Part 7

It was some time since she had been in the works, and the change was the more pronounced because of it. Instead of cheery smiles, sullen faces and black looks followed them wherever they went: she sensed that the whole atmosphere of the place was hostile. And after a while the uneasy suspicion began to form in her mind that the object of this hostility was her fiance. She took advantage of the halt at the steam hammer to draw him on one side.

"What on earth is the matter with the men, Herbert?" she demanded. "I've never seen them like this before."

The Honourable Herbert cursed under his breath. He, too, had been painfully aware of the scowls which had followed them, though he had hoped against hope that Marjorie would not notice. Moreover, he had known only too well the reason of the demonstration. And now it would come to old John's ears.... He cursed again, as the girl looked at him with questioning eyes.

"Lord knows, my dear," he answered, abruptly. "I suppose the blighters have got some fancied grievance."

"'Blighters! Fancied grievance!'" The girl stepped back a pace in genuine amazement. "Then why don't you have them together and ask them, like daddy used to do?"

As she spoke she glanced over his shoulder, and for a moment her eyes met those of a man standing behind him. He was looking at her deliberately and intently, and suddenly, to her surprise, he held up a twisted slip of paper in his hand. Then he pointed to the floor and turned away. It had been done so quickly that for a while she could hardly believe her eyes. One of the men, trying to pass a secret note.... To her.... What on earth _was_ the matter with everybody?...

Once again the man looked at her with the suspicion of a smile on his face, and she frowned quickly. He was impertinent, this youngster, and she turned to her fiance. She remembered now that the last time she had been round she had seen him working on a lathe: that it had struck her then that he had seemed different from the others--his hands, oily though they were: the cool unembarrassed look in his eyes: his way of speaking.... Almost as if he had been her equal.... And now he was presuming on her kindness then....

Her hands clenched involuntarily as she looked at her fiance.

"What is the name of that man with his back half towards us, over there?" she demanded. For the moment the "fancied grievance" was forgotten in more personal matters.

The Honourable Herbert, thankful for the respite, swung round. Then as he saw the subject of her question his jaw set in an ugly line.

"John Morrison," he answered, shortly. "And if I had my way I'd sack him on the spot. A useless, argumentative, insubordinate swine...."

And it was as this graceful eulogy concluded that John Morrison looked at her again. Her fiance had moved away, and she was standing alone. For a moment she hesitated: then she, too, turned to join the rest of the party. And lying on the ground where she had been, was her handkerchief....

It was done on the spur of the moment--a feminine impulse. And the instant she had done it, she regretted it. But there had been something in her fiance's voice as he spoke that had come as a shock to her: something ugly and vicious; something new as far as she was concerned. Though what that had to do with John Morrison passing her a note was obscure.

"You dropped your handkerchief, Miss Frenton." A courteous, well-bred voice was speaking close behind her, and she turned slowly to find John Morrison holding it out to her.

"Thank you," she answered. Rolled up inside it she could feel the twisted wisp of paper, and as the Honourable Herbert came up with an angry look on his face she hesitated.

"What do you want?" he snapped at the man.

"Miss Frenton dropped her handkerchief, sir," answered Morrison, impassively.

The other grunted.

"All right. Get on with your work."

Marjorie hesitated no longer. With a sort of blinding certainty there flashed into her mind the conviction that something was wrong. She didn't stop to analyse her thoughts: she merely felt convinced that John Morrison was not an insubordinate swine, and that in the note she held in her hand lay the clue to a great deal that was puzzling her at the moment. And so with a gracious smile at the man she slipped her handkerchief into her bag....

It was ten minutes before she found an opportunity of reading the note. It was in pencil, and the handwriting was small and neat.

"It is immaterial to me what action you take on receiving this," it ran. "But if you are in any way interested in your fiance's future, I most strongly advise you to suggest a change of air to him. Of his capabilities as a husband you must decide for yourself: of his capabilities as the boss of Frenton's, other people have already decided, as possibly you may have noticed this morning. So get him away, and _keep him away_. You haven't got much time."

