CHAPTER XXI
A CONDITION
Lord Ronsdale hesitated; his thin jaws were set so that the bones of thecheek showed; his eyes gleamed. When he did move it was as if blindly,precipitately, to carry out his first impulse.
"I wouldn't!" What John Steele held vaguely included, in the radius ofits possibilities, Mr. Gillett. "Unless--"
"You wouldn't dare!" Lord Ronsdale trembled, but with impotent passion,not fear. "It would be--"
"Self-defense! The paper would remain--full vindication. In fact thepaper already is mine. Whether I kill you or not is merely incidental.And to tell you the truth I don't much care how you decide!"
Again Lord Ronsdale seemed almost to forget caution; almost, but notquite; perhaps he was deterred by the look on John Steele's face,scornful, mocking, as half-inviting him to cast all prudence to thewinds. This bit of evidence that he had not calculated upon, it was hardto give it up; but no other course remained. Besides, another, Gillett,knew of its existence; Lord Ronsdale felt he could not depend on thatperson in an emergency of this kind; the police agent's manner was notreassuring. He seemed inclined to be more passive than aggressive;perhaps he had been somewhat overcome by this unexpected revelation andthe deep waters he who boasted of an "eminently respectable andreputable agency" had unwittingly drifted into; in climaxes of thischaracter one's thoughts are likely to center on self, to the exclusionof patron or employer, however noble. The police agent looked atRonsdale and waited to see what he would do.
The nobleman moved toward the desk; the paper fluttered from his coldfingers; when once more John Steele buttoned his coat the affidavit hadagain found lodgment in his waistcoat pocket.
It seemed a tame, commonplace end; but it was the end; all three menknew it. John Steele's burning glance swept from Lord Ronsdale toGillett; lingered with mute contemplation. What now remained to be doneshould be easily, it seemed almost too easily, accomplished. He feltlike one lingering on the stage after the curtain had gone down; thevaried excitement, the fierce play of emotion was over; the actorshardly appeared interesting.
What he said was for Lord Ronsdale alone; after Gillett had gone, helaid down a condition. In certain respects it was a moment of triumph;but he experienced no exultation, only a supreme weariness, an anxietyto be done with the affair, to go. But the one point had first to bemade, emphasized; to be accepted by the other violently, quietly,resignedly,--John Steele did not care what his attitude might be; whathe chiefly felt was that he did not wish to waste much time on him.
"And if I refuse to let you dictate in a purely private concern?" LordRonsdale, white with passion, had answered.
"The end will be the same for you. As matters stand, Sir Charles nodoubt thinks still that you would make a desirable _parti_ for hisniece. His wife, Lady Wray, unquestionably shares that opinion. Theircombined influence might in time prevail, and Jocelyn Wray yield totheir united wishes. This misfortune," with cutting deadliness of tone,"it is obvious must be averted. You will consent to withdraw allpretensions in that direction, or you will force me to make public thispaper. A full exposition of the case I think would materially affect SirCharles and Lady Wray's attitude as to the desirability of an alliancebetween their family and yours."
"And yourself? You forget," with a sneer, "how it would affect you!"
"Myself!" John Steele laughed. "You fool! Do you imagine I wouldhesitate for that reason?"
The nobleman looked at him, at the glowing, contemptuous eyes."Hesitate? Perhaps not! You love her yourself, and--"
John Steele stepped toward him. "Stop, or--I have once been almost onthe point of killing you to-night--don't--" he broke off. "Thecondition? You consent or not?"
"And if I--? You would--?"
"Keep your cowardly secret? Yes!"
To this the other had replied; of necessity the scene had dragged alonga little farther; then John Steele found himself on the stairway, goingdown.
It was over, this long, stubborn contest; he hardly heard or saw a cabdrive up and stop before the house as he went out to the street, wasscarcely conscious of some one leaving it, some one about to enter whosuddenly stopped at sight of him and exclaimed eagerly, warmly. He wasnot surprised; with apathy he listened to the new-comer's words;rambling, disconnected, about a letter that had intercepted him atBrighton and brought him post-haste to London.
A letter? John Steele had entered the cab; he sank back; when had hewritten a letter? Weeks ago; he looked at this face, familiar, far-off;the fog was again rising around him. He could hardly see; he was glad hedid not have to stir; he seemed to breathe with difficulty.
"Where--are we going?"
"To Rosemary Villa."
"I--should prefer--my own chambers"--John Steele spoke with aneffort--"it is nearer--and I'm a bit done up. Besides, after a littlerest, there are--some business matters--to be attended to--that willneed looking after as soon as--"
His head fell forward; Captain Forsythe looked at him; called up loudly,excitedly to the driver.
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