goingto leave yourself in my hands? I don't think she will be very full offight for the next few days."
"Certainly I will, Hugh. Do your best for me. I never want to see heragain, of that you may be sure."
Murchison reflected deeply before he spoke again. "I doubt if she willtrouble you very much. It won't be very difficult to compromise withher, she has too much to hide. And now for yourself."
"Yes," groaned the unhappy Pomfret, in a hollow voice. "And now formyself. What do you suggest?"
"There's only one thing to do, and that is to put the past behind you.As long as this woman lives, you can never marry. But many men gothrough life and remain bachelors, and are not altogether unhappy. Youmust make up your mind to be one of the bachelors, Jack."
But Jack looked very despairing. The shock had been a terrible one. Inspite of the stiff peg he had taken, his face was still livid, and hishands were shaking.
Hugh looked at him anxiously. He was very weak; had the occurrences ofthis terrible night driven him over the border-line that separatessanity from insanity?
Presently he muttered, almost as if to himself, certain disjointedphrases. Hugh caught a few of them, repeated again and again.
"Tied to her for life, she will outlive me, tied to her for life. Shewill never let me go. My poor family! I have always been a fool, butup to now have never brought disgrace to them. And God forgive me, Iwas reckoning on the death of my poor old generous aunt, it is idle tosay I did not speculate on it. And for what, for what?--the pretendedaffection, the bought kisses of this adventuress, a card-sharper'sdecoy, who told me lying tales about the way in which her criminalassociate had inherited his money."
He rambled on like this for some quarter of an hour, and Murchisonjudged it was better to let him ease his mind in such a fashion.
In a way, the poor foolish boy's brain had cleared up to a point; he wasable to look the facts squarely in the face. His infatuation might havebeen so deep that he might, under these damning circumstances, havefallen a victim to her wiles a second time. She would no doubt havebeen prepared, if he had given her the opportunity, to have sworn herinnocence, to have protested that she was the victim of circumstantialevidence, that she had believed what her brother had told her, that shehad never been a partner in, or a confidant of, his criminal schemes.
No, so far the rude shock had cleared his brain, made him see and thinkmore clearly. But Murchison very much feared that the agonising remorsefor his folly was obscuring it in another direction.
He seemed to look upon himself as something unclean in having allowedhimself to be contaminated by association with such a wretchedadventuress. He was also acutely conscious that, at the best, he wouldhave to take this horrible secret with him to the grave, unless itsprang suddenly to light, as such secrets have a knack of doing. Aboveall, he keenly felt the disgrace he had inflicted on his family.
There was a great deal more desultory talk, and Hugh gave him the bestadvice he could under the unhappy circumstances--a reiteration of the"put it behind you and live it down" philosophy. This would have comeeasy to a man of the rocky and stolid type to which Murchison belongedby temperament. But Jack was highly-strung and impulsive. There was noballast in him.
Hugh almost had to push him out of the room. But, before doing so, hemixed the boy another stiff peg, with the hope that it would inducesleep and purchase him the oblivion of a few hours.
"Now then, old man, toddle off. Get a good night's rest, and when youwake to-morrow, you will find things look pretty black, but not quite soblack as now. If this young woman contemplates a deep game, and wantsto insist overmuch on her rights as your wife, I will deal with her onyour behalf. I'll warrant I bring her to reason."
The poor distraught boy clasped his friend's hand convulsively. "Hugh,old chap, you are the best friend a man could ever have, true as steel."
"Don't say that," replied Hugh with a little break in his voice. "I ambound to do the best for you. It was owing to my infernal folly thatyou ever set foot in that cursed house. I am older and stronger thanyou, I ought to have known better. Well, good old Jack, good-night! Itell you, things won't look quite as black to-morrow."
But to Hugh's intense grief and remorse, there was no morrow for theunhappy boy, whose mind had been quite unhinged by the events of thatterrible night. One could only surmise that he had found sleepimpossible, and in a fit of frenzy had taken his life to escape from afuture so black and discouraging.
