Part 6

Kate Charlock shot one glance at him. Then she laid her head upon the table and burst into a flood of tears. The strategy was successful, for Rent jumped in agitation to his feet and slipped the bangle into his pocket.

"For Heaven's sake, don't cry," he said. "For your sake I will do anything. I had quite forgotten----"

His voice trailed away in an incoherent manner. He grabbed at his hat and left the room. The woman's eyes dried like magic. A smile trembled on her lips. But the anxious feeling did not leave her. Her heart would not lighten till the express train pulled out from the station on its long journey to the West. The fight was coming and Kate Charlock did not mean to fail.

Despite the extent of his infatuation, the pill was none the less a bitter one for Rent to swallow. He was back again at the hotel presently, with the sovereigns jingling as he came in.

"I am glad that is all right," she said. "And now tell me why you behaved so badly just now? Surely you could not have had business of so great importance as to take you away from me in a crisis like this! It is not as if you were engaged in trade. Now tell me what it was. You can trust me."

An ingenious prevarication trembled upon Rent's lips, when the waiter entered the room with a further telegram. Rent glanced at it more or less carelessly, but, though he was conscious his colour changed, he managed to drop the telegram coolly in the fire.

"The business was not my own," he said, "therefore I cannot tell it you. But I am afraid you will have to be patient. That telegram came from the same quarter and admits of no delay. You won't mind very much if I go back to Cowes now and return in the morning?"

Kate Charlock swallowed her passion. She saw that the time had come to act and struck accordingly.

"Very well," she said. "In that case I will go back to my husband. It is not yet too late and I am not ashamed to meet him. It must be one thing or the other."

Rent stifled what sounded like a groan.

"As you like," he said. "I shall not be the first fool beguiled by a woman!"

*CHAPTER XIV*

*BARK IS CONFIDENTIAL*

Malcolm Grey stood somewhat uncomfortably outside the little office on the seashore, hardly knowing what to do. In some vague way the features of the person who called himself Ephraim Bark were familiar, though he could not place the man. He would have stayed a little longer, only he seemed to be in the way; it looked, too, as if he were listening to a private conversation. He knew Arnold Rent by reputation and personally. He was aware that the latter had the character of a man about town, not too scrupulous where his passions and fancies were concerned. One or two strange tales had come to Grey's ears, though, at the time, he had paid small heed to them. And here was a man, whom no gentleman would touch without gloves, actually speaking as if he held some power over Rent. No man who did not feel positive of his ground would have spoken in that bullying way, especially as the fellow gave every indication of being a coward if he came to be tackled.

At any other time Grey would have dismissed the incident with a shrug of the shoulders, but he had his own reasons now for learning all he could concerning the past history of Arnold Rent. Therefore he lingered to see what was likely to be the upshot of the interview.

He saw Swift's hands clenched with passion. He saw the desire to strike down the intruder gleaming in his eyes. Then Swift restrained himself, as if suddenly remembering that this was an occasion when diplomacy was wiser than strength.

"It is useless for you to hang about here," Swift said. "Mr. Rent is not in the neighbourhood, and I don't suppose he will be back before morning. You can come and see him if you like, but I should not advise you to do so."

"That's all very well," the aggrieved Bark burst out. "But what am I to do in the meantime? And why should he have everything while I've got nothing? By the time I have had my dinner I sha'n't have a cent to pay my lodgings. Just hand over a sovereign or two to go on with. Do you hear?"

"I hear," Swift said coldly. "I regret that I have no money to spare. And I don't think I should let you have it if I had. Come, clear out, or I'll have to put you off the premises."

For the moment it looked as if the truculent Bark would show fight, but he contented himself with vague threats and innuendoes as he turned on his heel and sauntered away. Grey no longer doubted that the man had a powerful hold on Arnold Rent. He waited a few moments, discussing general matters with Swift; then he, too, strode into the road and followed Bark. There was no occasion to introduce himself to this individual, for, without a moment's hesitation, Bark raised his curly brimmed hat with what he believed to be refined and courtly politeness. Grey pulled up at once.

