XIII
QUID PRO QUO
It was his blessing that had done it; up to then she had controlled herfeelings in a fashion worthy of the title just bestowed upon her. Ifonly he had stopped at that, and kept his blessing to himself! Itsounded so very much more like a knell that Blanche had begun first tolaugh, and then to make such a fool of herself (as she herselfreiterated) that she was obliged to run away in the worst possibleorder.
But that was not the end of those four superfluous words of finalbenediction; before the night was out they had solved, to Blanche'ssatisfaction, the hitherto impenetrable mystery of Cazalet's conduct.
He had done something in Australia, something that fixed a gulf betweenhim and her. Blanche did not mean something wrong, much less a crime,least of all any sort of complicity in the great crime which had beencommitted while he was on his way home. Obviously he could have had noconnection with that, until days afterward as the accused man's friend.Yet he had on his conscience some act or other of which he was ashamedto speak. It might even itself be shameful; that was what his wholemanner had suggested, but what Blanche was least ready and at the sametime least unwilling to believe. She felt she could forgive such an oldfriend almost anything. But she believed the worst he had done was toemulate his friend Mr. Potts, and to get engaged or perhaps actuallymarried to somebody in the bush.
There was no reason why he should not; there never had been any sort orkind of understanding between herself and him; it was only as lifelongfriends that they had written to each other, and that only once a year.Lifelong friendships are traditionally fatal to romance. Blanche couldremember only one occasion on which their friendship had risen tosomething more--or fallen to something less! She knew which it had beento her; especially just afterward, when all his troubles had come and hehad gone away without another word of that kind. He had resolved not tolet her tie herself, and so had tied her all the tighter, if not tighterstill by never stating his resolve. But to go as far as this is to gotwo or three steps further than Blanche went in her perfectly rationalretrospect: she simply saw, as indeed she had always seen, that theyhad both been free as air; and if he was free no longer, she hadabsolutely no cause for complaint, even if she was fool enough to feelit.
All this she saw quite clearly in her very honest heart. And yet, hemight have told her; he need not have flown to see her, the instant helanded, or seemed so overjoyed, and such a boy again, or made so much ofher and their common memories! He need not have begun begging her, in aminute, to go out to Australia, and then never have mentioned it again;he might just as well have told her if he had or hoped to have a wife towelcome her! Of course he saw it afterward, himself; that was why thewhole subject of Australia had been dropped so suddenly and for good.Most likely he had married beneath him; if so, she was very sorry, buthe might have said that he was married. Had Blanche been analyzingherself, and not just the general position of things, she would have hadhereabouts to account to her conscience for a not unpleasing spasm atthe sudden thought of his being unhappily married all the time.
One proof was that he had utterly forgotten all about the waltz of_Eldorado_--even its name! No; it had some vague associations for him,and that was worse than none at all. Blanche had its long note (not"bars and bars," though, Sweep) wailing in her head all night. And sofor him their friendship had only fallen to something lower, to thathateful haunting tune that he could not even decently forget!
Curiously enough, it was over Martha that she felt least able to forgivehim. Martha would say nothing, but her unspoken denunciations of Cazaletwould be only less intolerable than her unspoken sympathy with Blanche.Martha had been perfectly awful about the whole thing. And Martha hadcommitted the final outrage of being perfectly right, from her idioticpoint of view.
Now among all these meditations of a long night, and of a still longerday, in which nobody even troubled to send her word of the case atKingston, it would be too much to say that no thought of Hilton Toyeever entered the mind of Blanche. She could not help liking him; heamused her immensely; and he had proposed to her twice, and warned herhe would again. She felt the force of his warning, because she felt hisforce of character and will. She literally felt these forces, as actualemanations from the strongest personality that had ever impinged uponher own. Not only was he strong, but capable and cultivated; and heknew the whole world as most people only knew some hole or corner of it;and could be most interesting without ever talking about himself orother people.
In the day of reaction, such considerations were bound to steal in assingle spies, each with a certain consolation, not altogether innocentof comparisons. But the battalion of Toye's virtues only marched onBlanche when Martha came to her, on the little green rug of a lawnbehind the house, to say that Mr. Toye himself had called and was in thedrawing-room.
Blanche stole up past the door, and quickly made herself smarter thanshe had ever done by day for Walter Cazalet; at least she put on a"dressy" blouse, her calling skirt (which always looked new), and didwhat she could to her hair. All this was only because Mr. Toye alwayscame down as if it were Mayfair, and it was rotten to make people feelawkward if you could help it. So in sailed Blanche, in her very best forthe light of day, to be followed as soon as possible by the silverteapot, though she had just had tea herself. And there stood HiltonToye, chin blue and collar black, his trousers all knees and no creases,exactly as he had jumped out of the boat-train.
"I guess I'm not fit to speak to you," he said, "but that's just whatI've come to do--for the third time!"
"Oh, Mr. Toye!" cried Blanche, really frightened by the face that madehis meaning clear. It relaxed a little as she shrank involuntarily, butthe compassion in his eyes and mouth did not lessen their steadydetermination.