When his servant went to call him in the morning, he found his masterlying on the floor, with a bullet-hole in the middle of his forehead.Everybody in the barracks had been fast asleep when the poor boy hadfired the shot that was to take him out of his troubles, and nobody hadheard the report.
At the inquest, the whole miserable story came out. Of course it camethrough Hugh, the only person who was in possession of it. He narratedthe details of his acquaintance with the Burtons, the introduction ofJack Pomfret to the house, the scene at Rosemount when the twodetectives had taken the man, Jack's confession that he had made thegirl his wife a few hours previously.
Hugh never forgot that interview with the Colonel, in which "OldFireworks" poured out his wrath in no measured terms. He roundly calledhim an infernal fool for mixing himself up with people of whom he knewnothing, and whom Blankfield in its ignorance of their antecedents haddeclined to visit--and very wisely.
"If it had been poor Jack, a dear lad but a foolish, I could have foundit in my heart to forgive him," he ended. "But you are a man of anothersort, you have got your wits about you, if you choose to exercise them.I will never pardon you that day's work. You can play with fire and notbe scorched, but he couldn't. That poor boy's death lies at your door,sir. I hope you realise it."
Yes, Hugh did realise it. He stood with bowed head, and could not uttera word in self-defence.
The news, of course, was all over the town the next morning, or ratherthe double news--that George Burton had been arrested by two detectivesfrom Scotland Yard, and that in the early morning of the following dayJack Pomfret had blown out his brains. The evidence at the inquestexplained the double event.
The news of her young husband's suicide reached Norah early in themorning. She had gambled and lost. The old adventurous life was infront of her again.
She took the buffets of fate with the stoicism of her kind and class.She had a comfortable little nest-egg put by which stood between her andpresent want. If only Jack had been less emotional, she would not havetroubled him much, been content with quite a little. It is to be fearedthat, in her bitter disappointment, she felt a little sore against Jackfor his moral cowardice in getting comfortably out of it himself, andleaving her in the lurch.
Anyway, she faced the situation with a courage that one could not refuseto admire. By two o'clock that same day the servants had been paidtheir wages, the keys of the furnished house handed over to the agent,and Mrs Pomfret had departed for London.
Murchison could never forget that terrible time till something came thatseemed to dwarf all other things. In August, nineteen hundred andfourteen, there burst the first storm of the war which shook the worldto its centre. In the blood-soaked plains of France he forgoteverything except his country.
Jack Pomfret and Norah Burton seemed dim memories in those strenuoustimes of the world's upheaval. And yet, when he had a moment's leisureto think of the past, he felt a savage longing to be even with thatfair-faced, smiling adventuress who had driven his poor young friend toa suicide's grave.
CHAPTER EIGHT.
"It's a good proposition, old man. You couldn't employ a couple ofhours better. I have been in London Society of all sorts for the bestpart of my life, and I tell you that Stella Keane is the most charminggirl I have ever met."
The speaker was little Tommy Esmond, short, genial, and rotund ofperson. Tommy knew everybody who was anybody, and everybody knew themercurial Tommy.
Guy Spencer puffed leisurely at his cigar, and regarded
his rotundlittle friend with an amused smile. Spencer was about thirty, Tommy wasold enough to be his father. But he wore well.
"Most excellent Tommy, how many times have I heard you say the samething? Every girl you come across is the most charming you have evermet--until one sees you the next week. And then, the last girl has thesuper-charm--like the young lady you just mentioned, Miss Stella Keane."
But Esmond was not to be rebuffed by a clumsy attempt at humour on thepart of a young man so much his junior. Besides, Tommy was imperviousto humour. It fell off him, like water from a duck's back. In his wayhe was a very strenuous little man, he had no time to frivol.
"Don't try to be funny, old man: it doesn't suit you. Be sensible, andcome round with me to Mrs L'Estrange's flat and be introduced to MissKeane."
"It's an interesting suggestion, Tommy, but before I decide tell mefirst--who is Mrs L'Estrange, and secondly, who and what is MissKeane?"
