The Return

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  He was utterly wearied, but he walked on for a long while with a doggedunglancing pertinacity and without looking behind him. Then he restedunder the dew-sodden hedgeside and buried his face in his hands. Once,indeed, he did turn and grind his way back with hard uplifted face formany minutes, but at the meeting with an old woman who in the late duskpassed him unheeded on the road, he stopped again, and after standingawhile looking down upon the dust, trying to gather up the tangledthreads of his thoughts, he once more set off homewards.

  It was clear, starry, and quite dark when he reached the house. The lampat the roadside obscurely lit its breadth and height. Lamp-light within,too, was showing yellow between the Venetian blinds; a cold gas-jetgleamed out of the basement window. He seemed bereft now of all desireor emotion, simply the passive witness of things external in a calmwhich, though he scarcely realised its cause, was an exquisite solaceand relief. His senses were intensely sharpened with sleeplessness. Thefaintest sound belled clear and keen on his ear. The thinnest beam oflight besprinkled his eyes with curious brilliance.

  As quietly as some nocturnal creature he ascended the steps to theporch, and leaning between stone pilaster and wall, listened intentlyfor any rumour of those within.

  He heard a clear, rather languid and delicate voice quietly speak onuntil it broke into a little peal of laughter, followed, when it fellsilent by Sheila's--rapid, rich, and low. The first speaker seemed to bestanding. Probably, then, his evening visitors had only just come in, orwere preparing to depart. He inserted his latchkey and gently pushed atthe cumbersome door. It was locked against him. With not the faintestthought of resentment or surprise, he turned back, stooped over thebalustrade and looked down into the kitchen. Nothing there was visiblebut a narrow strip of the white table, on which lay a black cottonglove, and beyond, the glint of a copper pan. What made all these muteand inanimate things so coldly hostile?

  An extreme, almost nauseous distaste filled him at the thought ofknocking for admission, of confronting Ada, possibly even Sheila, in thecold echoing gloom of the detestable porch; of meeting the first wild,almost metallic, flash of recognition. He swept softly down again, andpaused at the open gate. Once before the voices of the night had calledhim: they would not summon him forever in vain. He raised his eyes againtowards the window. Who were these visitors met together to drum thealien out? He narrowed his lids and smiled up at the vacuous unfriendlyhouse. Then wheeling, on a sudden impulse he groped his way down thegravel path that led into the garden. As he had left it, the long whitewindow was ajar.

  With extreme caution he pushed it noiselessly up, and climbed in, andstood listening again in the black passage on the other side. Whenhe had fully recovered his breath, and the knocking of his heart wasstilled, he trod on softly, till turning the corner he came in sightof the kitchen door. It was now narrowly open, just enough, perhaps, toadmit a cat; and as he softly approached, looking steadily in, hecould see Ada sitting at the empty table, beneath the single whistlingchandelier, in her black dress and black straw hat. She was readingapparently; but her back was turned to him and he could not distinguishher arm beyond the elbow. Then almost in an instant he discovered, as,drawn up and unstirring he gazed on, that she was not reading, but hadcovertly and instantaneously raised her eyes from the print on the tablebeneath, and was transfixedly listening too. He turned his eyes away andwaited. When again he peered in she had apparently bent once more overher magazine, and he stole on.

  One by one, with a thin remote exultation in his progress, he mountedthe kitchen stairs, and with each deliberate and groping step the voicesabove him became more clearly audible. At last, in the darkness of thehall, but faintly stirred by the gleam of lamplight from the chink ofthe dining-room door, he stood on the threshold of the drawing-room doorand could hear with varying distinctness what those friendly voiceswere so absorbedly discussing. His ear seemed as exquisite as somecontrivance of science, registering passively the least sound, thefaintest syllable, and like it, in no sense meddling with the thoughtthat speech conveyed. He simply stood listening, fixed and motionless,like some uncouth statue in the leafy hollow of a garden, stony,unspeculating.

