Part 5

The shadow of a contemptuous smile flickered across Kate Charlock's face. From her point of view, Rent's description of his mother was not reassuring. It was an outbreak of firmness of this kind that Kate Charlock had most reason to dread. It never occurred to Rent that his mother's firmness might take a wrong direction. Despite his handsome face and intellectual strength, it seemed to Kate that in many respects he was little better than a boy compared with her. The saint-like woman by his side could have acted as school-mistress to him. In her mind's eye she already pictured Mrs. Rent, heart-broken and humiliated at the prospect of the ruin of her son's prospects, and never yet was there mother who regarded her son's wife as in any way worthy of him. While Rent was babbling praises of his mother, Kate sat pondering the magnitude of the task which lay before her. So far she had hesitated to discuss the plan of campaign, but it would have to be done now. The proper thing was to strike while the iron was hot, to go straight to Devonshire and confront Mrs. Rent with the cataclysm before she had time to hear of it from good-natured friends outside.

"Of course, your mother will have to know," she said sweetly and thoughtfully. "I am looking forward to seeing her, and yet I dread the thought of meeting her. You will have to be prepared for a disappointment, Arnold. Your mother is certain to be shocked. She would be less than human if she does not lay all the blame upon my shoulders."

"Never," Rent cried. "I will make it quite clear that the blame is entirely mine. I wrote a long letter to my mother before breakfast, fully explaining everything----"

"You have not posted it, I hope. No? Well, I am glad of that, because I would prefer that letter not to go. There is only one thing for it--we must travel to Devonshire at once and your mother must receive the first intimation of what has happened from your own lips. Of course, I shall come with you. I am looking forward to the interview with the greatest possible dread, but my duty is clear. Besides, we must get away from here. Can't we go this very afternoon?"

Rent reproached himself for his thoughtless selfishness. He was prepared to do anything that his companion desired. But nothing could be settled before lunch. Most of the people had finished their luncheon, so that the two had the room to themselves. From the long balcony outside came the sound of voices, and Kate Charlock flushed uncomfortably as she recognised Lady Strathmore's tones. She had an uneasy feeling that she was the subject of discussion. A moment or two later Lady Strathmore herself came into the dining-room. She flashed a brilliant smile in Rent's direction, but she seemed to be unaware that he was not alone. A sudden anger possessed Kate Charlock. With audacious passion she came forward and held out her hand.

"You seem to have forgotten me," she said sweetly.

"Absolutely," the other woman murmured. "I am afraid you have a distinct advantage over me, though when I come to look at you again I see you bear a strong likeness to Mrs. John Charlock. But, of course, a dear saint like that would never so far compromise herself as to be lunching here with any man but her husband. Mr. Rent, can I have a few moments' conversation with you?"

The stroke was so swift and merciless, so utterly unexpected, that Kate Charlock had no reply. Overwhelmed and uncomfortable, with the tears smarting in her eyes, she sank into a chair, without the slightest attempt to detain Rent. His face was crimson, too. The corners of his sensitive mouth trembled, but he followed Lady Strathmore politely to the balcony.

"I am going to be candid with you," she said. "Oh, I quite understand how things are. I am a woman of the world and can judge for myself. It is a pity you are not a man of the world, also, or this would never have happened. Can't you see for yourself that you ought not to stay here? Surely you recognised me last night. I am speaking for your own good, because you are a young man whose education in some respects has been sadly neglected. Take my advice----"

"You are mistaken," Rent exclaimed. "And as regards Mrs. Charlock, she is as good and pure as any woman----"

"Oh, I have heard all that before," Lady Strathmore said, with a pitying smile. "You see, I happen to belong to the same set as Mrs. Bromley-Martin, and we are not so shallow-minded and frivolous as you appear to imagine. One side of a story always holds good till the other is told. Don't you think John Charlock has a side to the story as well?"

Rent muttered something incoherent. Recalling to mind now his strange interview with John Charlock, he could not see that the latter had a single claim to consideration. It was useless to discuss that matter with this hard, worldly woman.