And Tommy Esmond launched forth on a full flow of narrative. MrsL'Estrange was the first cousin of a well-known Irish earl, and was--well, in somewhat reduced circumstances, and had a snug little flat inthe Cadogan district.
"Mrs L'Estrange is quite satisfactorily explained," remarked Guy,interrupting his rather voluble friend. "Now what do you really knowabout Miss Keane?"
Here, Esmond was a little less precise. Mrs L'Estrange he knew quitewell, had known her ever since he had been in London; her ancestry andconnections were unimpeachable.
Miss Keane, it would appear, had been suddenly projected into theL'Estrange household, as it were, from space. He understood that shewas a distant connection, a far-off cousin, but he could give noparticulars.
Tommy, with the born instinct of the true diplomatist, was always readyto present everything in its best light, but he lacked the one essentialquality of the born diplomatist--he was not very successful when he cameto camouflaging facts.
Spencer's smile was more amused than ever, as he regarded his genialfriend. Spencer was only thirty, and Tommy was at least old enough tobe his father. But there were times when the younger man thought he sawmore clearly than the elder.
"Let us put it at this, Tommy. Mrs L'Estrange, being in somewhatstraitened circumstances, supplements her meagre income by card-playing,at which I have no doubt she is an adept."
And here, the usually placid Tommy interposed hotly: "You may say ofMrs L'Estrange what you like. But, if you propose to offer anyderogatory remarks about Miss Keane, I would rather not listen to them."
And Spencer kept a curb on his tongue. Was this fat, comical-lookinglittle man, a most unromantic figure, violently in love with Miss StellaKeane, and her sworn champion? Far be it from him to disturb his faithin this seductive siren, if it were so.
"It's all right, old chap," he said quietly. "I am not going to makeany remarks, derogatory or otherwise, about Miss Keane. I think I willadopt your suggestion. Let us adjourn to Mrs L'Estrange's flat. Ifone loses fifty or a hundred one may have a good time."
"You will see the most charming girl in London," cried Esmond inenthusiastic tones. It struck Spencer, as a peculiar phase of hisfriend's detachment, that, being in love with the girl himself, heshould be so anxious to introduce her to a younger man, who might,presumably, be his rival.
For there could be no question of rivalry between the two men, apartfrom their ages. Spencer was tall, athletic, handsome: Tommy Esmondwas--just Tommy Esmond--rotund, comical in appearance, andinsignificant.
Moreover, Spencer had other qualifications which are not without theirinfluence on the fair sex. He had a considerable fortune, and he wasthe next in succession to an ancient earldom. If the Earl ofSouthleigh, a widower, did not marry again, he would succeed to thetitle and estates. He was, in every sense of the term, an eligible_parti_.
The long, weary War was drawing to its close. The two men were diningat the fashionable "Excelsior" and were now about half-way through theirdinner.
Spencer had the bearing of a soldier, and he would have been at theFront long ago, but no doctor could be found who would pass him. To allappearance, he possessed the thews and sinews of an athlete, but thestalwart, manly frame covered an incurably weak heart, which played himstrange tricks at times. He was serving his country in the best wayopen to him, and doing good, sound clerical work in a Government Office.
"When do you suggest we should put in an appearance at MrsL'Estrange's?" he asked presently.
"It will take us another half-hour to get through this abundant meal.You will then have your coffee, and you will want a good and long cigar.We began rather late, you will remember. By the time you have gotthrough your smoke, we will make a move. We shall then find them infull swing."
Guy nodded, and went on with his dinner. He was quite willing to go tothe L'Estrange flat: he had no other engagement this evening, and itwould be something to do. But he was not greatly interested aboutmeeting the most beautiful girl in London. In spite of his friend'salmost lyrical outbursts, he expected that Miss Stella Keane would provea very ordinary young woman.
Suddenly Tommy Esmond uttered an exclamation. "Look, there they are,"he whispered excitedly across the table. "Mrs L'Estrange and hercousin. The man with them is Colonel Desmond, the man who won theVictoria Cross in the Boer War."
