CHAPTER XXV
A HANDFUL OF ASHES
The Countess of Deringham was sitting alone in her smaller drawing-room,gazing steadfastly at a certain spot in the blazing fire before her. Alittle pile of grey ashes was all that remained of the sealed packetwhich she had placed within the bars only a few seconds ago. She watchedit slowly grow shapeless--piece after piece went fluttering up the broadchimney. A gentle yet melancholy smile was parting her lips. A chapterof her life was floating away there with the little trembling stripslighter than the air, already hopelessly destroyed. Their disintegrationbrought with it a sense of freedom which she had lacked for many years.Yet it was only the folly of a girl, the story of a little foolishlove-making, which those grey, ashen fragments, clinging so tenaciouslyto the iron bars, could have unfolded. Lady Deringham was not a womanwho had ever for a single moment had cause to reproach herself with anyreal lack of duty to the brave young Englishman whom she had married somany years ago. It was of those days she was thinking as she sat therewaiting for the caller, whose generosity had set her free.
At precisely four o'clock there was the sound of wheels in the drive,the slow movement of feet in the hall, and a servant announced avisitor.
"Mr. Sabin."
Lady Deringham smiled and greeted him graciously. Mr. Sabin leaned uponhis wonderful stick for a moment, and then bent low over LadyDeringham's hand. She pointed to an easy chair close to her own, and hesank into it with some appearance of weariness. He was looking a littleold and tired, and he carried himself without any of his usual buoyancy.
"Only a few minutes ago," she said, "I burnt my letters. I was thinkingof those days in Paris when the man announced you! How old it makes onefeel."
He looked at her critically.
"I am beginning to arrive at the conclusion," he said, "that the poetsand the novelists are wrong. It is the man who suffers! Look at my greyhairs!"
"It is only the art of my maid," she said smiling, "which conceals mine.Do not let us talk of the past at all; to think that we lived so longago is positively appalling!"
He shook his head gently.
"Not so appalling," he answered, "as the thought of how long we stillhave to live! One regrets one's youth as a matter of course, but theprospect of old age is more terrible still! Lucky those men and thosewomen who live and then die. It is that interregnum--the level,monotonous plain of advancing old age, when one takes the waters atCarlsbad and looks askance at the _entrees_--that is what one has todread. To watch our own degeneration, the dropping away of our energies,the decline of our taste--why, the tortures of the Inquisition weretrifles to it!"
She shuddered a little.
"You paint old age in dreary colours," she said.
"I paint it as it must seem to men who have kept the kernel of lifebetween their teeth," he answered carelessly. "To the others--well, onecares little about them. Most men are like cows, they are contented solong as they are fed. To that class I daresay old age may seem somethingof a rest. But neither you nor I are akin to them."
"You talk as you always talked," she said. "Mr. Sabin is very like----"
He stopped her.
"Mr. Sabin, if you please," he exclaimed. "I am particularly anxious topreserve my incognito just now. Ever since we met yesterday I have beenregretting that I did not mention it to you--I do not wish it to beknown that I am in England."
"Mr. Sabin it shall be, then," she answered; "only if I were you I wouldhave chosen a more musical name."
"I wonder--have you by chance spoken of me to your son?" he asked.
"It is only by chance that I have not," she admitted. "I have scarcelyseen him alone to-day, and he was out last evening. Do you wish toremain Mr. Sabin to him also?"
"To him particularly," Mr. Sabin declared; "young men are seldomdiscreet."
Lady Deringham smiled.
"Wolfenden is not a gossip," she remarked; "in fact I believe he isgenerally considered too reserved."
"For the present, nevertheless," he said, "let me remain Mr. Sabin tohim also. I do not ask you this without a purpose."
Lady Deringham bowed her head. This man had a right to ask her more thansuch slight favours.
"You are still," she said, "a man of mystery and incognitos. You arestill, I suppose, a plotter of great schemes. In the old days you usedto terrify me almost; are you still as daring?"
"Alas! no," he answered. "Time is rapidly drawing me towards the greatborderland, and when my foot is once planted there I shall carry out mytheories and make my bow to the world with the best grace a man maywhose life has been one long chorus of disappointments. No! I haveretired from the great stage; mine is now only a passive occupation. Onereturns always, you know, and in a mild way I have returned to theliterary ambitions of my youth. It is in connection, by the bye, withthis that I arrive at the favour which you so kindly promised to grantme."
"If you knew, Victor," she said, "how grateful I feel towards you, youwould not hesitate to ask me anything within my power to grant."
Mr. Sabin toyed with his stick and gazed steadfastly into the fire. Hewas pensive for several minutes; then, with the air of a man whosuddenly detaches himself from a not unpleasant train of thought, helooked up with a smile.
"I am not going to tax you very severely," he said. "I am writing acritical paper on the armaments of the world for a European review. Ihad letters of introduction to Mr. C., and he gave me a great deal ofvaluable information. There were one or two points, however, on which hewas scarcely clear, and in the course of conversation he mentioned yourhusband's name as being the greatest living authority upon those points.He offered to give me a letter to him, but I thought it would perhapsscarcely be wise. I fancied, too, you might be inclined, for reasonswhich we need not enlarge upon, to help me."
For a simple request Lady Deringham's manner of receiving it wascertainly strange; she was suddenly white almost to the lips. A look ofpositive fear was in her eyes. The frank cordiality, the absolutekindliness with which she had welcomed her visitor was gone. She lookedat him with new eyes; the old mistrust was born again. Once more he wasthe man to be feared and dreaded above all other men; yet she would notgive way altogether. He was watching her narrowly, and she made a braveeffort to regain her composure.
