to Maldon Grange with us. Everything has been arranged and the car will be here about nine o'clock. It seems strange my uncle should fancy he will be better in a great, lonely house like Maldon Grange. But Dr. Shelton thinks it right to humour him. I would rather stay here."

The girl shuddered as she spoke and her face turned pale.

"You don't want to go home?" Wilfrid asked.

"I am afraid to go," Beatrice confessed. "During the past day or two my nerves have broken down. The mere thought of returning to that mansion sets me trembling, but I must go because duty to my uncle bids me."

Wilfrid made no reply. He was watching how Beatrice made a pretence of eating her dinner. A sudden idea occurred to him.

"Something could be managed," he said. "The nurse will be with your uncle and I will stay at Maldon Grange to-night if you like. We shall be there a little after ten, and as soon as your uncle is made comfortable I can take you into Oldborough and you can stay with my mother. You will be company for her, and it will also be better for you to be away from Maldon Grange. Now don't make any objection. You must see the advantages of the plan."

Beatrice contested the point no farther. She was too unstrung to argue, but she smiled gratefully.

"Very well," she said. "It shall be as you say, and I hope you will forget what I said to-day."

*CHAPTER XXXIII*

*BY WHOSE HAND?*

The appointed hour came and with it the huge, smooth-running motor which Shelton had sent to convey the patient to Maldon Grange. In the skilled hands of the nurse everything went off without a hitch, and in a few moments Samuel Flower lay in the car as comfortably as in his own bed. There was room for others besides Wilfrid and Beatrice, and Cotter, who had begged a seat, was accommodated. Any seat would do for him, he said in his simple way. All he asked was two or three minutes' grace to collect certain papers which Samuel Flower would need when he was able to attend to business again. Wilfrid smiled grimly as he listened. He knew one of these papers. He knew that the little man screwed up in one of the back seats would have no mercy upon him.

It was a silent journey through the night, and the whole party were relieved when Maldon Grange was reached and Samuel Flower was safely laid in bed. During the whole run he had never moved once. He accepted the change of scene without the slightest knowledge that it had taken place.

"I think that is all," Wilfrid said at length. "You won't want me for anything else?"

"Well, no, sir," the nurse said. "I have had full instructions from Dr. Shelton, so that I know what to do."

It was good to be out of the house in the stillness of the night, and Beatrice breathed a sigh of relief as she walked by Wilfrid's side towards Oldborough. It was a fine night, very tranquil and restful to the nerves. The little town was reached at length and Wilfrid turned in at the gate leading up to his own house. He had sent a telegram from London so that his mother was prepared for him.

Everything looked bright and cheerful, Beatrice thought, in such strange contrast to the gilded misery through which she had been passing lately. She could understand now why Wilfrid was proud of his home and what a wrench it would be to give it up. She understood the matter still better when a delightful, grey-haired lady came into the drawing-room and kissed her affectionately on the lips.

"I am so pleased to see you," Mrs. Mercer said. "What a terrible time you must have been having to be sure! But you will be safe in my house, and I will do my best to make you comfortable. Now sit down and be at home."

Beatrice's eyes were full of tears, and something seemed to rise up in her throat and choke her. She had many acquaintances, but she could never remember such a hearty welcome as this. Her eyes wandered round the tiny drawing-room. She noticed the various treasures and marked the good taste with which everything was displayed.