  'Oh, but you either refuse to believe, Bettie, or you won't understandthat it's far worse than that.' Sheila seemed to be upbraiding, or atleast reasoning with, the last speaker. 'Ask Mr Danton--he actually SAWhim.'

  '"Saw him,"' repeated a thick, still voice. 'He stood there, in thatvery doorway, Mrs Lovat, and positively railed at me. He stood thereand streamed out all the names he could lay his tongue to. Iwasn't--unfriendly to the poor beggar. When Bethany let me into itI thought it was simply--I did indeed, Mrs Lawford--a monstrousexaggeration. Flatly, I didn't believe it; shall I say that? But when Istood face to face with him, I could have taken my oath that that was nomore poor old Arthur Lawford than--well, I won't repeat what particularword occurred to me. But there,' the corpulent shrug was almost audible,'we all know what old Bethany is. A sterling old chap, mind you, so faras mere character is concerned; the right man in the right place; but asgullible and as soft-hearted as a tom-tit. I've said all this before, Iknow, Mrs Lawford, and been properly snubbed for my pains. But if Ihad been Bethany I'd have sifted the whole story at the beginning,the moment he put his foot into the house. Look at that Tichbornefellow--went for months and months, just picking up one day what hefloored old Hawkins--wasn't it?--with the next. But of course,' he addedgloomily, 'now that's all too late. He's moaned himself into a tolerablytight corner. I'd just like to see, though, a British jury comparingthis claimant with his photograph, 'pon my word I would. Where would hebe then, do you think?'

  'But my dear Mr Danton,' went on the clear, languid voice Lawford hadheard break so light-heartedly into laughter, 'you don't mean to tell methat a woman doesn't know her own husband when she sees him--or, for thematter of that, when she doesn't see him? If Tom came home from a rambleas handsome as Apollo to-morrow, I'd recognise him at the very firstblush--literally! He'd go nuzzling off to get his slippers, or complainthat the lamps had been smoking, or hunt the house down for last week'spaper. Oh, besides, Tom's Tom--and there's an end of it.'

  'That's precisely what I think, Mrs Lovat; one is saturated with one'spersonality, as it were.'

  'You see, that's just it! That's just exactly every woman's husband allover; he is saturated with his personality. Bravo, Mr Craik!'

  'Good Lord,' said Danton softly. 'I don't deny it!'

  'But that,' broke in Sheila crisply--'that's just precisely what I askedyou all to come in for. It's because I know now, apart altogether fromthe mere evidence, that--that he is Arthur. Mind, I don't say I everreally doubted. I was only so utterly shocked, I suppose. I positivelyput posers to him; but his memory was perfect in spite of the shockwhich would have killed a--a more sensitive nature.' She had risen, itseemed, and was moving with all her splendid impressiveness of silk andpresence across the general line of vision. But the hall was dark andstill; her eyes were dimmed with light. Lawford could survey her thereunmoved.

  'Are you there, Ada?' she called discreetly.

  'Yes, ma'am,' answered the faint voice from below.

  'You have not heard anything--no knock?'

  'No, ma'am, no knock.'

  'The door is open if you should call.'

  'Yes, ma'am.'

  'The girl's scared out of her wits,' said Sheila returning to heraudience. 'I've told you all that miserable Ferguson story--a piece ofcalm, callous presence of mind I should never have dreamed my husbandcapable of. And the curious thing is--at least, it is no longer curiousin the light of the ghastly facts I am only waiting for Mr Bethanyto tell you--from the very first she instinctively detested the verymention of his name.'

  'I believe, you know,' said Mr Craik with some decision, 'that servantsmust have the same wonderful instinct as dogs and children; they arenatural, intuitive judges of character.'

  'Yes,' said Sheila gravely, 'and it's only through that that I got tohear of the
--the mysterious friend in the little pony-carriage. Ada'smagnificently loyal--I will say that.'