"I see that I am wasting your time," Lady Strathmore went on. "Still, I might as well tell you that Mrs. Bromley-Martin and some of her friends are coming to have tea with me this afternoon at four o'clock, and if in the meanwhile you discover that you have important business elsewhere, why--well, good-bye. Wonderfully fresh and bracing atmosphere this morning, don't you think?"

The shrewd woman of the world smiled and went her way. Arnold Rent's thoughts were not pleasing as he returned to the dining-room. Already he was beginning dimly to comprehend the far-reaching effects of his impulsive action, but his heart smote him as he noted the pathetic droop of Kate Charlock's shoulders as she sat toying with her lunch. Lady Strathmore was right. It was necessary to go away at once. It might be possible to reach Devonshire before night, and, on the whole, it would be better to say nothing to Kate about the impending visit of Mrs. Bromley-Martin and her frivolous friends.

"What did she want?" Kate asked wearily.

"Really, I can hardly tell you," Rent stammered. "I don't think she meant to be unkind, though she is a bit hard. The gist of our conversation was that I should get away at once."

Kate Charlock smiled in her sweet, melancholy way, though her heart was hot within her and passionate words trembled on her lips.

"We must try to forgive her," she said gently, "though she was very cruel to me. But she is right about leaving, and the sooner we set out for Devonshire the better. If you will pay the bill, I will go up--what is the matter?"

"Upon my word, I am very sorry," Rent stammered, "but I have only a few shillings in my pocket. In the excitement of yesterday I forgot all about money. Of course, I could telegraph to my solicitors, but even then I could not hear till the morning. Still, I know one or two people here, and I will go out at once and see if I can borrow a few pounds. I sha'n't be long."

She sat there till a waiter came into the room with an envelope in his hand. With some agitation she noticed that the handwriting was that of Rent. She waved the waiter from the room and, in a frenzy of eagerness, tore open the envelope. There were only a few words hurriedly scrawled on the back of a visiting card.

"There is no help for it," the missive ran, "but I must go back to Cowes at once. The business is urgent and admits of no delay. Stay where you are until I return. At the very most I cannot be longer than two hours."

There was passion as well as hate in Kate Charlock's eyes as she tore the card into fragments.

"What does this mean?" she asked. "Can he intend to leave me here? But, no, I cannot possibly believe anything of the kind. And yet, how very awkward!"

*CHAPTER XII*

*A CRIME OR NOT?*

It was the day following the dramatic disappearance of Kate Charlock, and once more Tanza and his companion were on board the yacht. The Italian had been away most of the morning, and had only arrived in time for lunch. He appeared to be on excellent terms with himself. There was a merry twinkle in his eye as he contentedly sucked his cigarette.

"You are not going to tell me anything, then?" he asked.

"My dear sir, there isn't anything to tell you," Malcolm Grey replied. "I won't say that I haven't made a discovery or two, because that wouldn't be true. At the same time, I stick to my original idea of keeping what I know to myself. We will both go our own way and see what we can make of it. But I am more or less convinced that your original suggestion is correct, and that there was foul play in the matter of the French maid."

Tanza's eyes sparkled brightly.

"I have never had the slightest doubt of it," he said. "I have an instinct for that kind of thing. I knew that we had to deal with a scoundrel above the common. The whole thing is most fascinating. I suppose you have heard the latest development?"

"Indeed, I haven't," Grey said. "Tell me."

"Mrs. Charlock has left her husband. There are a good many versions as to the cause of the quarrel. But, at any rate, she has gone, apparently leaving no trace behind her. I dare say there are faults on both sides; he is a hard man, and she is an extravagant, thoughtless woman. One never knows what a man of the artistic temperament is going to do. It seems that Charlock has disposed of his household goods and has made up his mind to spend the next year or two in a cottage."

"Posing, I presume," Grey said cynically.

