CHAPTER VII
Sir Henry was in a pleasant and expansive humour that evening. The newcook was an unqualified success, and he was conscious of having dinedexceedingly well. He sat in a comfortable easy-chair before a blazingwood fire, he had just lit one of his favourite brand of cigarettes, andhis wife, whom he adored, was seated only a few feet away.
"Quite a remarkable change in Helen," he observed. "She was in thedepths of depression when I went away, and to-night she seems positivelycheerful."
"Helen varies a great deal," Philippa reminded him.
"Still, to-night, I must say, I should have expected to have found hermore depressed than ever," Sir Henry went on. "She hoped so much fromyour trip to London, and you apparently accomplished nothing."
"Nothing at all."
"And you have had no letters?"
"None."
"Then Helen's high spirits, I suppose, are only part of woman's naturalinconsistency.--Philippa, dear!"
"Yes?"
"I am glad to be at home. I am glad to see you sitting there. I know youare nursing up something, some little thunderbolt to launch at me. Won'tyou launch it and let's get it over?"
Philippa laid down the book which she had been reading, and turned toface her husband. He made a little grimace.
"Don't look so severe," he begged. "You frighten me before you begin."
"I'm sorry," she said, "but my face probably reflects my feelings. I amhurt and grieved and disappointed in you, Henry."
"That's a good start, anyway," he groaned.
"We have been married six years," Philippa went on, "and I admit at oncethat I have been very happy. Then the war came. You know quite well,Henry, that especially at that time I was very, very fond of you, yetit never occurred to me for a moment but that, like every other woman, Ishould have to lose my husband for a time.--Stop, please," she insisted,as he showed signs of interrupting. "I know quite well that it wasthrough my persuasions you retired so early, but in those days there wasno thought of war, and I always had it in my mind that if trouble cameyou would find your way back to where you belonged."
"But, my dear child, that is all very well," Sir Henry protested, "butit's not so easy to get back again. You know very well that I went up tothe Admiralty and offered my services, directly the war started."
"Yes, and what happened?" Philippa demanded. "You were, in a measure,shelved. You were put on a list and told that you would hear fromthem--a sort of Micawber-like situation with which you were perfectlysatisfied. Then you took that moor up in Scotland and disappeared fornearly six months."
"I was supplying the starving population with food," he reminded hergenially. "We sent about four hundred brace of grouse to market, not tospeak of the salmon. We had some very fair golf, too, some of the time."
"Oh, I have not troubled to keep any exact account of your diversions!"Philippa said scornfully. "Sometimes," she continued, "I wonder whetheryou are quite responsible, Henry. How you can even talk of these thingswhen every man of your age and strength is fighting one way or anotherfor his country, seems marvellous to me. Do you realise that we arefighting for our very existence? Do you realise that my own father, whois fifteen years older than you, is in the firing line? This is a smallplace, of course, but there isn't a man left in it of your age, withyour physique, who has had the slightest experience in either service,who isn't doing something."
"I can't do more than send in applications," he grumbled. "Bereasonable, my dear Philippa. It isn't the easiest thing in the world tofind a job for a sailor who has been out of it as long as I have."
"So you say, but when they ask me what you are doing, as they all didin London this time, and I reply that you can't get a job, there isgenerally a polite little silence. No one believes it. I don't believeit."
"Philippa!"
Sir Henry turned in his chair. His cigar was burning now idly betweenhis fingers. His heavy eyebrows were drawn together.
"Well, I don't," she reiterated. "You can be angry, if you will--infact I think I should prefer you to be angry. You take no pains atthe Admiralty. You just go there and come away again, once a year orsomething like that. Why, if I were you, I wouldn't leave the placeuntil they'd found me something--indoors or outdoors, what does itmatter so long as your hand is on the wheel and you are doing yourlittle for your country? But you--what do you care? You went to townto get a job--and you come back with new mackerel spinners! You are offfishing to-morrow morning with Jimmy Dumble. Somewhere up in the NorthSea, to-day and to-morrow and the next day, men are giving their livesfor their country. What do you care? You will sit there smoking yourpipe and catching dabs!"
