Part 6

He sighed ponderously; he was a good-hearted individual, was John Ferrers, but anything which deviated from his idea of the normal generally called forth a mild outburst. Also he was very fond of his sister.

And really it wasn't quite the thing to go barging off to a night-club the day your husband returned after four years. Especially with young Staunton. It came back to his mind now, as he sat there pulling at his pipe, that off and on he had seen her about with the fellow; in the park, and twice at a theatre. Also having supper once at the Ritz, and two or three times at dinner. Of course there was nothing in it, but--still--confound it! the first night after four years.

"Are you going to take Delia out East with you, old boy?"

"That depends, John, on a variety of circumstances," remarked Hugh, quietly.

"I would if I were you," grunted the other. "It's been lonely for her, you know, and----" He became very interested in his pipe. "I wouldn't take too much notice of that young ass. Delia is far too sensible a girl to make a fool of herself over any man--let alone Staunton. But," and John Ferrers drained his glass decisively, "the next time I see her, I shall tell her a few home truths."

"Oh, no, John!" said Hugh, "you won't. I don't want you to allude to the matter at all. But I want you to tell me one thing. In those three cases you mentioned, did any question of divorce come up?"

"Divorce!" John Ferrers sat up in his chair abruptly. "What the deuce are you talking about?"

"The three cases you were speaking of," returned Hugh, imperturbably. "What manner of man is this Staunton, if things pass the dallying stage and come to a head?"

"Oh!" His brother-in-law sat back, relieved. "I can't tell you more than that Mr. James Staunton does not strike me as the type who would ever face the music. While he can take his pleasure with other men's wives, I don't think he has any intention of providing himself with one of his own."

"That was my diagnosis of his character," said Hugh. "I'm glad you confirm it."

John Ferrers rose as another member came up.

"Will you join us, Hugh? Snooker."

"No, thanks, old boy. Not to-night. So long."

With a faint smile he watched his worthy brother-in-law as he crossed the room. Then, having ordered another drink, he lay back in his chair and closed his eyes. And it was not till an hour later that he rose and wrote a short letter to a certain firm of shipping agents. Then he left the club, with the look on his face of a man who had made up his mind.

*IV*

It was Hugh himself who opened the door of the flat at two o'clock in the morning and let in his wife. Staunton was standing behind her on the landing, and Hugh nodded to him.

"Had a good time?" he asked, genially, standing aside to let Delia in. "Come in, Mr. Staunton, and have a nightcap before you go. No? Really, I insist."

Gently but firmly he propelled his reluctant guest towards the dining-room. The last thing which Mr. James Staunton wanted was a drink in his present surroundings. In fact, Mr. James Staunton wanted more than words can express to retire to his lonely bachelor couch, where he could meditate at leisure on how best to extricate himself from a situation which had suddenly ceased to appeal to his somewhat peculiar sense of humour. Really he had credited Delia with a little more knowledge of the rules of the game. For months he'd been suggesting that there were possibilities by the sad sea waves at a delightful little fishing village down in Cornwall; or if that was too far afield he knew of a charming little hotel on the upper reaches of the Thames. In fact, the whole of his vast experience in such matters would have been at her disposal, and for no rhyme or reason, so far as he could see, she had continually refused his suggestion. And he was not used to being refused. Up to a point, of course, a little coyness and hesitation was delightful; but pushed to an extreme it became tedious. And then, to cap everything, on the very night when this large and somewhat uncouth-looking husband had returned from the back of beyond, Delia had become serious.

Hector's had not been a success; though he had manfully tried to be his own bright self. But there had been long silences--rather awkward silences--when he had been conscious that Delia was studying him--almost as if he was a stranger to her. And since he had an uneasy suspicion that he had not altogether shone during his meeting with her husband, he had found things increasingly difficult as the evening wore on.

"Say when, Mr. Staunton." Massingham was pouring some whisky into a glass, and he stepped up to the table.

"That's enough, thanks. Yes, soda, please. And then I must be off."