  'I don't want to suggest anything, Mrs Lawford,' began Mr Craik ratherhurriedly, 'but wouldn't it perhaps be wiser not to wait for Mr Bethany?It is not at all unusual for him to be kept a considerable time in thevestry after service, and to-day is the Feast of St Michael's and allAngels, you know. Mightn't your husband be--er--coming back, don't youthink?'

  'Craik's right, Mrs Lawford; it's not a bit of good waiting. Bethanywould stick there till midnight if any old woman's spiritual state couldkeep her going so long. Here we all are, and at any moment we may beinterrupted. Mind you, I promise nothing--only that there shall beno scene. But here I am, and if he does come knocking and ringing andlunging out in the disgusting manner he--well, all I ask is permissionto speak for YOU. 'Pon my soul, to think what you must have gonethrough! It isn't the place for ladies just now--honestly it ain't.'

  'Besides, supposing the romantic lady of the pony-carriage has friends?Are YOU a pugilist, Mr Craik?'

  'I hope I could give some little account of myself, Mrs Lovat; but youneed have no anxiety about that.'

  'There, Mr Danton. So as there is not the least cause for anxiety evenif poor Arthur SHOULD return to his earthly home, may we share yourdreadful story at once, Sheila; and then, perhaps, hear Mr Bethany'sexposition of it when he DOES arrive? We are amply guarded.'

  'Honestly, you know, you are a bit of a sceptic, Mrs Lovat,' pleadedDanton playfully. 'I've SEEN him.'

  'And seeing is disbelieving, I suppose. Now then, Sheila.'

  'I don't think there's the least chance of Arthur returning to-night,'said Sheila solemnly. 'I am perfectly well aware it's best to be ascheerful as one can--and as resolved; but I think, Bettie, when evenyou know the whole horrible secret, you won't think Mr Danton was--washorrified for nothing. The ghastly, the awful truth is that myhusband--there is no other word for it--is--possessed!'

  '"Possessed," Sheila! What in the name of all the creeps is that?'

  'Well, I dare say Mr Craik will explain it much better than I can. Bya devil, dear.' The voice was perfectly poised and restrained, and MrCraik did not see fit for the moment to embellish the definition.

  Lawford, with an almost wooden immobility, listened on.

  'But THE devil, or A devil? Isn't there a distinction?' inquired MrsLovat.

  'It's in the Bible, Bettie, over and over again. It was quite a commonthing in the Middle Ages; I think I'm right in saying that, am I not,Mr Craik?' Mr Craik must have solemnly nodded or abundantly lookedhis unwilling affirmation. 'And what HAS been,' continued Sheilatemperately, 'I suppose may be again.'

  'When the fellow began raving at me the other night,' began Dantonhuskily, as if out of an unfathomable pit of reflection, 'among otherthings he said that I haven't any wish to remember was that I was asceptic. And Bethany said DITTO to it. I don't mind being called asceptic: why, I said myself Mrs Lovat was a sceptic just now! But whenit comes to "devils," Mrs Lawford--I may be convinced about the other,but "devils"! Well, I've been in the City nearly twenty-five years, andit's my impression human nature can raise all the devils WE shallever need. And another thing,' he added, as if inspired, and with animmensely intelligent blink, 'is it just precisely that word in theRevised Version--eh, Craik?'

  'I'll certainly look it up, Danton. But I take it that Mrs Lawford isnot so much insisting on the word, as on the--the manifestation. AndI'm bound to confess that the Society for Psychical Research, whichhas among its members quite eminent and entirely trustworthy men ofscience--I am bound to admit they have some very curious stories totell. The old idea was, you know, that there are seventy-two princelydevils, and as many as seven million--er--commoners. It may very wellsound quaint to our ears, Mrs Lovat; but there it is. But whetherthat has any bearing on--on what you were saying, Danton, I can't say.Perhaps Mrs Lawford will throw a little more light on the subjectwhen she tells us on what precise facts her--her distressing theory isbased.'