"Get him away, and keep him away." The words danced before the girl's eyes. She was conscious of no anger against John Morrison: merely of a stunned surprise. The thing was so totally unexpected. "Of his capabilities as the boss of Frenton's, other people have already decided." And even as she read and re-read the sentence, she found that she was actually asking herself the question--"Was it so totally unexpected after all?" That matters should have come to a head in such an abrupt way was a staggering shock: but ... She crumpled the note into her bag once more, and walked slowly towards the waiting cars. A hundred little half-defined thoughts came crowding in on her memory: a hundred little things which had not struck her at the time--or was it that she hadn't allowed them to strike her?--now arrayed themselves in massed formation in front of her.

She paused with her foot on the step of the car. The Honourable Herbert was solicitously bending over a stout and boring aunt of hers, and she watched him dispassionately. "Of his capabilities as a husband you must decide for yourself." Impertinent.... And yet she was not conscious of any resentment.

"Come up to lunch, Herbert," she said, as he stepped over to her. "I want to talk to you afterwards."

He raised his eyebrows slightly.

"I shall be very busy this afternoon, dear."

"I think the works will stand your absence for one afternoon," she remarked quietly, and he bit his lip.

"I'll be there, Marjorie." He fumbled with her rug. "One o'clock sharp, I suppose."

He stood back, and the cars rolled off.

"What a charming man your fiance is, my dear!" cooed the elderly female sitting beside Marjorie. "So polite: so ... so ... impressive."

The girl smiled a little absently, and nodded. "Impressive...." It struck her that the word exactly described Herbert. He was impressive. And then because she was loyal clean through, she started to fan herself into a furious rage at the abominable impertinence of this wretched man John Morrison. Herbert was right: he was an insubordinate swine.... How dare he--how _dare he_--hand her such a note! He ought to be sacked at once. She would tell Herbert about it after lunch, and he would explain matters. Of course he would explain--of course....

John Frenton was standing on the steps as the cars drove up, and impulsively she went up to him.

"Herbert is coming to lunch, daddy," she cried, putting her arm through his.

"Is he, darling," said the old man, patting her hand. "That's all right." He turned to the rest of the party as they came up. "Well--what do you think of my works? None in England to beat 'em, my friends, not if you search from John o' Groats to Land's End. And as for a strike, it's unknown, sir, unknown.... My men don't do it, whatever other firms may do."

He passed into the house talking animatedly to one of his guests, and for a while Marjorie stood, staring over the three miles of open country to where the high chimneys of Frenton's Steel Works stuck up like slender sticks against the dull background of smoke. Then with a little sigh she too went up the steps into the house.

*II*

"Herbert, I don't quite understand about this morning." She was in her own sitting-room, and her fiance, standing in front of the fire, was lighting a cigarette. "What is the matter at the works?"

All through lunch the Honourable Herbert, in the intervals of being charming to the ghastly collection of old bores--as he mentally dubbed them--who formed the party, had been puzzling out the best line to take at this interview. That the girl had seen that something was wrong was obvious: no one but a blind person could have failed to notice it. And now that the interview had actually started he was still undecided....

"My dear little girl," he remarked, gently, sitting down beside her and taking her hand.... "Why worry about it? As I told you this morning, some little grievance, I expect--which I'll inquire into...."

The girl shook her head.

"It's something very much more than a grievance," she said, quietly but positively. "There's something radically wrong, Herbert. I want to know what it is."

"Good heavens! Marjorie"--there was a hint of impatience in his voice--"haven't I told you I'll inquire into it? Do be reasonable, my dear girl."

