CHAPTER V
That evening Endacott, in response to an urgent summons, rose somewhatreluctantly from his chair under the cedar tree, finished his coffee andoffered a grudging explanation of his departure.
"Your aunt has sent in to say that she wishes to see me particularly,"he confided to Claire. "Just the hour of the day when I like to rest!"
"What a pity!" she murmured. "Shall I come with you?"
He shook his head.
"No need for two of us to go on a fool's errand," he grumbled.
He crossed the lawn, passed down a gravel path, and, opening the posterngate, made his way into the lane which divided the Great House and theLittle House. A moment or two later he was ushered into Madame'sdrawing-room.
"You did not mind coming, Ralph?" she asked a little anxiously.
"As a rule," he admitted, selecting a chair close to her couch, "Iprefer my evenings undisturbed. Since you expressed a wish to see me,however, I am here."
His tone seemed scarcely propitious. She looked at him wistfully. Theyears, she decided, had treated him hardly. There was little of sympathyin his face, little left of gentleness. Almost from the first she feltthat her task was hopeless.
"Sir Bertram came down to see me this afternoon," she began.
He nodded without speech, and waited.
"He comes down every other day when he is at Ballaston," she went on."No one in the world, Ralph, has ever been so kind to me."
"That," he rejoined, "may be a matter of opinion."
"But Ralph," she pleaded, "it isn't a matter of opinion at all. It is afact. I ought to know, oughtn't I? Look at me. What am I but a poorinvalid woman, the victim of a terrible accident. My limbs have beenalmost useless for years. Even now I can scarcely move. I am adepressing sight for any one. What but real affection and kindness couldbring him here day after day?"
"Did kindness," he asked bluntly, "prompt him to take you away from yourhusband?"
"Bertram never took me away from Maurice," she expostulated. "Mauriceleft me--left me for some Algerian dancing girl, for whom he bought avilla at Cannes and on whom he squandered half his fortune. All theworld knows that. Bertram brought me back from Paris a crushed,humiliated woman. It wasn't his fault that he was in the motor when theaccident happened."
"There have been different versions of the affair," Endacott declaredmoodily.
Madame's eyes suddenly flashed.
"If you dare tell me that I may not love Bertram--that I do not lovehim--that there is any sin in my loving him, then you are a fool!" shecried. "Of course I love him. No one in the world could ever have beenso wonderful to a woman as he has been to me."
"His reputation," Endacott began----
"Ralph!" she interrupted indignantly. "You are too great a man to talksuch shibboleth. I dare say he has been a roue, and a profligate and agreat gambler. I dare say he has squandered his money, has been recklessand selfish, but don't you understand, Ralph, he is of the sort of menwho could never treat a woman badly? I wish I could make you understand.At least, believe me that Bertram has treated me from the moment wefirst met--even when I was desperate, willing in my heart to consent toanything--as though I were a thing almost sacred. He kept myself-respect alive. I'm a broken creature now, but all there is in mylife worth having I owe to him."
Endacott moved a little uneasily in his chair.
"Well," he said, "we will not dig into the past. It is scarcelyprofitable, anyhow. Your message said that you wished to see meparticularly this evening."
"Ralph," she begged, "we have drifted a long way apart, but we werechildren together. Can't we talk in a little more friendly fashion?Can't you look as though you remembered that we are still brother andsister?"
He took her hand a little awkwardly.
"My dear Angele," he pointed out, "the very fact that I chose to comehere is proof that I remember it. I returned to England partly forClaire's sake, and partly because I wished to be near you. I admit thatI did not know that you were living in the shadow and the lustre of theBallaston regime, but that is nothing--prejudice, without a doubt. Icame. If I could make your life easier, I would be glad. Is it money? Ihave plenty."
She shook her head.
"I want to save the Ballastons," she confided.
"Are they in any particular danger?" he asked coldly.