"But do you not know," she said hesitatingly, "that my husband is agreat invalid? It is a very painful subject for all of us, but we fearthat his mind is not what it used to be. He has never been the same mansince that awful night in the Solent. His work is more of a hobby withhim; it would not be at all reliable for reference."
"Not all of it, certainly," he assented. "Mr. C. explained that to me.What I want is an opportunity to discriminate. Some would be very usefulto me--the majority, of course, worse than useless. The particularinformation which I want concerns the structural defects in some of thenew battleships. It would save an immense amount of time to get thissuccinctly."
She looked away from him, still agitated.
"There are difficulties," she murmured; "serious ones. My husband has anextraordinary idea as to the value of his own researches, and he isalways haunted by a fear lest some one should break in and steal hispapers. He would not suffer me to glance at them; and the room is tooclosely guarded for me to take you there without his knowledge. He isnever away himself, and one of the keepers is stationed outside."
"The wit of a woman," Mr. Sabin said softly, "is all-conquering."
"Providing always," Lady Deringham said, "that the woman is willing. Ido not understand what it all means. Do you know this? Perhaps you do.There have been efforts made by strangers to break into my husband'sroom. Only a few days ago a stranger came here with a forged letter ofintroduction, and obtained access to the Admiral's library. He did notcome to steal. He came to study my husband's work; he came, in fact, forthe very purpose which you avow. Only yesterday my son began to take thesame interest in the same thing. The whole of this morning he spent withhis father, under the pretence of helping him; really he was studyin
gand examining for himself. He has not told me what it is, but he has areason for this; he, too, has some suspicions. Now you come, and yourmission is the same. What does it all mean? I will write to Mr. C.myself; he will come down and advise me."
"I would not do that if I were you," Mr. Sabin said quietly. "Mr. C.would not thank you to be dragged down here on such an idle errand."
"Ay, but would it be an idle errand?" she said slowly. "Victor, be frankwith me. I should hate to refuse anything you asked me. Tell me what itmeans. Is my husband's work of any real value, and if so to whom, andfor what purpose?"
Mr. Sabin was gently distressed.
"My dear Lady Deringham," he said, "I have told you the exact truth. Iwant to get some statistics for my paper. Mr. C. himself recommended meto try and get them from your husband; that is absolutely all. As forthis attempted robbery of which you were telling me, believe me when Iassure you that I know nothing whatever about it. Your son's interestis, after all, only natural. The study of the papers on which yourhusband has been engaged is the only reasonable test of his sanity.Frankly, I cannot believe that any one in Lord Deringham's mental statecould produce any work likely to be of the slightest permanent value."
The Countess sighed.
"I suppose that I must believe you, Victor," she said; "yet,notwithstanding all that you say, I do not know how to help you--myhusband scarcely ever leaves the room. He works there with a revolver byhis side. If he were to find a stranger near his work I believe that hewould shoot him without hesitation."
"At night time----"
"At night time he usually sleeps there in an ante-room, and outsidethere is a man always watching."
Mr. Sabin looked thoughtful.
"It is only necessary," he said, "for me to be in the room for about tenminutes, and I do not need to carry anything away; my memory will serveme for all that I require. By some means or other I must have that tenminutes."
"You will risk your life," Lady Deringham said, "for I cannot suggestany plan; I would help you if I could, but I am powerless."
"I must have that ten minutes," Mr. Sabin said slowly.
"Must!" Lady Deringham raised her eyebrows. There was a subtle change inthe tone of the man, a note of authority, perhaps even the shadow of athreat; he noted the effect and followed it up.
"I mean what I say, Constance," he declared. "I am not asking you agreat thing; you have your full share of woman's wit, and you canarrange this if you like."
"But, Victor, be reasonable," she protested; "suggest a way yourself ifyou think it so easy. I tell you that he never leaves the room!"
"He must be made to leave it."
"By force?"
"If necessary," Mr. Sabin answered coolly.
Lady Deringham raised her hand to her forehead and sat thinking. Theman's growing earnestness bewildered her. What was to be done--whatcould she say? After all he was not changed; the old fear of him wascreeping through her veins, yet she made her effort.
"You want those papers for something more than a magazine article!" shedeclared. "There is something behind all this! Victor, I cannot helpyou; I am powerless. I will take no part in anything which I cannotunderstand."
He stood up, leaning a little upon his stick, the dull, green stone ofwhich flashed brightly in the firelight.
"You will help me," he said slowly. "You will let me into that room atnight, and you will see that your husband is not there, or that he doesnot interfere. And as to that magazine article, you are right! What ifit were a lie! I do not fly at small game. Now do you understand?"
She rose to her feet and drew herself up before him proudly. She toweredabove him, handsome, dignified, angry.
"Victor," she said firmly, "I refuse; you can go away at once! I willhave no more to say or to do with you! You have given me up my letters,it is true, yet for that you have no special claim upon my gratitude. Aman of honour would have destroyed them long ago."
He looked up at her, and the ghost of an unholy smile flickered upon hislips.
"Did I tell you that I had given them all back to you?" he said. "Ah!that was a mistake; all save one, I should have said! One I kept, incase---- Well, your sex are proverbially ungrateful, you know. It is theone on the yellow paper written from Mentone! You remember it? I alwaysliked it better than any of the others."
Her white hands flashed out in the firelight. It seemed almost as thoughshe must have struck him. He had lied to her! She was not really free;he was still the master and she his slave! She stood as though turned tostone.
"I think," he said, "that you will listen now to a little plan which hasjust occurred to me, will you not?"
She looked away from him with a shudder.
"What is it?" she asked hoarsely.