"I'm being perfectly reasonable," she answered, still in the same quiet tone. "But I don't understand how things have got as far as they have without any steps on your part. You say you don't know what's the matter. Daddy would have known long ago--and remedied it." The Honourable Herbert's opinion of daddy, at that moment, remained unspoken.... "You see," went on the girl, "they're just part of daddy, are the works. He was only saying to-day that he had never had any strikes. And now, when he's getting old..." She stirred restlessly in her chair, and looked at the fire. "Of his capabilities as the boss of Frenton's, other people have already decided." The words danced before her in the flames, and almost passionately she turned to the man beside her. "Don't you see," she cried, "don't you realize that I feel responsible? You're there--as a partner--because you're my fiance. That's the only reason. The works will come to me when daddy dies: I shall be responsible for them--I and my husband...."

"You could always turn the thing into a Limited Company, darling," murmured the man, "if you found it too great a strain." He waited for an answer, but none came, and after a while he continued in an easy, reassuring voice. "Of course, I understand, my little Marjorie, your feelings on the matter."

"Do you?" she interrupted, slowly. "I wonder."

"I'm only a beginner," he went on, and his voice was a trifle hurt. "One can't pick up all sorts of technical knowledge in a month, or even a year...."

"Technical knowledge isn't wanted, Herbert--so much as human knowledge, personality. I could run those works--with the help of Mr. Thompson and the other managers.... Ah, dear!" she bent forward quickly. "I don't want to hurt you. But I just can't imagine what would have happened if dad had gone round the works with us this morning.... I believe it would have almost killed him...."

"Very well, dear, if those are your feelings there is no more to be said." With quiet dignity her fiance rose to his feet. "If you are not satisfied with me..." He left the sentence unfinished.

"I am," she cried, quickly. "I am, Herbert--perfectly satisfied. But..."

"Then don't think any more about it," he said, quickly. "I'll go down, little girl, and find out what the trouble is. And then I'll put it right, and let you know...."

"You'll let me know this evening, won't you?"

For a moment he hesitated.

"If possible, Marjorie...."

"But of course it's possible," she cried, impulsively. "At our works, you've only got to ask.... Have the men together and ask....."

The Honourable Herbert's face was expressionless, as he bent over and kissed her.

"Quite so, darling," he murmured. "Quite so. Don't worry about it any more...."

And it was not until he was at the wheel of his car driving back to his office that he gave vent to his real feelings. "Ask the men?" He saw himself doing it. The cursed luck of the thing. But for that one episode yesterday, he could have bluffed it through, until they were married at any rate. After that he had never had an intention of carrying on a deception which bored him to extinction: there would be no need to.... But now.... The marvel to him was that they hadn't struck already. And once they did, and John Frenton came down to the works and the cause became known--good-bye to his hopes of the future. Marjorie would never forgive him. And as the realization of what that would entail struck him seriously for the first time, he swore savagely. He had been banking on the Frenton millions not only morally but actually. And if they failed to materialize.... Once again he cursed under his breath....

It was after dinner that night that Marjorie made up her mind. She had twice rung up her fiance with no result. The first time he had not come in: the second he had just gone out--to the local theatre, the servant believed. With a frown she hung up the receiver, and turning away walked slowly to her father's study.

"I want to see the book of addresses, daddy," she said, quietly.

It was one of old Frenton's hobbies to have the address of every one of his men entered in a large book, which enabled periodical gifts to arrive if there was any illness in the family.

"It's over there, girlie," he said, with a sleepy smile. "What do you want it for?"

"Mrs. Tracy has just had a baby," she announced, turning over the leaves.

But it was not under the T's that she looked. Mendle, Morgan, Morrison ... Morrison, John, 9, Castle Road.... Thoughtfully she closed the book, and put it back in its proper place. Then she crossed the room, and kissed her father lovingly on his bald head.

"You're a dear old thing," she whispered. "Go and play billiards with the general...."

A few minutes later she was driving her little runabout towards Castle Road. An onlooker, had he been able to see under the thick veil she wore, would have been struck with the likeness of the small determined face to that of old John Frenton. Like her father--once she came to a decision, she required some stopping. And since her fiance had left after lunch she had become more and more uneasy, more and more certain that something was being kept from her--something thing which concerned the Honourable Herbert pretty closely. And if it concerned him, it concerned her: she, as she had told him, had brought him into the firm....