  Lawford had soundlessly stolen a pace or two nearer, and by stoopingforward a little he could, each in turn, scrutinise the little intentcompany sitting over his story around the lamp at the further end of thetable; squatting like little children with their twigs and pins, fishingfor wonders on the brink of the unknown.

  'Yes,' Mrs Lovat was saying, 'I quite agree, Mr Craik. Seventy-twoprinces, and no princesses. Oh, these masculine prejudices! But do throwa little more modern light on the subject, Sheila.'

  'I mean this,' said Sheila firmly. 'When I went in for the last time tosay good-bye--and of course it was at his own wish that I did leave him;and precisely WHY he wished it is now unhappily only too apparent--I hadbrought him some money from the bank--fifty pounds, I think; yes, fiftypounds. And quite by the merest chance I glanced down, in passing, at abook he had apparently been reading, a book which he seemed very anxiousto conceal with his hand. Arthur is not a great reader, though I believehe studied a little before we were married, and--well, I detest anythinglike subterfuge, and I said it out without thinking, "Why, you'rereading French, Arthur!" He turned deathly white but made no answer.'

  'And can't you even confide to us the title, Sheila?' sighed Mrs Lovatreproachfully.

  'Wait a minute,' said Sheila; 'you shall make as much fun of the thingas you like, Bettie, when I've finished. I don't know why, but thatpeculiar, stealthy look haunted me. "Why French?" I kept asking myself."Why French?" Arthur hasn't opened a French book for years. He doesn'teven approve of the entente. His argument was that we ought to befriends with the Germans because they are more hostile. Never mind. WhenAda came back the next evening and said he was out, I came the followingmorning--by myself--and knocked. No one answered, and I let myself in.His bed had not been slept in. There were candles and matches all overthe house--one even burnt nearly to the stick on the floor in the cornerof the drawing-room. I suppose it was foolish, but I was alone, and justthat, somehow, horrified me. It seemed to point to such a peculiar stateof mind. I hesitated; what was the use of looking further? Yet somethingseemed to say to me--and it was surely providential--"Go downstairs!"And there in the breakfast-room the first thing I saw on the tablewas this book--a dingy, ragged, bleared, patched-up, oh, a horrible,a loathsome little book (and I have read bits too here and there);and beside it was my own little school dictionary, my own child's 'Shelooked up sharply. 'What was that? Did anybody call?'

  'Nobody I heard,' said Danton, staring stonily round.

  'It may have been the passing of the wind,' suggested Mr Craik, after apause.

  'Peep between the blinds, Mr Craik; it may be poor Mr Bethanyconfronting Pneumonia in the porch.'

  'There's no one there, Mrs Lovat,' said the curate, returning softlyfrom his errand. 'Please continue your--your narrative, Mrs Lawford.'

  'We are panting for the "devil," my dear.'

  'Well, I sat down and, very much against my inclination, turned over thepages. It was full of the most revolting confessions and trials, sofar as I could see. In fact, I think the book was merely an amateurcollection of--of horrors. And the faces, the portraits! Well, then, canyou imagine my feelings when towards the end of the book about thirtypages from the end, I came upon this--gloating up at me from the tablein my house before my very eyes?'

  She cast a rapid glance over her shoulder, and gathering up her silkskirt, drew out, from the pocket beneath, the few crumpled pages, andpassed them without a word to Danton. Lawford kept him plainly in view,as, lowering his great face, he slowly stooped, and holding the looseleaves with both fat hands between his knees, stared into the portrait.Then he truculently lifted his cropped head.

  'What did I say?' he said. 'What did I SAY? What did I tell old Bethanyin this very room? What d'ye think of that, Mrs Lovat, for a portrait ofArthur Lawford? What d'ye make of that, Craik--eh? Devil--eh?'

  Mrs Lovat glanced with arched eyebrows, and with her finger-tips handedthe sheets on to her neighbour, who gazed with a settled and mournfulfrown and returned them to Sheila.


  She took the pages, folded them and replaced them carefully in herpocket. She swept her hands over her skirts, and turned to Danton.