"You'll excuse me, Mr. Grey," Bark said effusively, "but I hope you won't mind doing me a little favour?"

"You know my name, then?" Grey said. "I ought to recognise you, but my memory plays me false."

A look of deep cunning came into Bark's eyes.

"You can't know me, sir," he said, "considering that most of my life has been passed in Paris. But I know you by sight and reputation, because I am by way of being a bit of a scientist myself. I came down to see Mr. Rent, and this is how they treat me! And to think of what I've done for that man, to think of what I know about him! Why, I have only to raise my little finger and say the word, and before a day passed our friend----"

A judicious fit of coughing put an end to further revelations on the part of Bark. He seemed to realise that he was going too far and instantly changed his tone. But this did not deceive Grey.

"Ah!" said Bark, "I am talking too fast, as usual. You might think by my tone that I was threatening Mr. Rent. As a matter of fact, I am only disappointed at his carelessness. But it is very awkward for me. Here am I with only a few shillings in my pocket, which would have been fifty pounds if I had seen Mr. Rent. Now, will you be offended if I ask you for the loan of a fiver for two or three days?"

Grey hesitated for a moment. Would the expenditure be justified? Then, by inspiration, it occurred to him that perhaps Tanza might know this plausible scamp. Certainly it might be worth while to temporise.

"I am sorry," he said, "but I have very little money in my pocket. I can let you have ten shillings, if you like."

Bark audibly expressed his disappointment.

"Well, perhaps I can do better than that," Grey, said, with a smile. "Let me give you the ten shillings to go on with, and if you will be on the landing-stage to-night at nine o'clock I will meet you and give you the balance of the five pounds. I suppose that will be convenient?"

Bark's eyes gleamed with a greedy light.

"Spoken like a man and a brother," he cried. "Now, there's a pal for you! There's a friend in need when a poor chap is down on his luck through no fault of his own! Mr. Grey, you're a gentleman. And it is evident you know another gentleman when you see him."

"I hope so," Grey said drily.

"That being so," said Bark, ignoring the sarcasm, "I will be on the landing-stage at nine o'clock. Thank you very much. In my hard-up state even the half-sovereign is acceptable. You will excuse me if I leave you, as I have an appointment to keep, a business matter involving thousands."

So saying, Bark, with another flourish of his hat, swaggered off down the street. Grey smiled to himself as he saw the flashy little adventurer turn into a public-house. Then, in a thoughtful frame of mind, he went back to the yacht in search of Tanza, whom he found sprawling in a deck chair, deeply engrossed in his eternal cigarettes and reading a French novel.

"What news?" the Italian asked gaily. "I see you have had an interesting morning by the expression of your face. At any rate, your conversation will be more engrossing than this book. Now unbosom yourself."

"There isn't much to tell you at present," said Grey. "I have been following up my investigations and have ascertained one or two important pieces of information. I rather wanted to see Rent, but he is away. I went down to his place, where I found an old friend of ours in the person of John Swift."

"Oh, indeed!" Tanza exclaimed, lifting his eyebrows. "Now that is a man who was made to adorn anything he touched. If he could only keep away from the infernal drink he might now have been one of our leading scientists. What is he doing in these parts?"

"Acting as assistant to Rent," Grey explained. "But that isn't what I wanted to talk to you about. I don't mind telling you I have got hold of a most important clue, and as all roads are said to lead to Rome, so everybody I am meeting at present seems to be more or less mixed up with the matter I have in hand. While I was talking to Swift a man turned up and demanded to see Arnold Rent. He was very disappointed to find that Rent wasn't at home and was at no pains to disguise his feelings. His manner had a suggestion of blackmail about it. Also he seemed to be pretty sure of his ground. I don't suppose I should have given the fellow another thought had I not felt sure I had seen him somewhere. And I thought perhaps that you, with your amazing acquaintance with all sorts and conditions of scoundrels, might know something about him."