"You can't have lived here even this short time without knowing it," sheanswered. "Bertram's father was a great gambler, and Bertram himself hasgambled. Quite true. He has raced and made a failure of it. That also istrue. He has kept expensive establishments everywhere, spent money likewater, lived altogether beyond his means. All quite true. Other men havedone this, Ralph, who are not worthless, and Bertram Ballaston is notworthless. Every acre of the estate is mortgaged now. Unless they canraise money within the next few months there is nothing left for thembut to break the entail, pay their debts and disappear."
Endacott was unmoved, his indifference apparent.
"Would the world be any the worse?" he ventured.
"We will leave the world out," she entreated. "It would break my heart."
"What can I do about it?" he asked, after a moment's pause.
"Perhaps nothing," she admitted. "I do not ask you to attemptimpossibilities."
"What do you ask?" he persisted doggedly.
"Bertram believes," she went on, "that in that Image which Gregory wentout to China to try to secure is hidden a treasure."
"Secure," he sneered, "is a quaint word."
"I won't argue with you about that, Ralph," she said. "The fact remainsthat it was a dangerous adventure for a young man and it was undertakenfor a worthy object. He risked his life, didn't he, a dozen times over?Perhaps he failed. You know best."
"What do I know?" he demanded.
"Whether he really has a chance of finding the treasure--whether thestory is true."
Endacott was silent for several moments, no longer indifferent, gazinginto the lamplit recesses of the room, the muscles around his eyes morethan once twitching.
"Supposing that it is true," he suddenly burst out, his long framedistended, his thin lips parted so that his yellow teeth almostprotruded, his eyes steely--"supposing it is true that he has, say, aportion of them in his grasp--the treasures which the priests of Yun-Tsehave collected through all the centuries--what are they but the emblemsof self-sacrifice, the gifts of men aiming towards spirituality, denyingthemselves to give to some shadowy god? Think of it, Angele--centuryafter century, denying themselves, those poor creatures who lived withtheir heads bent to the land, feeding like cattle, living and dying likesheep, denying themselves for the sake of that strange vein ofspirituality that runs through all so-called heathen races. Is all theirself-denial, all they went through, the result of it all, to go toreinstate in luxury and prosperity a family of foreign roues andgamblers?"
"Why go into the history of the treasure?" she demanded. "What about allthe treasures of Peru and Mexico, brought into the old world? Where didthey come from? Who asks? Who cares? What about the adventurers all theworld over, who wrenched from the new countries they risked their livesto discover, gold and gems and metals and brought them to themelting-pot of life? You were not always a sentimentalist, Ralph," shewent on, after a moment's half-choked pause. "You know perfectly wellthat if the gems are there, whatever their history may be, they are nogood to any one hidden and unseen. If, on the other hand, they belong toany one to-day, any one family, any one power, they belong to the familywho learned of their existence and whose son went out and risked hislife to acquire them."
"You are very eloquent, Angele," he observed in a noncommittal manner.
"Every one who believes what they say is eloquent," she rejoined.
He rose to his feet and walked to the further end of the room abruptlyand without excuse. For several moments he looked out of the window,first across to the red brick wall bordering his domain, and then downthe narrow lane at the end of which half a dozen vill
agers were gatheredtogether, sluggishly gossiping. Above the roofs of the village was thesloping park, but the moon had not yet risen and here was only a sea ofobscurity. On his way back he poured himself out a glass of water anddrank it.
"Angele," he said, "our lives have lain very far apart. I have seen verylittle of you, understood very little of you. Did you love DeFourgenet?"
"I have loved only one man," she replied, "and I have loved him, not, asyou believe, for his unworthiness, but for his worthiness. De Fourgenetturned my head for a week--and neglected me for years. I loved Bertramfrom the first day we met. He knew it and never once took advantage ofthe knowledge."
"I would to God I felt convinced," he exclaimed, almost passionately,"whether you tell the truth or lie to shield the man you love."