Castle Road proved to be a better neighbourhood than she had expected. Most of the hands preferred to live nearer to the works, and this street struck her as being more suitable for well-to-do clerks. But she was far too preoccupied to worry overmuch with such trifles. John Morrison and the truth were what she wanted. She left the car at the end of the street, and walked to Number 9.

Yes. Mr. Morrison was at home. A disapproving sniff preceded the opening of a sitting-room door, which closed with a bang behind her. She heard the steps of the landlady going down the stairs, and then she took an uncertain pace forward.

"... I ..." she stammered. Undoubtedly the man in evening clothes facing her was John Morrison, but he looked so different. And whoever had heard of a factory hand getting into a smoking jacket for dinner? ... And the room.... The prints on the walls: the big roll-top desk: golf clubs in the corner, and to cap everything--a gun-case.

"I think there must be some mistake," she said, haltingly. "I must apologize.... I..." She turned as if to leave the room....

"I hope not, Miss Frenton." She gave a little start: she had hoped he had not recognized her. "Won't you come and sit down by the fire and tell me what I can do for you?"

After a moment's hesitation she did as he said.

"You must admit, Mr. Morrison," she loosened her veil as she spoke, "that there is some excuse for my surprise."

The man glanced round the room with a slight smile.

"Yes," he murmured. "I can understand it causing you a slight shock. Had I known you were coming I would have tried to make it less--er--startling."

"What on earth are you doing in the works?" she asked, curiously.

"My poor concerns will keep, Miss Frenton." A charming smile robbed the words of any offence. "I don't think it was to discuss me that you came to-night. My note, I suppose. Am I to be rebuked?"

"No," she answered, slowly. "I am to be enlightened, please."

"Have you spoken to Strongley about it?" he asked, after a pause.

She raised her eyebrows.

"I asked _Mr._ Strongley what was the matter with the men, after lunch to-day."

"I stand corrected." With an expressionless face John Morrison held out a heavy silver cigarette box to her, but she shook her head.

"No, thank you," she said curtly, and he replaced the box on the table. "But please smoke yourself, if you want to."

"And what did Mr. Strongley say?" asked the man.

"Nothing." She stared at the fire with a little frown. "He didn't seem to know: but he said he'd find out and ring me up. He hasn't done so, and I want to know, Mr. Morrison--know the truth. There's something radically wrong down there. What is it?"

John Morrison thoughtfully lit a cigarette and leaned against the mantelpiece, staring down at her.

"May I ask you one or two questions, Miss Frenton: questions which, though they may sound impertinent, are not intended in that spirit?"

"Yes." She looked up at him steadily. "But I don't promise to answer."

"How long ago did you meet Herbert Strongley?"

"About a year."

"And how long was it before you got engaged to him?"

She shifted a little in her chair.

"Not very long," she said at length.

He did not press the point: though a faint smile hovered for a moment on his lips.

"Not very long," he repeated, softly. "Are you quite sure, Miss Frenton--and this is a very important question--are you quite sure that you haven't made a mistake?"

"It may be important, but it's one I absolutely refuse to answer." She faced him angrily. "What business is it of yours?"

"Absolutely none--at the moment," he said, quietly. "But you've come to me to find out what the trouble is. And if you have not made any mistake with regard to your engagement, I advise you to carry out the suggestion contained in my note. Get your fiance away from Frenton's, and keep him away, both before and after your marriage. It will come, I imagine, as a blow to your father, but you can easily turn it into a company."

"You mean--that the men don't like Herbert?" She forced herself to ask the question.

"I mean," he answered, deliberately, "that the men loathe and detest him, and that only the love they have for you and your father has staved off trouble up till now. And even that love will fail to avert a crisis after--well, after the regrettable episode that happened yesterday."

"What was it?" she demanded, and her voice sounded dead to the man.