  'You agree,' she inquired softly, 'it's like?'

  'Like! It's the livin' livid image. The livin' image,' he repeated,stretching out his arm, 'as he stood there that very night.'

  'What will you say, then,' said Sheila, quietly, 'What will you say if Itell you that that man, Nicholas de Sabathier, has been in his grave forover a hundred years?'

  Danton's little eyes seemed, if anything, to draw back even furtherinto his head. 'I'd say, Mrs Lawford, if you'll excuse the word, thatit might be a damn horrible coincidence--I'd go farther, an almostincredible coincidence. But if you want the sober truth, I'd say it wasnothing more than a crafty, clever, abominable piece of trickery. That'swhat I'd say. Oh, you don't know, Mrs Lovat. When a scamp's a scamp,he'll stop at nothing. I could tell you some tales.'

  'Ah, but that's not all,' said Sheila, eyeing them steadfastly one byone. 'We all of us know that my husband's story was that he had gonedown to Widderstone--into the churchyard, for his convalescent ramble;that story's true. We all know that he said he had had a fit, a heartattack, and that a kind of--of stupor had come over him. I believe on myhonour that's true too. But no one knows but he himself and Mr Bethanyand I, that it was a wretched broken grave, quite at the bottom of thehill, that he chose for his resting place, nor--and I can't get thescene out of my head--nor that the name on that one solitary tombstonedown there was--was...this!'

  Danton rolled his eyes. 'I don't begin to follow,' he said stubbornly.

  'You don't mean,' said Mr Craik, who had not removed his gaze fromSheila's face, 'I am not to take it that you mean, Mrs Lawford, the--theother?'

  'Yes,' said Sheila, 'HIS'--she patted her skirts--'Sabathier's.'

  'You mean,' said Mrs Lovat crisply, 'that the man in the grave is theman in the book, and that the man in the book is--is poor Arthur'schanged face?'

  Sheila nodded.

  Danton rose cumbrously from his chair, looking beadily down on his threefriends.

  'Oh, but you know, it isn't--it isn't right,' he began. 'Lord! I can seehim now. Glassy--yes, that's the very word I said--glassy. It won't do,Mrs Lawford; on my solemn honour, it won't do. I don't deny it, call itwhat you like; yes, devils, if you like. But what I say as a practicalman is that it's just rank--that's what it is! Bethany's had too muchrope. The time's gone by for sentiment and all that foolery. Mercy's allvery well, but after all it's justice that clinches the bargain. There'sonly one way: we must catch him; we must lay the poor wretch by theheels before it's too late. No publicity, God bless me, no. We'd haveall the rags in London on us. They'd pillory us nine days on end. We'dnever live it down. No, we must just hush it up--a home or something;an asylum. For my part,' he turned like a huge toad, his chin low in hiscollar--'and I'd say the same if it was my own brother, and, after all,he is your husband, Mrs Lawford--I'd sooner he was in his grave. Ittakes two to play at that game, that's what I say. To lay himself open!I can't stand it--honestly, I can't stand it. And yet,' he jerked hischin over the peak of his collar towards the ladies, 'and yet you sayhe's being fetched; comes creeping home, and is fetched at dark by a--alady in a pony-carriage. God bless me! It's rank. What,' he broke outviolently again, 'what was he doing there in a cemetery after dark? Doyou think that beastly Frenchman would have played such a trick on Craikhere? Would he have tried his little game on me? Deviltry be it, ifyou prefer the word, and all deference to you, Mrs Lawford. But I knowthis--a couple of hundred years ago they would have burnt a man at thestake for less than a tenth of this. Ask Craik here. I don't know how,and I don't know when: his mother, I've always heard say, was a littleeccentric; but the truth is he's managed by some unholy legerdemain toget the thing at his finger's ends; that's what it is. Think of thatunspeakable book. Left open on the table! Look at his Ferguson game.It's our solemn duty to keep him for good and all out of mischief. Itreflects all round. There's no getting out of it; we're all in it. Andtar sticks. And then there's poor little Alice to consider, and--andyou yourself, Mrs. Lawford: I wouldn't give the fellow--friend thoughhe was, in a way--it isn't safe to give him five minutes' freedom.We've simply got to save you from yourself, Mrs Lawford; that's what itis--and from old-fashioned sentiment. And I only wish Bethany was herenow to dispute it!'