"No, I don't think so," Tanza went on. "He is too great a genius to indulge in childish follies. He can afford to leave that kind of thing to the log-rollers. I understand that he has outrun the constable, and that he has every desire to get on terms with the world again. Anyway, his wife wouldn't go with him, and I believe they have separated. As the man is a friend of yours, I thought you might have heard about this."

But Grey shook his head. The information was news to him. He was a little annoyed, too, because there were certain facts which he expected to gather from Charlock. He sat there debating the matter for a short time in his mind, then announced his intention of seeking out Charlock. It was possible the artist had not left the neighbourhood yet, and there was no time to be lost. Tanza raised no objection. He hinted that he had work to do himself and that he could dispense with Grey's company for the rest of the afternoon.

A little time afterwards Grey walked up the drive of Charlock's house. There was nothing in the condition of the grounds to indicate that the place was empty. The lawns had been freshly cut, the flower-beds were trim and neat as usual. It was only the blank, staring windows and the litter of straw on the front door which told the story. As Grey stood there the door opened, and Charlock himself came out. There was a grim, significant smile on his face.

"You are astonished to see this?" he asked.

"Not in the least," Grey said. "I should not be astonished at anything you did. But, if it isn't an impertinent question, why are you acting in this fashion? It seems almost a sacrilege to strip a beautiful place like this. And if you must leave it, why not have let it furnished?"

A cynical laugh broke from Charlock's lips.

"It takes time to let a furnished house," he said, "even a little paradise like this. And the lesson loses nothing of its force because it is administered promptly and speedily. When I bark, I bite. And I don't want to give warning. Ah, you don't know what it is to be mated to an extravagant wife who has no consideration for any one but herself. I should be, at the present moment, a rich man. I have no vices. My personal expenditure is nothing. But I do love to be surrounded by things that are good and beautiful. That is why I spent so much in furnishing this house. I thought I was one of the happiest of men. I thought I was going to lead an ideal existence. But I found I was tied to a woman whose one idea was fashion, who thought nothing of playing at gardening in a Paris frock that cost fifty or sixty pounds. And one day I awoke to the fact that I was on the verge of bankruptcy. Great Scott! how those bills came rolling in! There was only one thing to be done--to act at once. There are no half measures with me. I cut everything adrift. I have taken a labourer's cottage. I told my wife she would have to live there with me and do everything till every farthing was paid. And now she has gone."

Charlock spoke harshly and bitterly. It was rarely, indeed, that he mentioned his own feelings. But the wound was too recent. And there was something in Grey's manner that invited confidence.

"Your wife will think better of it," the latter murmured.

"Will she? Yes, perhaps, when the leopard changes his spots and the Ethiopian his skin, but not till then. Oh, everybody will side with her, of course. Everybody knows that I am hard and harsh and difficult to live with. She will pose as an injured woman, and the blame will be mine; indeed, she has begun to do so already. What do you think of her making a convert of Arnold Rent? Fancy that cynical man of the world, who would stick at nothing to gratify his ambition, forfeiting his future for the sake of my injured wife! That is the idea. He has become her champion. I presume he is going to look after her welfare till I am forced to make her a proper allowance. Probably you will hear of the thing again in the law courts--the well-known artist and his outraged wife, and all that kind of thing. Well, let them take what steps they like; I sha'n't trouble to defend it. And yet behind it all there is a comedy so amusing that I feel inclined to laugh in spite of myself. What do you think of my wife's going down to Devonshire to seek an asylum under the roof of Rent's mother? And what do you think of me as an honoured guest in the same house? I am not joking. The thing is in my own hands; indeed, it is more or less imperative, especially as I am not very busy, and an early commission is essential. There is a situation in a play for you! Think what Pinero would make out of it! But why should I bore you with these sordid details? They cannot interest you."

Before Grey could make a suitable reply Charlock held out his hand and bade his companion a blunt good-day. He turned back to the house and banged the door behind him, as if ashamed at this display of feeling. It was not often that the strong man cried aloud so that the world might know of his hurt. He was furious with himself that he had done so now. And it seemed to Grey that it would be in bad taste to attempt to follow his friend and clear up the points which had been the object of his journey.

