CHAPTER XVII
THE PLACE OF TORMENT
The surgery-bell pealed imperiously, and Tudor looked up from his book.It was his custom to read far into the night, for he was a poor sleeperand preferred a cosy fireside to his bed. But that night he was evenlater than usual. Glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece, he saw thatit was a quarter to two. With a shrug of the shoulders expressive ratherof weariness than indifference, he rose to answer the bell.
It pealed again before he reached the door, and the doctor frowned. Hewas never very tolerant of impatience. He unfastened the bolts withouthaste. The case might be urgent, but a steady hand and cool nerve wereusually even more essential than speed in his opinion. He opened the doortherefore with a certain deliberation, and faced the sharp night air withgrim resignation. "Well? Who is it? Come in!"
He expected to see some village messenger, and the sight of Piers,stern-faced, with the fur collar of his motor-coat turned up to his ears,was a complete surprise.
"Hullo!" he said, staring at him. "Anything wrong?"
Piers stared back with eyes of burning hostility. "I want a word withyou," he announced curtly. "Will you come out, or shall I come in?"
"You'd better come in," said Tudor, suppressing a shiver, "unless I'mwanted up at the Abbey."
"You're not," said Piers.
He stepped into the passage, and impetuously stripped off his heavycoat. Tudor shut the door, and turned round. He surveyed his visitor'sevening-dress with a touch of contempt. He himself was clad in anancient smoking-jacket, much frayed at the cuffs; and hiscarpet-slippers were so trodden down at the heel that he could only justmanage to shuffle along in them.
"Go into the consulting-room!" he said. "There's a light there."
Piers strode in, and waited for him. Seen by the light of the gas thatburned there, his face was pale and set in lines of iron determination.His eyes shone out of it like the eyes of an infuriated wild beast.
"Do you know what I've come for?" he said, as Tudor shambled into theroom.
Tudor looked him over briefly and comprehensively. "No, I don't," hesaid. "I hoped I'd seen the last of you."
His words were as brief as his look. It was obvious that he had nointention of wasting time in mere courtesy.
Piers' lips tightened at his tone. He looked full and straight at thebaffling glasses that hid the other man's contemptuous eyes.
"I've come for a reckoning with you," he said.
"Really?" said Tudor. He glanced again at the clock. "Rather an unusualhour, isn't it?"
Piers passed the question by. He was chafing on his feet like a cagedanimal. Abruptly he came to the point.
"I told you the other day that I wouldn't put up with any interferencefrom you. I didn't know then how far your interference had gone. I doknow now. This scheme to get me out of the country was of yourcontrivance."
Fiercely he flung the words. He was quivering with passionateindignation. But the effect on Tudor was scarcely perceptible. He onlylooked a little colder, a little more satirical, than was his wont.
"Well?" he said. "What of it?"
Piers showed his teeth momentarily. His hands were hard gripped behindhim, as though he restrained himself by main force from open violence.
"You don't deny it?" he said.
"Why should I?" Tudor's thin lips displayed a faint sneer. "I certainlyadvised your grandfather to go away, and I think the advice was sound."
"It was--from your point of view." A tremor of fierce humour ran throughPiers' speech. "But plans--even clever ones--don't always turn out asthey should. This one for instance--what do you think you are going togain by it?"
"What do you mean?" Tudor stood by the table facing Piers, his attitudeone of supreme indifference. He seemed scarcely to feel the stormyatmosphere that pulsated almost visibly around the younger man. His eyesbehind their glasses were cold and shrewd, wholly emotionless.
Piers paused an instant to grip his self-control the harder, for everyword he uttered seemed to make his hold the more precarious.
"I'll tell you what I mean," he said, his voice low and savagelydistinct. "I mean that what you've done--all this sneaking and schemingto get me out of your way--isn't going to serve your purpose. I mean thatyou shall swear to me here and now to give up the game during my absence,or take the consequences. It is entirely due to you that I am going,but--by Heaven--you shall reap no advantage from it!"
His voice rose a little, and the menace of it became more apparent. Hebent slightly towards the man he threatened. His eyes blazed red anddangerous. Tudor stood his ground, but it was impossible any longer toignore Piers' open fury. It was like the blast of a hurricane hurledfull against him. He made a slight gesture of remonstrance.