"I didn't have time to make myself presentable," he explained. "Ithought you wouldn't have me waste a moment if you understood thesituation. I want your promise to marry me right now!"
Blanche began to breathe again. Evidently he was on the eve of yetanother of his journeys, probably back to America, and he wanted to goover engaged; at first she had thought he had bad news to break to her,but this was no worse than she had heard before. Only it was moredifficult to cope with him; everything was different, and he so muchmore pressing and precipitate. She had never met this Hilton Toyebefore. Yes; she was distinctly frightened by him. But in a minute shehad ceased to be frightened of herself; she knew her own mind once more,and spoke it much as he had spoken his, quite compassionately, but justas tersely to the point.
"One moment," he interrupted. "I said nothing about my feelings,because they're a kind of stale proposition by this time; but for form'ssake I may state there's no change there, except in the only direction Iguess a person's feelings are liable to change toward you, Miss Blanche!I'm a worse case than ever, if that makes any difference."
Blanche shook her yellow head. "Nothing can," she said. "There must beno possible mistake about it this time, because I want you to be verygood and never ask me again. And I'm glad you didn't make all the properspeeches, because I needn't either, Mr. Toye! But--I know my own mindbetter than I ever did until this very minute--and I could simply nevermarry you!"
Toye accepted his fate with a ready resignation, little short ofalacrity. There was a gleam in his somber eyes, and his blue chin cameup with a jerk. "That's talking!" said he. "Now will you promise menever to marry Cazalet?"
"Mr. Toye!"
"That's talking, too, and I guess I mean it to be. It's not alldog-in-the-manger, either. I want that promise a lot more than I wantthe other. You needn't marry me, Miss Blanche, but you mustn't marryCazalet."
Blanche was blazing. "But this is simply outrageous--"
"I claim there's an outrageous cause for it. Are you prepared to swearwhat I ask, and trust me as I'll trust you, or am I to tell you thewhole thing right now?"
"You won't force me to listen to another word from you, if you're agentleman, Mr. Toye!"
"It's not what I am that counts. Swea
r that to me, and I swear, on myside, that I won't give him away to you or any one else. But it must bethe most solemn contract man and woman ever made."
The silver teapot arrived at this juncture, and not inopportunely. Shehad to give him his tea, with her young maid's help, and to play a tinypart in which he supported her really beautifully. She had time tothink, almost coolly; and one thought brought a thrill. If it was aquestion of her marrying or not marrying Walter Cazalet, then he must befree, and only the doer of some dreadful deed!
"What _has_ he done?" she begged, with a pathetic abandonment of herprevious attitude, the moment they were by themselves.
"Must I tell you?" His reluctance rang genuine.
"I insist upon it!" she flashed again.
"Well, it's a long story."
"Never mind. I can listen."
"You know, I had to go back to Italy--"
"Had you?"
"Well, I did go." He had slurred the first statement; this one wascharacteristically deliberate. "I did go, and before I went I askedCazalet for an introduction to some friends of his down in Rome."
"I didn't know he had any," said Blanche. She was not listening so verywell; she was, in fact, instinctively prepared to challenge everystatement, on Cazalet's behalf; and here her instinct defeated itself.
"No more he has," said Toye, "but he claimed to have some. He left the_Kaiser Fritz_ the other day at Naples--just when I came aboard. I guesshe told you?"
"No. I understood he came round to Southampton. Surely you shared acabin?"
"Only from Genoa; that's where Cazalet rejoined the steamer."
"Well?"
"He claimed to have spent the interval mostly with friends in Rome.Those friends don't exist, Miss Blanche," said Toye.
"Is that any business of mine?" she asked him squarely.
"Why, yes, I'm afraid it's going to be. That is, unless you'll stilltrust me--"
"Go on, please."
"Why, he never stayed in Rome at all, nor yet in Italy any longer thanit takes to come through on the train. Your attention for one moment!"He took out a neat pocketbook. Blanche had opened her lips, but she didnot interrupt; she just grasped the arms of her chair, as though aboutto bear physical pain. "The _Kaiser Fritz_"--Toye was speaking from hisbook--"got to Naples late Monday afternoon, September eighth. She wasoverdue, and I was mad about it, and madder still when I went aboard andshe never sailed till morning. I guess I'd wasted--"
"Do tell me about Walter Cazalet!" cried Blanche. It was like small talkfrom a dentist at the last moment.
"I want you to understand about the steamer first," said Toye. "Shewaited Monday night in the Bay of Naples, only sailed Tuesday morning,only reached Genoa Wednesday morning, and lay there forty-eight hours,as the German boats do, anyhow. That brings us to Friday morning beforethe _Kaiser Fritz_ gets quit of Italy, doesn't it?"
"Yes--do tell me about Walter!"
"He was gone ashore Monday evening before I came aboard at Naples. Inever saw him till he scrambled aboard again Friday, about thefifty-ninth minute of the eleventh hour."
"At Genoa?"
"Sure."
"And you pretend to know where he'd been?"