  He stirred himself down, as it were, into his clothes, and stood in themiddle of the hearthrug, gently oscillating, with his hands behindhis back. But at some faint rumour out of the silent house his posturesuddenly stiffened, and he lifted a little, with heavy, steady lids, hishead.

  'What is the matter, Danton?' said Mr Craik in a small voice; 'why areyou listening?'

  'I wasn't listening,' said Danton stoutly, 'I was thinking.'

  At the same moment, at the creak of a footstep on the kitchen stairs,Lawford also had drawn soundlessly back into the darkness of the emptydrawing-room.

  'While Mr Danton is "thinking," Sheila,' Mrs Lovat was softlyinterposing, 'do please listen a moment to me. Do you mean really thatthat Frenchman--the one you've pocketed--is the poor creature in thegrave?'

  'Yes, Mrs Lawford,' said Mr Craik, putting out his face a little, 'arewe to take it that you mean that?'

  'It's the same date, dear, the same name even to the spelling; whatpossibly else can I think?'

  'And that the poor creature in the grave actually climbed up out of thedarkness and--well, what?'

  'I know no more than you do NOW, Bettie. But the two faces--you mustremember you haven't seen my husband SINCE.' You must remember youhaven't heard the peculiar--the most peculiar things he--Arthurhimself--has said to me. Things such as a wife... And not in jest,Bettie; I assure you....'

  'And Mr Bethany?' interpolated Mr Craik modestly, feeling his way.

  'Pah, Bethany, Craik! He'd back Old Nick himself if he came with a goodtale. We've got to act; we've got to settle his hash before he does anymischief.'

  'Well,' began Mrs Lovat, smiling a little remorsefully beneath the archof her raised eyebrows, 'I sincerely hope you'll all forgive me; but Ireally am, heart and soul, with Old Nick, as Mr Danton seems on intimateterms enough to call him. Dead, he is really immensely alluring; andalive, I think, awfully--just awfully pitiful and--and pathetic. But ifI know anything of Arthur he won't be beaten by a Frenchman. As forjust the portrait, I think, do you know, I almost prefer dark men'--sheglanced up at the face immediately in front of the clock--'at least,'she added softly, 'when they are not looking very vindictive. I supposepeople are fairly often possessed, Mr Craik? HOW many "deadly sins" arethere?'

  'As a matter of fact, Mrs Lovat, there are seven. But I think in thiscase Mrs Lawford intends to suggest not so much that--that her husbandis in that condition; habitual sin, you know--grave enough, of course,I own--but that he is actually being compelled, even to the extent of amore or less complete change of physiognomy, to follow the biddings ofsome atrocious spiritual influence. It is no breach of confidence tosay that I have myself been present at a death-bed where the struggleagainst what I may call the end was perfectly awful to witness. Idon't profess to follow all the ramifications of the affair, but thoughpossibly Mr Danton may seem a little harsh, such harshness, if I mayventure to intercede, is not necessarily "vindictive." And--and personalsecurity is a consideration.'

  'If you only knew the awful fear, the awful uncertainty I have beenin, Bettie! Oh, it is worse, infinitely worse, than you can possiblyimagine. I have myself heard the Voice speak out of him--a high, hard,nasal voice. I've seen what Mr Danton calls the "glassiness" come intohis face, and an expression so wild and so appallingly depraved, asit were, that I have had to hurry downstairs to hide myself from thethought. I'm willing to sacrifice everything for my own husband and forAlice; but can it be expected of me to go on harbouring....' Lawfordlistened on in vain for a moment; poor Sheila, it seemed, had all butbroken down.