"The night is yet young," said his host, "and I rather want to have a talk with you, Mr. Staunton."

The youngster looked up quickly at the words; then he glanced at Delia, who was staring at her husband with a slight frown.

"Rather late, isn't it?" he murmured.

Massingham smiled genially. "Two--late! You surprise me, Mr. Staunton. I thought that was about the time some of you people started to live." He splashed some soda into his own glass. "It's about my wife--about Delia. Absurd to call her anything but Delia to you, isn't it? I mean, we three need not stand on formality."

Staunton stiffened slightly; then, because he was painfully aware that his hands were beginning to tremble, he put them in his pockets.

"Really, Mr. Massingham," he laughed slightly, "you're very kind." Surely to Heaven she hadn't told her husband--anything.

"Not at all," returned Hugh. "Not at all, my dear fellow. It is absurd--as you said yourself, my dear, earlier in the evening--for us to become in any way agitated or annoyed over an unfortunate but very natural occurrence. And I consider it very natural, Staunton, that you should have fallen in love with my wife. I regard it in many respects as a compliment to myself."

His eyes were fixed steadily on the other's face, and a wave of contemptuous disgust surged up in him, though outwardly he gave no sign. The pitiful indecision of this king of lady-killers: the weak mouth, loose and twitching--surely Delia could see for herself what manner of thing it was. But his wife was sitting motionless, staring in front of her, and gave no sign.

"I--er, really," stammered Staunton.

"Don't apologize, my dear fellow--don't apologize. As I said, it's a most natural thing, and though this discussion may seem at first sight a trifle bizarre, yet if you think it over it's much the best manner of dealing with the situation."

"Er--quite."

Staunton shifted uneasily on his feet, and endeavoured feverishly to regain his self-control. Of course, the whole thing was farcical and Gilbertian; at the same time, just at the moment it appeared remarkably real. And he couldn't make up his mind how to take this large, imperturbable man.

"I told my husband, Jimmy," said Delia, speaking for the first time, "that we were in love with one another--and that you'd asked me to go away with you."

With intense amusement Hugh watched Staunton's jaw drop, though his wife, still staring in front of her, noticed nothing.

"Most kind of you," remarked Hugh, affably, and Delia looked at him quickly. "Most flattering. But my wife apparently decided that it wouldn't be quite fair to me--so she waited till I came home. And now I'm on trial--so to speak."

Staunton sat down in a chair; his legs felt strangely weak.

"The trouble is," continued Hugh, "that circumstances have arisen only to-night which prevent me standing on trial. I found a letter waiting for me at my club which necessitates my return to the East at once--probably for a year."

"By Jove--really!" Staunton sat up; the situation looked a little brighter.

"Going East at once?" Delia was staring at him puzzled.

"I'm afraid I must," returned her husband. "And so it makes things a little awkward, doesn't it? You see, Mr. Staunton, my wife's proposal was this. If after a few weeks of my presence she still found that she preferred you to me, she was going to tell me so straight out. Then--since, as I think you will agree, a woman must always be a man's first consideration--I would have effaced myself, gone through the necessary formalities to allow her to divorce me, and left her free to marry you. If, on the other hand, she had found that after all she could not return your devotion--well, we should then have gone on as we are. Perhaps not exactly the Church's idea of morality--but for all that, very fair. Don't you agree?"

Staunton nodded; speech was beyond his power.

"Now," continued Hugh, lighting a cigarette, "this sudden necessity for me to go East has upset her plan. I can't wait for those few weeks of test, and so we are confronted with a difficulty. I feel that it is not fair to keep her from you for a year or possibly longer; on the other hand, I feel that it is rather hard luck on me to relinquish her without a struggle. You said, Mr. Staunton? Sorry; I thought you spoke." He flicked the ash off his cigarette, and, crossing the room, he opened a bureau on the other side. "And so I've evolved a plan," he remarked, coming back again with a pack of cards in his hand. "A time-honoured method of settling things where there are two alternatives, and one which I suggest can be used with advantage here. We will each cut a card, Mr. Staunton. If I win, Delia comes East with me--on the clear understanding, my dear, that you may leave me at any moment and return to Mr. Staunton. I wouldn't like you to think for an instant that I am proposing to deprive you of your absolute free will whichever way the cards go. If I lose, on the other hand, I go East alone, and the necessary information to enable you to institute divorce proceedings will be sent you as soon as possible."