He walked out of the gates and down the road to the outskirts of the town to the newly erected buildings where, until the past day or two, Arnold Rent had been conducting a series of experiments in wireless telegraphy. The office was close to the shore. One or two workmen were engaged with some apparatus the like of which Grey had not seen before. It was only natural that he should be interested in what was going on, that he should linger for a moment or two, until the office door opened and a clerk emerged. With some directness of manner, but civilly enough, he asked Grey's business. The scientist turned to face the man, abnormally thin and tall--a man with a face like faded yellow parchment, lighted by a pair of sombre, smouldering eyes.

"You seem to have forgotten me, Swift," Grey said. "Have I altered so much during the last two years?"

The tall man gasped. His features twitched convulsively for a moment. Then the colour of his face changed. A sullen red tinged the parchment hue, leaving it still more pallid a minute afterwards.

"Mr. Grey," he stammered. "What do you want here?"

There was something embarrassed, almost guilty, in the speaker's manner. Grey smiled as he replied.

"I am interested in all these kinds of things," he said. "But don't think I come here to learn your secrets. As a matter of fact, I called to see Mr. Rent."

"He is away," the tall man explained. "But now a piece of business has turned up and I am telegraphing him in the course of the day. Is there anything I can tell him?"

"I don't think so," Grey said thoughtfully. "Anyway, there is no hurry. And how are you doing? Have you got over the old weakness? For, if so, you are likely to realise the old ambitions, after all. Don't think me impertinent."

"I don't," Swift said indifferently. "I am only human, and I begin to realise that I shall never be able to cope with that accursed thing. Still, I am better than I was, and I am fairly happy here doing congenial work. You see----"

What Swift was going to say was cut short by the appearance of a third party. He was a slight, dapper man, with prominent features and sleek, glossy hair. His manner was heavily dashed with audacity. He was ludicrously overdressed, and he carried the fact that he was an unregenerate scamp written in every line of his face.

"You are wasting your time," Swift said coldly. "Mr. Rent desires me to say that he does not know you and has no desire to see you. I hope I make myself plain."

"Oh, very well," the stranger said. "In that case, I will wait till Mr. Rent comes back and see him personally. I shall find a way to refresh his memory, and don't you forget it. I don't allow anybody to play the fool with Ephraim Bark."

*CHAPTER XIII*

*MODERN FRIENDSHIP*

As Kate Charlock sat debating her position with anxiety, the door opened cautiously and a gaily dressed figure slipped into the room. The place seemed to be half-filled with billowing draperies and the air was heavy with subtle perfume. Kate Charlock turned in amazement upon the intruder.

"Jessica!" she gasped. "What are you doing here?"

"You may well ask that," Mrs. Bromley-Martin tittered. "But a little bird told me what was going on, and when I had a wire from Lady Strathmore this morning asking me to bring a mob over to tea this afternoon, I jumped at the opportunity. My word, what a time we have had all morning pulling your character to pieces! And just now, when Belle Langley bet me a dozen pairs of gloves I dare not come up and interview you, I closed like a shot. Well, what have you to say for yourself?"

From head to foot Kate Charlock quivered with indignation. She was not blind to her own folly, but, then, she had so hedged herself in with self-pity that she did not regard herself as the average woman who has fallen away from grace. Her case was quite different. But she merely smiled as she replied.

"I have nothing to say for myself," she responded. "I am content to leave my character in the hands of those who, like yourself, are acquainted with my unhappy domestic life. My husband chose to turn me out of house and home, and the punishment should be his more than mine. I know that socially my life is finished."

"Terribly sad," Mrs. Bromley-Martin laughed gaily. "I am not going to blame you. You are no worse than two-thirds of us, as you know very well. Besides, we ought to be grateful to you for giving us something fresh to talk about. Still, we shall miss our tall, white saint who was the connecting link between ourselves and absolute respectability. But I must not stay longer. One has to be careful, you know."