"Have you managed to learn his name?" Tanza asked.

"Well, yes, I did, if he doesn't happen to be passing under some _alias_. He is called Ephraim Bark. Rather a curious sort of name, isn't it?"

"I know him quite well," he said. "That is his name. At any rate, I never heard him called anything else. He is a most plausible and ingenious rascal, and I should very much like to meet him again. I suppose you have his address; if so, we will seek him out and entertain him after dinner."

Grey explained exactly what course he had adopted, and Tanza was pleased to signify his approval. So it came about that shortly after nine o'clock the two proceeded to the landing-stage. There they found Bark arrayed in a somewhat resplendent evening dress, the effect of which, however, was slightly marred by the fact that the linen was exceedingly dingy. But he carried it all off with a truculent air. Obviously he had spent a good deal of the half-sovereign in liquid refreshment, and was in a condition which in a less seasoned drinker might have been called an advanced stage of intoxication.

"Well, Bark," Tanza said cheerfully. "So we have met again. No, you needn't trouble to express your gratification. You are coming on board my yacht with Mr. Grey to give us certain information we are in need of."

"Lumme, yes," Bark said, with some emotion. "I'll tell you anything. I couldn't refuse an old friend."

*CHAPTER XV*

*ILL TIDINGS*

In its modest way, Alton Lee, which stands upon the South Devonshire coast, was quite a show place. There the Rents had held their sway for the best part of three centuries, since the founder of the family first came West and built the old house, which his successors had altered out of all recognition. The history of the family had been fairly uneventful. They had married with their neighbours, and more than one heiress had come along to swell their fortunes. For the most part they had been people of moderate ideas, clean-living, healthy-minded men and women, not endowed with too much intellect, and perfectly contented with their lot. At present the Rents were represented by Arnold himself and his mother, an elderly lady, who was exceedingly popular with all who knew her.

Ever since Arnold Rent had left school his mother had been more or less afraid of him. That she was passionately devoted to her only son goes without saying; but she herself had been brought up in the simple, narrow way. She had an almost morbid horror of anything that was in the least unconventional and a mighty regard for her neighbours.

And her boy was totally different in every respect. The knowledge that he had an inclination for work had filled her with tranquil happiness and a sense of security, which, however, was not destined to last. There being several livings in the family gift, there had been no reason why Arnold Rent should not settle down to the career of a country parson. But from the first he had other plans which in Mrs. Rent's opinion were almost revolutionary. The limited field did not appeal to a man of his views and restless energy, and with many misgivings his mother had seen him start an entirely different career of his own choosing in London. That he was squandering money on this did not matter. The past three or four generations of Rents had not spent anything like half their income, so there was money enough and to spare. There was no anxiety on that score.

From time to time Mrs. Rent had reports of her son's progress. She was convinced that knighthood was within his grasp if he could only control some of his advanced ideas and bow to the voice of authority. At any rate he was strong and good and in earnest. On the whole, it seemed to Mrs. Rent that Providence had been more than kind to her.

She was in the garden now busy among her roses. The rose gardens at Alton Lee were famous. Even in that well-favoured spot there was nothing like them. And the lady of the house fitted well in with the picture. She walked with a slight stoop; one long, slender hand was closed upon an ebony crutch-stick; her delicate features were half hidden by a large, shady hat. For the rest, her hair was grey and abundant, and her blue eyes beamed with a kindly expression. She was the embodiment of an elderly lady of the old school, which is fast becoming extinct. With all beneath her she had the widest sympathy. No tale of distress found her unmoved, but she had undemonstrative pride, for all that. There were people in the neighbourhood who said that Mrs. Rent was haughty and distant, but most of these were newcomers whose money had been derived from trade. As to the wealthy financiers who play so prominent a part in Society to-day, not one of them would have been permitted to cross the threshold of Alton Lee, though Mrs. Rent was always pleased to see the little curate's wife to dinner.