His wife rose quickly, and stood in front of him, "I'll come East with you, Hugh--anyway, for a time. It's only fair."

"Quite," agreed Staunton. "It's only fair."

"Not at all," remarked Massingham, decidedly. "I wouldn't dream of accepting such a sacrifice. It's a totally different matter if I win it at cards: then I shall hold you to it. Otherwise I go East alone. I have, I think, a certain say in the matter, and my mind is made up."

He turned to Staunton, who was staring at him open-mouthed: then he glanced at Delia, and she, for the first time, was looking at Jimmy Staunton.

"I suppose," he remarked, suddenly, "that I'm not making any mistake? You do wish to marry Delia, don't you, Mr. Staunton?"

For a moment that gentleman seemed to find difficulty in speaking. Then--"Of course," he muttered. "Of course."

"Good!" said Massingham. "Then we'll cut. Ace low--low wins."

He put the pack on a small table by the other man: then he turned away.

"Cut--please."

"But, Hugh," his wife laid her hand on his arm, "it's impossible--it's----"

"Not at all, Delia. It's all quite simple. Have you cut?"

"I've cut the King of Hearts." Staunton was standing up. "So it looks as if I lose." His voice seemed hardly to indicate that the blow had prostrated him.

Massingham turned round, while his wife's breath came sharply.

"It does--undoubtedly," he remarked. "Yes--mine's the two of clubs. So you come, Delia." He broke off abruptly, his eyes fixed on the chair in which Staunton had been sitting. The next moment he stepped forward and pulled a card from the crack between the seat and the side. "The ace of diamonds," he said, slowly. "What is this card doing here? I don't quite understand, Mr. Staunton. Ace low--low wins--and the ace of diamonds in your chair. I didn't watch you cut--but did you not want to win?"

"I--I--don't know how it got there," stammered Staunton, foolishly. "I didn't put it there."

"Then one rather wonders who did," said Massingham, coldly. "It makes things a little difficult."

For a moment or two there was silence: then Delia spoke.

"On the contrary," she remarked, icily, "it seems to me to make them very easy. Good-night, Mr. Staunton. I shall not be at home to you in future."

And when Hugh Massingham returned a few minutes later, having shown the speechless and semi-dazed Staunton the front door, his wife had gone to her room.

"Undoubtedly one rather wonders who did," he murmured to himself with a faint smile. "But I think--I think, it was a good idea."

*V*

"It was a sort of infatuation, Hugh. I can't explain it." With her arm through his--she hadn't quite found her sea-legs yet--they were walking slowly up and down the promenade deck of the liner.

He smiled gently.

"Doesn't need any explanation, darling," he answered. "It's happened before: it will happen again. There are quite a number of Mr. James Stauntons at large--more's the pity."

"I know," she said. "I know that. But somehow he seemed different."

"HE always does." For a while they continued their walk in silence. "Quite cured, little girl?"

"Quite, absolutely." She squeezed his arm, "I think I was well on the way to being cured, before--before he cheated. And that finished it."

"Ah!" Hugh stopped a moment to light a cigarette.

"It simply defeats me how, after all he said, he could have done such a thing."

"I wouldn't let it worry you, sweetheart. The matter is of little importance. Halloa! What do these people want?"

"Glad to see you about again, Mrs. Massingham." An officer in the Indian Army, returning from leave, and his wife came up. "Would you and your husband care to make up a four at bridge?"

"Would you, dear?" She turned to him, and Massingham smiled.

