CHAPTER VIII
A CHANGE OF FRONT
HE found the task no easy one, however, although he went at it with hischaracteristic vigor and energy. Few men knew the seamy side of Londonbetter than John Steele: its darksome streets and foul alleys, itshovels and various habitations. And this knowledge he utilized to thebest advantage, always to find that his efforts came to naught. Thesnares he set before possible hiding-places proved abortive; theartifices he employed to uncover the quarry in maze or labyrinth werefruitless. The man had appeared like a vision from the past, andvanished. Whither? Out of the country, once more? Over the seas? Had hetaken quick alarm at Steele's words, and effected a hasty retreat fromthe scenes of his graceless and nefarious career?
Reluctantly John Steele found himself forced to entertain thepossibility of this being so; otherwise the facilities at his commandwere such that he should most likely, ere this, have been able to attainhis end, find what he sought. Soberly attired, he attracted no verymarked attention in the slums,--breeding spots of the criminal classes;the denizens knew John Steele; he had been there oft before.
He had, on occasion, assisted some of them with stern good advice ormore substantial services. He was acquainted with these men and women;had, perhaps, a larger charity for them than most people find itexpedient to cherish. His glance had always seemed to read them throughand through, with uncompromising realization of their infirmities,weaknesses of the flesh and inherited moral imperfections. His veryfearlessness had ever commended him to that lower world; it did now,enabling him the better to cast about in divers directions.
To hear nothing, to learn nothing, at least, very little! One man hadseen the object of Steele's solicitude and to this person, a weazenedlittle "undesirable," the red-headed giant had confided that London waspretty hot and he thought of decamping from it.
"'Arter all this time that's gone by,' he says to me, bitter-like, 'tothink a man can't come back to 'is native 'ome without being spied onfor what ought long ago to be dead and forgot!' But you're not trying tolay hands on 'im, to put 'im in the pen, gov'ner?"
"I?" A singular glint shot from Steele's gaze. "No, no, my man, I'm notseeking him for that. But he didn't say where he expected to go?"
"Not he."
"Nor what had brought him to London?"
"I expect it was 'omesickness, sir. 'E's been a bad lot, but 'e has aheart, arter all. It was to see 'is mother 'e came back; the old womandrew 'im 'ere. You see 'e had written 'er from foreign parts, but couldnever 'ear; 'cause she had moved; used to keep a place where a woman wasfound--"
"Dead?"
"Murdered!" said the man; John Steele was silent. "And she, 'is mother'ad gone, 'aving saved a bit, out into a peaceable-like little 'amlet,where there weren't no bobbies, only instead, bits of flower gardens andbright bloomin' daffy-down-dillies. But, blime me, when Tom come andfound out where she 'ad changed to, if she 'adn't gone and shuffled off,and all 'e 'ad for 'is pains was the sight of a mound in thechurchyard."
"Yes; she's buried," said John Steele thoughtfully, "and all she mighthave told about the woman who was--murdered, is buried with her."
"But she did tell, sir; at the time," quickly, "of the trial."
"True." The visitor's tone changed. "If you can find Tom, give him thisnote; you'll be well paid--"
"I ain't askin' for that; you got me off easy once and gave me a lift,arter I was let out--"
"Well, well!" Steele made a brusk gesture. "We all need a helping handsometimes," he said turning away.
And that was as near as he had come to attainment of his desires.
Summer passed; sometimes, the better to think, to plan, to keep himselfgirded by constant exercise, he repaired to the park, now neglected byfashion and given over to that nebulous quantity of diverse qualitiescalled the people. Where fine gentlemen and beaux had idled,middle-class nurse-maids now trundled their charges or paused toconverse with the stately guardians of the place. Almost deserted wereroads and row; landau, victoria and brougham, with their variedcoats-of-arms, no longer rolled pompously past; only the occasionaldemocratic cab, of nimble possibilities, speeding by with a fare lentpretext of life to the scene. True, the nomad appeared in everincreasing numbers, holding his right to the sward for a couch as aninalienable privilege; John Steele encountered him on every hand. Once,beneath a great tree, where Jocelyn Wray and he had stopped their horsesto talk for a moment, the bleared, bloated face of what had been a manlooked up at him. The sight for an instant seemed to startle thebeholder; a wave of anger at that face, set in a place where imaginationhad an instant before played with a picture altogether different, passedover him; then quickly went.