She cut the last of a basketful of large, dark, red-hearted roses and dropped into a garden seat with a sigh of placid satisfaction. It was a perfect afternoon, with just the suspicion of a breeze rustling the great oaks in the park. Across the middle distance a herd of deer moved slowly and gracefully. Away to the west the blue sea lay placid in the sunshine. From one of the side paths a girl came along, carrying a huge mass of sprays of maidenhair fern in her hand. She was not particularly tall or strikingly beautiful, but there was a rare attraction about Ethel Margrave's face that grew upon one the more her features were studied. But the eyes of deep blue were the chief attraction. No one ever failed to notice these liquid azure lakes which drew to her every man and woman of her acquaintance. She came gaily along and dropped into the seat by Mrs. Rent's side.

"My dear auntie, how busy you have been!" she exclaimed. "I thought I should have been in time to cut at least half those roses for you; but I suppose I stayed too long in the greenhouses admiring the orchids. I won't get the drawing-room flowers done before tea-time, at this rate."

Mrs. Rent smiled indulgently at the speaker. Next to her son, there was nobody in the world whom she loved as deeply and sincerely as her niece, Ethel Hargrave. If she had one wish left ungratified, it was that Arnold and Ethel might some day be master and mistress of the old house. The dream had gradually deepened till it had become almost a passion, but it looked now as if the elderly lady was going to be disappointed. Perhaps the young people had been too much together to fall in love with one another. At any rate, Arnold Rent had always looked upon Ethel as a sister. And there was something in Mrs. Rent's disappointment that had a touch of pain in it. Those kindly blue eyes could look keenly enough at human nature sometimes, and Mrs. Rent had more than a suspicion that Ethel cared deeply for her son. There were moments when this knowledge filled her with anxiety.

"Let us sit here and talk a little longer," she said. "There will be plenty of time for your drawing-room flowers. Did I tell you that I had a letter from your father this morning? He hopes that he will be able to get away from Australia for a long holiday at the beginning of next year. What a long time it is since you saw him! And what a pity it is that you photograph so badly! I have been thinking it over lately and I am going to give my brother a surprise. I have been in communication with one of the most famous artists of the day, and he is coming here to paint your portrait."

"What a distinguished honour!" the girl laughed. "My dear, you are making quite a Society woman of me. Will the picture be exhibited in next year's Academy and be reproduced in the ladies' papers? Really, I ought to be quite angry with you for such extravagance."

"Oh, I am glad to find you don't mind," Mrs. Rent replied. "Besides, I want a proper picture of you myself. We were only talking about it the last time Arnold was here. By the way, have you heard from him lately?"

The girl flushed at the mention of Rent's name.

"Oh, dear, no," she said. "Arnold is much too busy to trouble about a simple country girl like myself. The last time I heard from him his letter was one of tirade and abuse of the doings of Society. I understood he was moving in it himself, so that he would be able to speak from personal knowledge. Do you know, my dear aunt, I wish Arnold wouldn't be so dreadfully serious. One feels a poor creature by comparison. I should like to see him do something foolish. You know what I mean."

"Oh, I think I do," Mrs. Rent smiled. "It would be nice if he made a mistake or two and came down here for us to sympathise with him. But one never feels sure of Arnold. I expect to hear every day that he has gone over to the Rationalists, or taken monastic vows, or some equally dreadful thing. But you may be sure that Arnold would never do anything to make one blush for him."

The mother spoke with a serene pride that brought an answering smile to Ethel's face. Attached as she was to Arnold Rent, she would have preferred him to be a little more human. Like most girls who live a good deal alone, she had her imaginative moods, and was fond of picturing Arnold as wounded in a conflict and coming home for her support and sympathy. She dismissed the mental picture now with a sigh of impatience. There was not the least likelihood of Arnold stepping from the straight path. He would go to high honours in the world. He would marry some noble woman of great intellectual attainments to help him in his work.