"You go, Delia. You'll be able to find a fourth, and you've walked enough. I never play cards, myself."

"What a refreshing individual," laughed the officer's wife. "Does it bore you?"

"Intensely," murmured Hugh. "And I'm such a bad player."

He watched his wife go away with them: then, leaning over the rail, he commenced to fill his pipe. Away to starboard, like a faint smudge on the horizon, lay the north coast of Africa: two days in front was Malta. And then---- Surreptitiously he put a hand into his breast pocket and pulled out a photograph. Yes: it had been a good idea.

_*V -- A Question of Personality*_

*I*

The personally conducted tour round Frenton's Steel Works paused, as usual, on reaching the show piece of the entertainment. The mighty hammer, operated with such consummate ease by the movement of a single lever, though smaller than its more celebrated brother at Woolwich Arsenal, never failed to get a round of applause from the fascinated onlookers. There was something almost frightening about the deadly precision with which it worked, and the uncanny accuracy of the man who controlled it. This time it would crash downwards delivering a blow which shook the ground: next time it would repeat the performance, only to stop just as the spectators were bracing themselves for the shock--stop with such mathematical exactitude that the glass of a watch beneath it would be cracked but the works would not be damaged.

For years now, personally conducted tours had come round Frenton's works. Old Frenton was always delighted when his friends asked him if they might take their house-parties round: he regarded it as a compliment to himself. For he had made the works, watched them grow and expand till now they were known throughout the civilized world. They were just part of him, the fruit of his brain--born of labour and hard work and nurtured on the hard-headed business capacity of the rugged old Yorkshireman. He was a millionaire now, many times over, but he could still recall the day when sixpence extra a day had meant the difference between chronic penury and affluence. And in those far-off days there had come a second resolve into his mind to keep the first and ever present one company. That first one had been with him ever since he could remember anything--the resolve, to succeed; the second one became no less deep rooted. When he did succeed he'd pay his men such wages that there would never be any question of sixpence a day making a difference. The labourer was worthy of his hire: out of the sweat of his own brow John Frenton had evolved that philosophy for himself....

And right loyally he had stuck to it. When success came, and with it more and more, till waking one morning he realized that the big jump had been taken, and that henceforth Frenton's would be one of the powers in the steel world, he did not forget. He paid his men well--almost lavishly: all he asked was that they should work in a similar spirit. And he did more. From the memories of twenty years before he recalled the difference between the two partners for whom he had then been working. One of them had never been seen in the works save as an aloof being from another world, regarding his automatons with an uninterested but searching eye: the other had known every one of his men by name, and had treated them as his own personal friends. And yet his eye was just as searching.... But--what a difference: what an enormous difference!

And so John Frenton had learned and profited by the example which stared him in the face: things might perhaps be different to-day if more employers had learned that lesson too. To him every man he employed was a personal friend: again all he asked was that they should regard him likewise....

"Boys," he had said to them on one occasion, when a spirit of unrest had been abroad in the neighbouring works, "if you've got any grievance, there's only one thing I ask. Come and get it off your chests to me: don't get muttering and grousing about it in corners, if I can remedy it, I will: if I can't I'll tell you why. Anyway, a talk will clear the air...."

In such manner had John Frenton run his works: in such manner had he become a millionaire and found happiness as well. And then had come the great grief of his life. His wife had died when Marjorie, the only child, was born. Twenty years ago the sweet kindly woman who had cheered him through the burden and heat of the day had died in giving him Marjorie. They had been married eight years, and when she knew that their hopes were going to be realized, it seemed as if nothing more could be wanting to complete their happiness. The stormy times were over: success had come. And now ... a child.

When the doctor told John Frenton he went mad. He cursed Fate: he cursed the wretched brat that had come and taken away his woman. For weeks he refused to see it: and then Time, the Great Healer, dulled the agony. Instead of a wife--a daughter: and on the girl he lavished all the great wealth of love of which his rugged nature was capable. He idolized her: and she, because her nature was sweet, remained a charming, unaffected girl. Some day she would be fabulously rich, but the fact did not concern her greatly. In fact she barely thought of it: it would be many long days before her dearly loved dad left her. And so it had been up to a year ago.... Then she'd met the man.