"Do you know you are almost offensive, Philippa?" her husband saidquietly.
"I want to be," she retorted. "I should like you to feel that I am. Inany case, this will probably be the last conversation I shall hold withyou on the subject."
"Well, thank God for that, anyway!" he observed, strolling to thechimneypiece and selecting a pipe from a rack. "I think you've saidabout enough."
"I haven't finished," she told him ominously.
"Then for heaven's sake get on with it and let's have it over," hebegged.
"Oh, you're impossible!" Philippa exclaimed bitterly. "Listen. I giveyou one chance more. Tell me the truth? Is there anything in yourhealth of which I do not know? Is there any possible explanation of yourextraordinary behaviour which, for some reason or other, you have keptto yourself? Give me your whole confidence."
Sir Henry, for a moment, was serious enough. He stood looking down ather a little wistfully.
"My dear," he told her, "I have nothing to say except this. You are myvery precious wife. I have loved you and trusted you since the day ofour marriage. I am content to go on loving and trusting you, even thoughthings should come under my notice which I do not understand. Can't youaccept me the same way?"
Philippa, momentarily uneasy, was nevertheless rebellious.
"Accept you the same way? How can I! There is nothing in my life tocompare in any way with the tragedy of your--"
She paused, as though unwilling to finish the sentence. He waitedpatiently, however, for her to proceed.
"Of my what?"
Philippa compromised.
"Lethargy," she pronounced triumphantly.
"An excellent word," he murmured.
"It is too mild a one, but you are my husband," she remarked.
"That reminds me," he said quietly. "You are my wife."
"I know it," she admitted, "but I am also a woman, and there are limitsto my endurance. If you can give me no explanation of your behaviour,Henry, if you really have no intention of changing it, then there isonly one course left open for me."
"That sounds rather alarming--what is it?" he demanded.
Philippa lifted her head a little. This was the pronouncement towardswhich she had been leading.
"From to-day," she declared, "I cease to be your wife."
His fingers paused in the manipulation of the tobacco with which he wasfilling his pipe. He turned and looked at her.
"You what?"
"I cease to be your wife."
"How do you manage that?" he asked.
"Don't jest," she begged. "It hurts me so. What I mean is surely plainenough. I will continue to live under your roof if you wish it, or Iam perfectly willing to go back to Wood Norton. I will continue to bearyour name because I must, but the other ties between us are finished."
"You don't mean this, Philippa," he said gravely.
"But I do mean it," she insisted. "I mean every word I have spoken. Sofar as I am concerned, Henry, this is your last chance."
There was a knock at the door. Mills entered with a note upon a salver.Sir Henry took it up, glanced questioningly at his wife, and tore openthe envelope.
"There will be no answer, Mills," he said.
The man withdrew. Sir Henry read the few lines thoughtfully:--
Police-station, Dreymarsh SIR
,
According to enquiries made I find that Mr. Hamar Lessingham arrived at the Hotel this evening in time for dinner. His luggage arrived by rail yesterday. It is presumed that he came by motor-car, but there is no car in the garage, nor any mention of one. His room was taken for him by Miss Fairclough, ringing up for Lady Cranston about seven o'clock.
Respectfully yours, JOHN HAYLOCK.
"Is your note of interest?" Philippa enquired.
"In a sense, yes," he replied, thrusting it into his waistcoat pocket."I presume we can consider our late subject of conversation finishedwith?"
"I have nothing more to say," she pronounced.
"Very well, then," her husband agreed, "let us select another topic.This time, supposing I choose?"
"You are welcome."
"Let us converse, then, about Mr. Hamar Lessingham."
Philippa had taken up her work. Her fingers ceased their labours, butshe did not look up.
"About Mr. Hamar Lessingham," she repeated. "Rather a limited subject, Iam afraid."
"I am not so sure," he said thoughtfully. "For instance, who is he?"
"I have no idea," she replied. "Does it matter? He was at college withRichard, and he has been a visitor at Wood Norton. That is all thatwe know. Surely it is sufficient for us to offer him any reasonablehospitality?"
"I am not disputing it," Sir Henry assured her. "On the face of it, itseems perfectly reasonable that you should be civil to him. On the otherhand, there are one or two rather curious points about his coming herejust now."