Tommy's round face was red with pleasurable emotion. Was there anydoubt, thought Spencer, that the little man was tremendously smitten bythe beautiful Miss Keane? Would it result in a marriage, he wondered?Tommy was well-off, and a person of some importance in his little socialworld. And if Miss Keane was as lovely as his fond imagination paintedher, it was quite evident that she was poor. Penniless young girls havebefore now accepted the shelter of a safe home, even when offered bycomical-looking little elderly men.
The three newcomers moved to a vacant table; Mrs L'Estrange, a woman ofmiddle age, dressed rather more youthfully than was quite in good taste,their escort, a tall figure in khaki, very upright and soldierly in hisbearing, in spite of his sixty years, and last, but by no means least,the beautiful Miss Keane.
Yes, at the first glance, the young man decided that she fully deservedhis friend's somewhat extravagant praise. If everybody in London wasnot raving over her, it was simply due to the fact that her cousin'scircle was not important, and that she had found nobody of sufficientsocial influence to launch her with the necessary _cachet_.
If she had made her _debut_ at one of the great houses, stamped with theapproval of any one of London's distinguished hostesses, Societyjournals would have gone into rhapsodies over her, and she would havebeen one of the reigning beauties of the hour, far, far beyond theaspirations of little Tommy Esmond.
His own special taste rather inclined towards fair women, his cousin,Lady Nina, of whom he was very fond, being a charming specimen of thattype. But he was no bigot in the matter of feminine beauty, and he wasprepared to admit that there were some dark women who could comparefavourably with their blonde sisters.
But Stella Keane was not very dark. She had soft brown eyes, glossydark hair, and a beautiful creamy complexion, a mouth like Cupid's bow,revealing when she smiled, teeth of a dazzling ivory. Her figure wouldhave been pronounced perfect by the most critical and fastidious artist.
"What do you think of her?" asked the delighted Tommy, after he hadgiven his friend a decent time for his inspection.
Tommy was a man whose friends had got into the habit of smiling at him,even when they agreed with him. Spencer smiled at him quite as often asany of his acquaintance, but at this moment he was perfectly grave.
"You are quite right, old man, this time," he said quietly. "She isreally beautiful, and her carriage is splendid. She looks like a youngEmpress--or, rather, she fulfils one's idea of what a young Empressshould be."
Tommy beamed. He drank in the words of unstinted praise like wine. Thelittle blue eyes, usually devoid of expression, seemed suffused with asoft emotion. There was something pathetic in his devotion to thisradiant young woman who looked
like a youthful Empress.
"And she is as good and sweet as she looks," he murmured in a voice thathe could not keep steady. "When she talks to you seriously and lets youknow what she really thinks and feels, by gad, Spencer, it makes abattered old worldling like myself feel unworthy to be in her presence.For she has a beautiful soul and mind as well as a beautiful body."
Spencer could only look sympathetic. Poor little Tommy, he certainlyseemed to talk like a lover. And what did Miss Keane think of it all?She must have more than a mere tolerance for him, or she would not haveallowed him those peeps into her mind and soul to which he alluded withsuch unrestrained rapture.
It was some time before Esmond's intense gaze attracted the attention ofthe party, and when it did, he was rewarded with a most affable smilefrom Mrs L'Estrange, and one of quite pronounced friendliness from MissKeane. The Colonel also bestowed a genial nod.
After a pause, Tommy spoke somewhat ruefully. "I'm afraid this ratherupsets our little plans. Mrs L'Estrange is a most conscientious diner:she will be here, at the lowest calculation, for an hour and a half,counting the coffee and cigarettes. They won't be back at the flatunder a couple. You wouldn't care to wait so long."
He looked rather wistfully at his companion. He, for his own part,would have waited half the night.
"Don't let us commit ourselves, old man, but await events. We haven'tfinished our dinner yet, and the service is deucedly slow. We can putin a lot more time. You can pay your respects at a fitting moment, andperhaps they will ask us to their table. I must confess