"I tell the truth," she assured him with fervour. "Anything there mighthave been between Bertram and myself would have been at my seeking, nothis. He is of the race of evil-doers, if you must call him anevil-doer--God knows they exist--to whom women are sacred."
Endacott thrust his hands into his trousers pockets and sank almostsulkily lower into his chair. It was as though he were being convincedagainst his will.
"Well," he confided, "here is the truth--as much of it as I know. TheBallastons have one of the two Images. I have the other. Nothing from astructural and material point of view suggests the presence of treasurein their interior, and yet I believe that the jewels are there. Foryears there has been deposited with us a coffer of manuscripts whichcame first from the Summer Palace of the Emperor and afterwards from theTemple of Yun-Tse. One of those manuscripts which I am now decipheringprofesses to give precise instructions as to how to secure the jewels.There are only a few passages which I cannot master. I am going toLondon in a day or two to obtain from the British Museum a dictionary ofMongolian dialects, which is the only thing I need to help me tocomplete certain phrases. You might think that I could guess at them. Icannot, because even the manuscript is in code. I need the actualletters. I believe that the jewels are in one or both of the Images.Within a week I shall know how to extract them."
She laid her fingers upon his arm.
"Ralph dear," she begged, "when that time comes--you are wealthy----"
He stopped her. For a moment the expression of almost superb scorn inhis face lent him an unusual and unaccustomed dignity.
"Angele," he interrupted, "you do not understand. If I were a pauper, Iwould refuse to supply the material needs of life with the accumulatedofferings of these peasant worshippers. But as it happens, money is notemptation to me. I am already rich. In fairness the treasure such as itis should go back to China. If I were a younger, stronger man, thecrowning joy of my life would be to take it back and to choose formyself how to distribute it. That, however, can never be. I will try tobe fair from your point of view. China has a claim to the treasure. Thatyoung man, Gregory Ballaston, may be said to also have a claim--a claimwhich I should never have admitted for a single moment but for yourprayers. Leave it to me. I will decide."
There was between them a long and rather wonderful silence. The churchclock behind the cottages in the background chimed twice before eitherof them spoke. Madame was lying flat on her back, her eyes watching themoon rising slowly over the top of the red brick wall. Endacott, asthough overcome with a curious fit of exhaustion, was seated almosthuddled up in his chair. Finally he rose wearily to his feet.
"I am tired to-night, Angele," he confessed. "We understand oneanother?"
"We understand and I pray," she answered, grasping his hand.
He left the house then and, instead of immediately entering the posterngate opposite, turned his face towards the village. There were a fewlights burning in the windows of the irregular row of houses, scarcely aperson in the street. He walked to the corner of the lane and lookeddown the main thoroughfare. At its further end was a trough and a marketcross, on the stone balustrade of which some boys and girls were seated,plunged in eloquent silence. From behind one of the drawn blinds camethe sound of a gramophone, and through the open door of the BallastonArms the wheezing of a concertina. Up in the background some scatteredlights flashed out from the far-spread windows of the Hall, the outlineof which was not yet visible. Endacott retraced his steps slowly. In hisears was a faint tinkling of other music, grotesque, monotonous, yetthrilling; before his eyes a strange admixture of roofs; beneath hisnostrils an odour which never sprung from the soils of Norfolk; in hisbrain a confused tumult of thoughts.
Claire, a little bored, a slim, white figure in the violet darkness,leaned forward and waved her hand as he entered the postern gate.
"Nunks, what ages you have been!" she exclaimed. "Have you been withAunt Angele all this time?"
"Not all the time," he admitted.
"Where have you been then?" she persisted. "You look half asleep."
He sank back into his chair. Again he seemed to hear the echo of sometinkling instrument, to find in his nostrils a perfume more pungent eventhan the perfume of the cedar tree. To him there was something ominousin what seemed to be almost a message of recall.
"A long journey," he muttered, a little vaguely.