"My good fellow, all this excitement is utterly uncalled for. The adviceI gave your grandfather would, I am convinced, have been given by anyother medical man in the country. If you are not satisfied with it, youhad better get him to have another opinion. As to taking advantage ofyour absence, I really don't know what you mean, and I think if you arewise you won't stop to explain. It's getting late and if you don't valueyour night's rest, I can't do without mine. Also, I think when themorning comes, you'll be ashamed of this foolery."
He spoke with studied coldness. He knew the value of a firm front whenfacing odds. But he did not know the fiery soul of the man before him,or realize that contempt poured upon outraged pride is as spirit pouredupon flame.
He saw the devil in Piers' eyes too late to change his tactics. Almost inthe same moment the last shred of Piers' self-control vanished like smokein a gale. He uttered a fearful oath and sprang upon Tudor like an animalfreed from a leash.
The struggle that followed was furious if brief. Tudor's temper, oncethoroughly roused, was as fierce as any man's, and though his knowledgeof the science of fighting was wholly elementary, he made a desperateresistance. It lasted for possibly thirty seconds, and then he foundhimself flung violently backwards across the table and pinned there, withPiers' hands gripping his throat, and Piers' eyes, grim and murderous,glaring down into his own.
"Be still!" ordered Piers, his voice no more than a whisper. "Or I'llkill you--by Heaven, I will!"
Tudor was utterly powerless in that relentless grip. His heart waspumping with great hammer-strokes; his breathing came laboured betweenthose merciless hands. His own hands were closed upon the iron wrists,but their hold was weakening moment by moment, he knew their grasp to bewholly ineffectual. He obeyed the order because he lacked the strength todo otherwise.
Piers slowly slackened his grip. "Now," he said, speaking between lipsthat scarcely seemed to move, "you will make me that promise."
"What--promise?" Gaspingly Tudor uttered the question, yet something ofthe habitual sneer which he always kept for Piers distorted his mouth ashe spoke. He was not an easy man to beat, despite his physicallimitations.
Sternly and implacably Piers answered him. "You will swear--by all youhold sacred--to take no advantage whatever of me while I am away. You hada special purpose in view when you planned to get me out of the way. Youwill swear to give up that purpose, till I come back."
"I?" said Tudor.
Just the one word flung upwards at his conqueror, but carrying with it adefiance so complete that even Piers was for the moment taken bysurprise! Then, the devil urging him, he tightened his grip again."Either that," he said, "or--"
He left the sentence unfinished. His hands completed the threat. He hadpassed the bounds of civilization, and his savagery whirled him like afiery torrent through the gaping jaws of hell. The maddening flames wereall around him, the shrieking of demons was in his ears, driving him onto destruction. He went, blinded by passion, goaded by the intolerablestabs of jealousy. In those moments he was conscious of nothing save awild delirium of anger against the man who, beaten, yet resisted him, yetthrew him his disdainful refusal to surrender even in the face ofoverwhelming defeat.
But the brief respite had given Tudor a transient renewal of
strength.Ere that terrible grip could wholly lock again, he made another franticeffort to free himself. Spasmodic as it was, and wholly unconsidered, yetit had the advantage of being unexpected. Piers shifted his hold, and inthat instant Tudor found and gripped the edge of the table. Sharply, withdesperate strength, he dragged himself sideways, and before his adversarycould prevent it he was over the edge. He fell heavily, dragging Pierswith him, struck his head with violence against the table-leg, andcrumpled with the blow like an empty sack.
Piers found himself gripping a limp, inanimate object, and with a suddensense of overpowering horror he desisted. He stumbled up, staggeringslightly, and drew a long, hard breath. His heart was racing like arunaway engine. All the blood in his body seemed to be concentratedthere. Almost mechanically he waited for it to slow down. And, as hewaited, the madness of that wild rush through hell fell away from him.The demons that had driven him passed into distance. He was left standingin a place of desolation, utterly and terribly alone.
* * * * *
A trickle of cold water ran down Tudor's chin. He put up a hesitating,groping hand, and opened his eyes.