"I guess I do know"--and Toye sighed as he raised his little book."Cazalet stepped on the train that left Naples six fifty Monday evening,and off the one timed to reach Charing Cross three twenty-fiveWednesday."
"The day of the m--"
"Yes. I never called it by the hardest name, myself; but it was seventhirty Wednesday evening that Henry Craven got his death-blow somehow.Well, Walter Cazalet left Charing Cross again by the nine o'clock thatnight, and was back aboard the _Kaiser Fritz_ on Friday morning--full ofhis friends in Rome who didn't exist!"
The note-book was put away with every symptom of relief.
"I suppose you can prove what you say?" said Blanche in a voice as dullas her unseeing eyes.
"I have men to swear to him--ticket-collectors, conductors, waiters onthe restaurant-car--all up and down the line. I went over the sameground on the same trains, so that was simple. I can also produce thebarber who claims to have taken off his beard in Paris, where he put inhours Thursday morning."
Blanche looked up suddenly, not at Toye, but past him toward anoverladen side-table against the wall. It was there that Cazalet'sphotograph had stood among many others; until this morning she hadnever missed it, for she seemed hardly to have been in her room all theweek; but she had been wondering who had removed it, whether Cazalethimself (who had spoken of doing so, she now knew why), or Martha (whomshe would not question about it) in a fit of ungovernable disapproval.And now there was the photograph back in its place, leather frame andall!
"I know what you did," said Blanche. "You took that photograph withyou--the one on that table--and had him identified by it!"
Yet she stated the fact, for his bowed head admitted it to be one, asnothing but a fact, in the same dull voice of apathetic acquiescence inan act of which the man himself was ashamed. She could see him wonderingat her; she even wondered at herself. Yet if all this were true, whatmatter how the truth had come to light?
"It was the night I came down to bid you good-by," he confessed, "anddidn't have time to wait. I didn't come down for the photo. I neverthought of it till I saw it there. I came down to kind of warn you, MissBlanche!"
"Against him?" she said, as if there was only one man left in the world.
"Yes--I guess I'd already warned Cazalet that I was starting on histracks."
And then Blanche just said, "Poor--old--Sweep!" as one talking toherself. And Toye seized upon the words as she had seized on nothingfrom him.
"Have you only pity for the fellow?" he cried; for she was gazing at thebearded photograph without revulsion.
"Of course," she answered, hardly attending.
"Even though he killed this man--even though he came across Europe tokill him?"
"You don't think it was deliberate yourself, even if he did do it."
"But can you doubt that he did?" cried Toye, quick to ignore the pointshe had made, yet none the less sincerely convinced upon the other. "Iguess you wouldn't if you'd heard some of the things he said to me onthe steamer; and he's made good every syllable since he landed. Why, itexplains every single thing he's done and left undone. He'll strainevery nerve to have Scruton ably defended, but he won't see the man he'sdefending; says himself that he can't face him!"
"Yes. He said so to me," said Blanche, nodding in confirmation.
"To you?"
"I didn't understand him."
"But you're been seeing him all this while?"
"Every day," said Blanche, her soft eyes filling suddenly. "We'vehad--we've had the time of our lives!"
"My God!" said Toye. "The time of your life with a man who's got anotherman's blood on his hands--and that makes no difference to you! The timeof your life with the man who knew where to lay hands on the weapon he'ddone it with, who went as far as that to save the innocent, but nofarther!"
"He would; he will still, if it's still necessary. You don't know him,Mr. Toye; you haven't known him all your life."
"And all this makes no difference to a good and gentle woman--one of thegentlest and the best God ever made?"
"If you mean me, I won't go so far as that," said Blanche. "I must seehim first."
"See Cazalet?"
Toye had come to his feet, not simply in the horror and indignationwhich had gradually taken possession of him, but under the stress ofsome new and sudden resolve.
"Of course," said Blanche; "of course I must see him as soon aspossible."
"Never again!" he cried.
"What?"
"You shall never speak to that man again, as long as ever you live,"said Toye, with the utmost emphasis and deliberation.
"Who's going to prevent me?"
"I am."
"How?"
"By laying an information against him this minute, unless you promisenever to see or to speak to Cazalet again."
&
nbsp; Blanche felt cold and sick, but the bit of downright bullying did hergood. "I didn't know you were a blackmailer, Mr. Toye!"
"You know I'm not; but I mean to save you from Cazalet, blackmail orwhite."
"To save me from a mere old friend--nothing more--_nothing_--all ourlives!"
"I believe that," he said, searching her with his smoldering eyes. "Youcouldn't tell a lie, I guess, not if you tried! But you would dosomething; it's just a man being next door to hell that would bring aGod's angel--" His voice shook.
She was as quick to soften on her side.
"Don't talk nonsense, please," she begged, forcing a smile through herdistress. "Will you promise to do nothing if--if _I_ promise?"
"Not to go near him?"
"No."
"Nor to see him here?"
"No."
"Nor anywhere else?"
"No. I give you my word."
"If you break it, I break mine that minute? Is it a deal that way?"
"Yes! Yes! I promise!"
"Then so do I, by God!" said Hilton Toye.