"Yes, with a reputation like yours, one has to be," Mrs. Charlock said sweetly. "You may tell your friends that they need not trouble to waste their sympathy upon me. I am quite happy."

Kate Charlock's looks belied her words as Mrs. Bromley-Martin flitted from the room like some great gauze butterfly. She had little enough to be happy about, she told herself; from the bottom of her heart she resented the patronage of her late visitor. At length she was roused from her reverie by the entrance of a servant with a telegram on a tray. It was addressed to Rent, but Kate opened it and glanced carelessly at the contents. Her face did not move a muscle as she turned to the waiter and told him that there was no reply.

Yet the few words were calculated to disturb. They were charged with meaning and called for immediate action. It was clear that the telegram came from Arnold Rent's mother.

"Have just received your letter," the message ran. "Am terribly surprised and shocked. On no account come here, as I am travelling to see you and will call to-morrow afternoon.

"HELEN RENT."

Kate crushed the flimsy paper into a ball and tossed it contemptuously into the fireplace. A moment later and she was reading the words again thoughtfully. Doubtless some enemy had done this thing, and the words brought the reader no sort of comfort. Kate Charlock recognised courage and stern determination of purpose on the part of the sender of the message. Her ready wit saw that it was necessary to strike a counter-blow without delay. It was evident that Mrs. Rent would adopt a firm attitude and could carry out her part far better in the Royal Solent Hotel than under her own roof. She must start for Devonshire instantly as the only possible way of saving the situation.

Would Arnold Rent really return? It was getting on towards five o'clock and he had been gone for two hours. With a sigh of mingled impatience and surprise, she heard him coming along the corridor. He looked uncomfortable.

"Upon my word, I am very sorry," he said, "but, as luck would have it, I have not been able to find a single friend. We must wait till I get money from my solicitors to-morrow morning. The delay is maddening!"

"Meanwhile, what are we to do about this?" Kate asked, as she held out the telegram. "This is from your mother."

"Perhaps it is a good thing," Rent said. "It will save us a journey, at any rate. You must not be annoyed with my mother. It is only natural that she should feel like that, till the case is explained to her. When she has seen us and heard everything she _must_ be on our side. We can have dinner here and spend the evening together."

For a moment a gleam of anger came into Kate Charlock's eyes. She felt a wild desire to lay her hand upon Rent, to box his ears, to do anything as an outlet for her rage at his crass stupidity. She schooled herself, though as she stood there her finger nails were cutting into the white flesh of her palms.

"You don't understand," she said. "Your mother may forgive you, but she will never forgive me. If we meet here, there will be an end of everything. But under her own roof she will be bound by the dictates of hospitality to listen to what we have to say. I have been looking out the trains, and if we start within an hour we ought to reach our destination this evening."

"It shall be as you please," Rent said tenderly. "I will go with you now, if you choose. There is one little thing you have forgotten--I have no money, and the railway people won't give credit----"

"Oh, please don't raise these obstacles," Kate Charlock cried wearily. "I suppose you carry a watch?"

"Oh, no, my dear, I never carry one. And if I did, what use would it be to us just now?"

In spite of herself a laugh broke from Kate Charlock's lips. Would this man never improve? She crossed the room to her dressing-case and took out a diamond bangle.

"There!" she said. "You are going to have a new experience. I daresay you will have no difficulty in raising twenty pounds on that. You understand what I mean? I have nothing else to spare."

Arnold Rent inclined his head shamefully.

"Oh, I am speaking of a pawnbroker. There is no need to flush and look uncomfortable, because the thing has to be done, whether you like it or not. And, besides, there is no disgrace in the transaction. The pawnbroker keeps open his shop to do business and is as anxious for your patronage as the butcher or the grocer. Ask the first policeman you meet where you can find a respectable shop, and the rest will be easy."

"My dear girl," Rent said, with a hardening of his lips, "I couldn't do it. We must wait."