"I don't think we need bother as to what it was," he said, quietly. "Shall we leave it at the fact that however excellent a husband Strongley may make, as a boss of Frenton's he is a complete failure?" He bit his lip as he saw the look on the girl's face. Then he went on in the same quiet voice. "Things like this hurt, Miss Frenton: but you are the type that appreciates frankness. And I tell you quite openly that the men are after your fiance. And I don't blame them."

"You side with them, do you?" She threw the words at him fiercely.

"Am I not one of them?" he replied, gravely.

"You know you're not." She stood up and faced him. "You're not one of the ordinary hands. Look at your evening clothes; look at that gun-case in the corner...." She paused as she saw the sudden look on his face. "What is it?"

"Into this room quickly," he whispered. "You must stop there till he goes. Good Lord! What a complication!"

"Who is it?" she cried, startled by his evident agitation.

"Strongley," he whispered. "Heard his voice in the hall. Absolutely unexpected."

He closed the door, and she found herself in his bedroom, just as the landlady ushered in the second visitor.

And if she had been surprised on her first entrance to John Morrison's rooms, it was evident that the Honourable Herbert was even more so.

"Good Lord, man," he spluttered. "Why the glad rags? I--er--of course, it's no business of mine, but your general appearance gave me a bit of a shock."

To the girl listening intensely on the other side of the door it seemed as if a note of relief had crept into her fiance's voice--relief in which a certain amount of uneasiness was mingled.

"What can I do for you?" John Morrison asked, gravely.

"Well--er--don't you know"--undoubtedly the visitor was not at all sure of his ground--"your rooms and that sort of thing have rather knocked me. I mean--er--I'm rather in the soup, Morrison: and I really came round to ask your advice, don't you know. I mean you saw the whole thing--yesterday: and though I'm afraid I lost my temper with you too, yet even at that time I saw you were different. And--er--I thought..."

The Honourable Herbert mopped his forehead and sank into a chair.

"The mere fact that I change for dinner doesn't seem to alter the situation appreciably," said Morrison, quietly.

"No, by Jove--I suppose not." The other sat up and braced himself for the plunge. "Well, what the hell am I to do? And what the devil are the men going to do? Are they going to strike?"

"No--I don't think so." Morrison smiled at the sudden look of relief on Strongley's face. "They're too fond of Mr. Frenton and his daughter. It's you they're after."

"What are they going to do?"

"Give you a pleasant half-hour under the steam-hammer," said Morrison deliberately, and the other rose with a stifled cry. "Just to test your nerves. Let it drop to within an inch to you--then stop it. And if that doesn't expedite your departure--they'll take other steps...."

"But, damn it, Morrison," his voice was shaking--"don't you understand I can't go? I--er--Good Lord! do you suppose I want to stop here for one second longer than I must? I loathe it. Can't you stop 'em, man: tell 'em I'm clearing the instant I'm----"

"Married," said Morrison, quietly.

"Well, yes," said the other. "I'll have to be frank with you--and I can see you'll understand." His eyes strayed round the room. "I admit absolutely that this isn't my line: I detest the show. But old Frenton is wrapped up in these works--and--well--he looks for a son-in-law who will carry on. After I'm married I can explain things to him, don't you know. And until then--well, we must stave off this trouble, Morrison."

"Wouldn't it be a little more straightforward to explain your views to him before the marriage?"

"Perhaps it would have been," said the other, with apparent frankness. "But it's too late now--and then there's that damned show yesterday. That's what I'm so afraid will come out." He stared at the fire. "I didn't mean to hurt the fellow," he went on querulously. "And I'm certain he dropped that spanner on my toe on purpose."

"Still, that hardly seems sufficient justification for slogging a boy, who is not quite all there, over the head with an iron bar, does it?" Almost unconsciously his eyes travelled to the bedroom door as he spoke, and then he grew suddenly rigid. For the door was open, and the girl stood between the two rooms with a look of incredulous horror on her face.

"So that's what was the matter with Jake," she said, slowly, and at the sound of her voice Strongley swung round with a violent start.

"Marjorie..." he gasped, "what on earth..."