He was lying in the arm-chair before the fire in which he had spent theevening. The light danced before him in blurred flashes.
"Hullo!" he muttered thickly. "I've been asleep."
He remained passive for a few moments, trying, not very successfully, tocollect his scattered senses. Then, with an effort that seemed curiouslylaboured, he slowly sat up. Instinctively, his eyes went to the clockabove him, but the hands of it seemed to be swinging round and round. Hestared at it bewildered.
But when he tried to rise and investigate the mystery, the whole roombegan to spin, and he sank back with a feeling of intense sickness.
It was then that he became aware of another presence. Someone came frombehind him and, stooping, held a tumbler to his lips. He looked upvaguely, and as in a dream he saw the face of Piers Evesham.
But it was Piers as he had never before seen him, white-lipped, unnerved,shaking. The hand that held the glass trembled almost beyond control.
"What's the matter?" questioned Tudor in hazy wonder. "Have you beenboozing, or have I?"
And then, his perceptions growing stronger, he took the glass from thequivering hand and slowly drank.
The draught steadied him. He looked up with more assurance, and sawPiers, still with that deathly look on his face, leaning against themantelpiece for support.
"What on earth's the matter?" said Tudor sharply.
He felt for his glasses, found them dangling over his shoulder, and putthem on. One of them was cracked across, an illuminating fact whichaccounted for much. He looked keenly at Piers for several quiet seconds.
At length with a shade of humour he spoke. "Here endeth the first lesson!You'd make a better show if you had a drink also. I'm sorry there's onlyone glass. You see, I wasn't expecting any friends to-night."
Piers started a little and straightened himself; but his face remainedbloodless, and there was a curiously stunned look in his eyes. He did notattempt to utter a word.
Tudor drained his glass, sat a moment or two longer, then got up. Therewere brandy and water on his writing-table. He poured out a stiff dose,and turned to Piers with authority.
"Pull yourself together, Evesham! I should have thought you'd made abig enough fool of yourself for one night. Drink this! Don't spill itnow! And don't sit down on the fire, for I don't feel equal topulling you off!"
His manner was briskly professional, the manner he usually reserved forthe hysterical portion of his patients. He was still feeling decidedlyshaky himself, but Piers' collapse was an admirable restorative. He stoodby, vigilant and resolute, while the brandy did its work.
Piers drank in silence, not looking at him. All the arrogance had goneout of him. He looked broken and unmanned.
"Better?" asked Tudor at length.
He nodded mutely, and set down the glass.
Tudor surveyed him questioningly. "What happened to you?" he askedfinally.
"Nothing!" Piers found his voice at last, it was low and shamed. "Nothingwhatever! You--you--my God!--I thought you were dead, that's all."
"That all?" said Tudor. He put his hand up to his temple. There was afair-sized lump there already, and it was swelling rapidly.
Piers nodded again. The deathly pallor had gone from his face, but hestill avoided Tudor's eyes. He spoke again, below his breath, as if moreto himself than to Tudor.
"You looked so horribly like--like--a man I once--saw killed."
"If you are wise, you will go home to bed," said Tudor gruffly.
Piers flashed a swift look at him. He stood hesitating. "You're notreally hurt?" he questioned, after a moment.
"Thank you," said Tudor drily, "I am not."
He made no movement of reconciliation. Perhaps it was hardly to beexpected of him. Piers made none either. He turned away in silence.
The clock on the mantelpiece chimed the hour. Two o'clock! Tudor lookedat it with a wry smile. It had been a lively quarter of an hour.
The surgery-door banged upon Piers' departure. He heard his feet moveheavily to the gate, and the dull clang of the latter closing behind him.Then, after a protracted pause, there came the sound of his motor.
As this throbbed away into distance Tudor smiled again grimly,ironically. "Yes, you young ruffian," he said. "It's given your nerves anasty jolt, and serves you jolly well right! I never saw any fellow insuch a mortal funk before, and--from your somewhat rash remark--I gatherthat it's not the first lesson after all. I wonder when--and how--youkilled that other man."
He was still speculating as he turned out the light and went to his room.