"Really?" Philippa murmured indifferently, bending a little lower overher work.
"In the first place," her husband continued, "how did he arrive here?"
"For all I know," she replied, "he may have walked."
"A little unlikely. Still, he didn't come from London by either of theevening trains, and it seems that you didn't take his rooms for himuntil about seven o'clock, before which time he hadn't been to thehotel. So, you see, one is driven to wonder how the mischief he did gethere."
"I took his rooms?" Philippa repeated, with a sudden little catch at herheart.
"Some one from here rang up, didn't they?" Sir Henry went on carelessly."I gathered that we were introducing him at the hotel."
"Where did you hear that?" she demanded.
He shrugged his shoulders, but avoided answering the question.
"I have no doubt," he continued, "that the whole subject of Mr. HamarLessingham is scarcely worth discussing. Yet he does seem to havearrived here under a little halo of coincidence."
"I am afraid I have scarcely appreciated that," Philippa remarked; "infact, his coming here has seemed to me the most ordinary thing in theworld. After all, although one scarcely remembers that since the war,this is a health resort, and the man has been ill."
"Quite right," Sir Henry agreed. "You are not going to bed, dear?"
Philippa had folded up her work. She stood for a moment upon thehearth-rug. The little hardness which had tightened her mouth haddisappeared, her eyes had softened.
"May I say just one word more," she begged, "about our previous--ouronly serious subject of conversation? I have tried my best since we weremarried, Henry, to make you happy."
"You know quite well," he assured her, "that you have succeeded."
"Grant me one favour, then," she pleaded. "Give up your fishingexpedition to-morrow, go back to London by the first train and let mewrite to Lord Rayton. I am sure he would do something for you."
"Of course he'd do something!" Her husband groaned. "I should get acensorship in Ireland, or a post as instructor at Portsmouth."
"Wouldn't you rather take either of those than nothing?" she asked,"than go on living the life you are living now?"
"To be perfectly frank with you, Philippa, I wouldn't," he declaredbluntly. "What on earth use should I be in a land appointment? Why, noone could read my writing, and my nautical science is entirely out ofdate. Why a cadet at Osborne could floor me in no time."
"You refuse to let me write, then?" she persisted.
"Absolutely."
"You intend to go on that fishing expedition with Jimmy Dumbleto-morrow?"
"Wouldn't miss it for anything," he confessed.
Philippa was suddenly white with anger.
"Henry, I've finished," she declared, holding out her hand to keephim away from her. "I've finished with you entirely. I would rather bemarried to an enemy who was fighting honourably for his country than toyou. What I have said, I mean. Don't come near me. Don't try to touchme."
She swept past him on her way to the door.
"Not even a good-night kiss?" he asked, stooping down.
She looked him in the eyes.
"I am not a child," she said scornfully.
He closed the door after her. For a moment he remained as thoughundecided whether to follow or not. His face had softened with herabsence. Finally, however, he turned away with a little shrug ofthe shoulders, threw himself into his easy-chair and began to smokefuriously.
The telephone bell disturbed his reflection. He rose at once and took upthe receiver.
"Yes, this is 19, Dreymarsh. Trunk call? All right, I am here."
He waited until another voice came to him faintly.
"Cranston?"
"Speaking."
"That's right. The message is Odino Berry, you understand? O-d-i-n-ob-e-r-r-y."
"I've got it," Sir Henry replied. "Good night!" He hung up the receiver,crossed the room to his desk, unlocked one of the drawers, and produceda black memorandum book, secured with a brass lock. He drew a key fromhis watch chain, opened the book, and ran his fingers down the O's.
"Odino," he muttered to himself. "Here it is: 'We have trustworthyinformation from Berlin.' Now Berry." He turned back. "'You are beingwatched by an enemy secret service agent.'"
He relocked the cipher book and replaced it in the desk. Then hestrolled over to his easy-chair and helped himself to a whisky and sodafrom the tray which Mills had just arranged upon the sideboard.
"We have trustworthy information from Berlin," he repeated to himself,"that you are being watched by an enemy secret service agent."