"I think we spoil him," she said. "However, it is no use talking about it. But, surely, my eyes don't deceive me. That must be Mr. Westlake coming down the drive. What brings him here? Something dreadful must have happened to induce him to leave his beloved London."

Mrs. Rent rose with a sudden feeling of approaching trouble. It was rare, indeed, for the old family solicitor to come to Devonshire, especially without warning. The elderly man approached the garden-seat and raised his hat. Nothing could be gathered from his austere features except a trace of anxiety on his brow. He murmured something in reply to Mrs. Rent's question, then glanced significantly at Ethel.

"Very well," the girl said. "I see you have come on affairs of state, so I'll run away and finish my flowers. Don't forget that it is very nearly tea-time."

*CHAPTER XVI*

*THE HONOUR OF THE FAMILY*

Arnold Rent's mother waited for the lawyer to speak. She scented trouble.

"And now, my dear old friend, what is it?" Mrs. Rent said quietly. "I see you are in great anxiety about something. I suppose it has to do with money. But, in any case, I am sure you are in no way to blame."

"It has nothing to do with money at all," Mr. Westlake replied. "From that point of view, things were never better. Before I go any further, have you had any news of your son lately? Have you heard this morning? I thought, perhaps, possibly----"

"Arnold!" Mrs. Rent exclaimed. "Something has happened to him! You are keeping me in suspense."

"Indeed, I am not," Westlake protested. "So far as I know, there is nothing wrong with your son, who was perfectly well last night. But it is to consult you about Arnold that I have hurried here to-day. I learnt something yesterday and immediately went out to Southampton last night, where my worst suspicions were confirmed. It struck me as strange that a young man in his position should be telegraphing for money, and I heard one or two rumours in the early part of the week. You must not be too hard upon the boy, because one never knows what temptations unscrupulous women put in the way of impressionable men. And, if I may be allowed to say it, in worldly matters Arnold is a little lax."

All the colour left Mrs. Rent's cheeks. She sat for a moment with her hand pressed to her heart. Then her dignity and courage came back to her. Her voice was tranquil as she spoke.

"Perhaps you had better begin at the beginning, my dear friend," she said. "A mother is always anxious about her child. She has gloomy moments when she fears the worst. I won't say that Arnold has never given me any anxiety, because that would not be true, but I never dreamt he would so far forget himself as to tarnish his good name and honour. Do you mean to say that he allowed himself to get entangled?"

"That would be hardly fair," Westlake said, with lawyer-like caution. "I am told that the lady is exceedingly beautiful and that she has been very unhappy in her married life. She has been described to me as a sweet saint, a kind of Madonna--just the sort of creature who would be likely to appeal to a chivalrous, romantic man like your son. I believe that the husband turned his wife out of the house, or that he sold the house over her head, which comes to much the same thing. Unfortunately, Arnold appeared on the scene at that very moment, and that is how the trouble began. At any rate, the mischief is done and nothing we can say can alter it. The worst feature is that Arnold's career is seriously checked. He will have to delay matters. He will have to abandon his experiments till this fancy is forgotten. No one would listen to a man who had been god in the car to another man's wife. Of course, this sounds very cruel, but, then, you are always so rational and reasonable that I can speak to you the more freely. Believe me, I would have given half I possess if I could have saved the situation before it was too late."

"I know it," Mrs. Rent said quietly. "My dear Richard Westlake, this is a bitter blow to me. As yet I can hardly realise it. He must have been mad. He must have been carried away by impulsive good-heartedness. But we are wasting time. I must see Arnold. I suppose I shall even have to see the woman. I shall have to sit down in the same room with her."

"That is the point I was coming to," Westlake said, almost eagerly. "I want to prevent those misguided people from coming here. That must be avoided at any cost."

"Here!" Mrs. Rent murmured. "Do you mean to say that that woman would have the audacity to come to Alton Lee?"