As he strode forward at a swinging pace, his thoughts swept swiftlyagain into another channel, one they had been flowing in when he hadfirst entered the park that day. Above him the leaves rustledceaselessly; their restless movements seemed in keeping with his moodwherein impatience mingled with other and fiercer emotions. Fate hadbeen against him, the inevitable "what must be," which, in the end,crushes alike Faintheart or Strongheart. Of what avail to square hisshoulders? the danger pressed close; he felt it, by that intuition mensometimes have. What if he left, left the field, this England? Who couldaccuse him of cowardice if in that black moment he yielded to thehateful course and went, like the guilty, pitiable skulkers?
"How do you do, Steele? Just the man I wanted to see!"
Near the main exit, toward which John Steele had unconsciously stepped,the sound of a familiar voice and the appearance of a well-known stockyform broke in, with startling abruptness, on the dark train of thought.
"Deep in some point of law?" went on Sir Charles. "'Pon honor, believeyou would have cut me. However, don't apologize; you're forgiven!"
"Most amiable of you to say so, Sir Charles!" perfunctorily.
"Not at all! Especially as our meeting is quite apropos. Obliged to runup to town on a little matter of business; but, thank goodness, it'sdone. Never saw London more deserted. Dined at the club, nobody there.Supped at the hotel, dining-room empty. Strolled up Piccadilly, not asoul to be seen. That is," he added, "no one whom one has seen before,which is the same thing. But how did you enjoy your trip to thecontinent?"
"It was not exactly a trip for pleasure," returned the other with aslight accent of constraint.
"Ah, yes; so I understood. But fancy going to the continent on business!One usually goes for--which reminds me, how would you like to go backinto the country with me?"
"I? It is impossible at the moment for--"
But Sir Charles seemed not to listen. "Deuced dull journey for a man totake alone; good deal of it by coach. You'll find a few salmon tokill--trout and all that. Think of the joy of whipping a stream, afterhaving been mewed up all these months in the musty metropolis! Besides,I made a wager with Jocelyn you wouldn't refuse a second opportunity tobask in Arcadia." He laughed. "'I really couldn't presume to ask himagain,' is the way she expressed it, 'but if you can draw a sufficientlyeloquent picture of the rural attractions of Strathorn to woo him fromhis beloved dusty byways, you have my permission to try.'"
"Did she say that?" John Steele spoke quickly. Then, "I am sorry, it isimpossible, but," in a low tone, "how is Miss Wray?"
"Never better. Enjoying every moment. Jolly party and all that. LordRonsdale and--" Here Sir Charles enumerated a number of people.
"Lord Ronsdale is there?"
"Yes; couldn't keep him away from Strathorn House now," he laughed. "Asa matter of fact he has asked my permission to--there!" Sir Charlesstopped, then laughed again with a little embarrassment. "I've nearlylet the cat out of the bag."
John Steele spoke no word; his face was set, immovable; his lashesshaded his eyes. A flood of traffic at a corner held them; he appearedattentive only for it. The wheels pounded and rattled; the whips snappedand cracked.
"You mean he has proposed for her hand and she--" Steele seemed to speakwith difficulty--"has consented?"
The noise almost drowned the que
stion but Sir Charles heard.
"Well, not exactly. She appears complaisant, as it were," he answered."But really, I shouldn't have mentioned the matter at all; quitepremature, you understand. Let's say no more about it. And--what was ityou said about going back with me?"
"Yes," said John Steele with a sudden strength and energy that SirCharles might attribute to the desire to make himself understood abovethe din of the street. "I'll go back with you at"--the latter words,lower spoken, the other did not catch--"no matter what cost!"
Sir Charles dodged a vehicle; he did not observe the light, the fire,the sudden play of fierce, dark passion on his companion's face.
"Good!" he said. "And when you get tired of 'books in the runningbrooks'--"
Steele's hand closed on his arm. "When do you leave?" he asked abruptly.
"To-day--to-morrow--Suit your convenience."
"Let it be to-day, then! To-day!"
Sir Charles looked at him quickly; John Steele's face recovered itscomposure.
"I believe I have become weary of what your niece calls the 'dustybyways,'" he explained with a forced laugh.
* * * * *