It would perhaps be more correct to say that the man had met her. The Honourable Herbert Strongley received an intimation from an aunt of his, that if he would find it convenient to abstain for a while from his normal method of living, and come and stay with her in the country, she would introduce him to a charming girl staying at a neighbouring house. She specified who the charming girl was, and suggested that though from his birth Herbert had been a fool, he couldn't be such a damned fool as to let this slip. She was an outspoken lady was this aunt....

The Honourable Herbert made a few inquiries, and left London next day for a protracted stay with his relative. It took him a week--he possessed a very charming manner did Herbert--before he was formally engaged to Marjorie. The armament of nineteen has but little resisting power when exposed to the batteries of a good-looking delightful man of the world who is really bringing all his guns to bear. And because the man was a consummate actor when he chose to be, he had but little more difficulty in getting through the defences of her father. Marjorie seemed wonderfully happy: that was the chief thing to John Frenton. And he was getting old: carrying out his usual routine at the works was daily becoming more and more of a strain. Why not? He had no son--everything would go to his girl and her husband at his death. His lifework would be in their hands.... If he'd had his way, perhaps, he'd have chosen someone with a little more knowledge of the trade--the Honourable Herbert didn't know the difference between mild and tool steel: but after all a happy marriage did not depend on such technical qualifications. As a man he seemed all that could be desired, and that was the principal thing that mattered. He could trust his managers for the rest....

And so his prospective son-in-law became a prospective partner. Ostensibly he was supposed to be picking up the tricks of the trade, a performance which afforded him no pleasure whatever. He loathed work in any form: he regarded it as a form of partial insanity--almost a disease. During the hours which he spent in the office his reason--such as it was--was only saved by the help of _Ruff's Guide_ and telephonic communication with his bookmaker.... But he was far too astute a person to run any risks. He was playing for immeasurably larger stakes than he could afford to lose, and in addition he was quite genuinely fond of Marjorie in his own peculiar way. He intended to marry her, and then, when the old man was dead--and he was visibly failing--the Honourable Herbert had his own ideas on the subject of Frenton's Steel Works. The only trouble was that Frenton's Steel Works had their own ideas on the subject of the Honourable Herbert, though that gentleman was supremely ignorant of the fact. Without a slip he had acted his part before John Frenton: with just the right eagerness to learn he had played up to the managers: but--and it was a big but--he had forgotten the men. They had never even entered into his calculations, and it would doubtless have amazed him to hear that he had entered very considerably into theirs. For the men did not like the Honourable Herbert--in fact they disliked him considerably: and since there was no secret regarding his future--a future which concerned them intimately--this error in the calculations was serious. They were a rough-and-ready crowd, with rough-and-ready ideas of justice and fair play. In addition they idolized Marjorie Frenton and her father to a man. It had taken them about a month to size up the new partner, and that was six months ago. Since then, slowly and inexorably--their brains did not work very quickly--the determination that they would not have the Honourable Herbert as John Frenton's successor had crystallized and hardened. For a while they had waited: surely the old man would see for himself that the man was useless. But the old man did not see: the Honourable Herbert still strolled yawning through the works, taking not the slightest notice of any of the hands--the man whom they in future would have to work for. Very good: if old John could not see it for himself, other steps would have to be taken to dispose of the gentleman.

They might have been peaceful steps, but for an incident which had occurred the day before the personally conducted tour already mentioned. It was conducted by the Honourable Herbert himself, and consisted of the house-party staying with John Frenton and Marjorie. The house-party noticed nothing unusual, somewhat naturally: they were bored or interested according to their natures. But as the tour progressed, a look of puzzled wonder began to dawn in Marjorie's eyes. What on earth was the matter with the men?