  'Look here, Mrs Lawford,' began Danton huskily, 'you really mustn't giveway; you re
ally mustn't. It's awful, unspeakably awful, I admit. Buthere we are; friends, in the midst of friends. And there's absolutelynothing--What's that? Eh? Who is it?... Oh, the maid!'

  Ada stood in the doorway looking in. 'All I've come to ask, ma'am,' shesaid in a low voice, 'is, am I to stay downstairs any longer? And areyou aware there's somebody in the house?'

  'What's that? What's that you're saying?' broke out the husky voiceagain. 'Control yourself! Speak gently! What's that?'

  'Begging your pardon, sir, I'm perfectly under control. And all I say isthat I can't stay any longer alone downstairs there. There's somebody inthe house.'

  A concentrated hush seemed to have fallen on the little assembly.

  '"Somebody"--but who?' said Sheila out of the silence. 'You come uphere, Ada, with these idle fancies. Who's in the house? There has beenno knock--no footstep.'

  'No knock, no footstep, ma'am, that I've heard. It's Dr Ferguson, ma'am.He was here that first night; and he's been here ever since. He was herewhen I came on Tuesday; and he was here last night. And he's here now.I can't be deceived by my own feelings. It's not right, it's notout-spoken to keep me in the dark like this. And if you have noobjection, I would like to go home.'

  Lawford in his utter weariness had nearly closed the door and now satbent up on a chair, wondering vaguely when this poor play was coming toan end, longing with an intensity almost beyond endurance for the keennight air, the open sky. But still his ears drank in every tiniest soundor stir. He heard Danton's lowered voice muttering his arguments. Heheard Ada quietly sniffing in the darkness of the hall. And this was hisworld! This was his life's panorama, creaking on at every jolt. This wasthe 'must' Grisel had sent him back to--these poor fools packedtogether in a panic at an old stale tale! Well, they would all come outpresently, and cluster; and the crested, cackling fellow would lead themsafely away out of the haunted farmyard.

  He started out of his reverie at Danton's voice close at hand.

  'Look here, my good girl, we haven't the least intention of keeping youin the dark. If you want to leave your mistress like this in the midstof her anxieties she says you can go and welcome. But it's not a bit ofgood in the world coming up with these cock-and-bull stories. The truthis your master's mad, that's the sober truth of it--hopelessly insane,you understand; and we've got to find him. But nothing's to be said,d'ye see? It's got to be done without fuss or scandal. But if there'sany witness wanted, or anything of that kind, why, here you are; and,'he dropped his voice to an almost inaudible hoot, 'and well worth yourwhile! You did see him, eh? Step into the trap, and all that?'

  Ada stood silent a moment. 'I don't know, sir,' she began quietly, 'bywhat right you speak to me about what you call my cock-and-bull stories.If the master is mad, all I can say to anybody is I'm very sorry to hearit. I came to my mistress, sir, if you please; and I prefer to take myorders from one who has a right to give them. Did I understand you tosay, ma'am, that you wouldn't want me any more this evening?'

  Sheila had swept solemnly to the door. 'Mr Danton meant all that he saidquite kindly, Ada. I can perfectly understand your feelings--perfectly.And I'm very much obliged to you for all your kindness to me in verytrying circumstances. We are all agreed--we are forced to the terribleconclusion which--which Mr Danton has just--expressed. And I know Ican rely on your discretion. Don't stay on a moment if you really areafraid. But when you say "some one" Ada, do you mean--some one like youor me; or do you mean--the other?'

  'I've been sitting in the kitchen, ma'am, unable to move. I'm watchedeverywhere. The other evening I went into the drawing-room--I was alonein the house--and... I can't describe it. It wasn't dark; and yet it wasall still and black, like the ruins after a fire. I don't mean I saw it,only that it was like a scene. And then the watching--I am quite awareto some it may sound all fancy. But I'm not superstitious, never was.I only mean--that I can't sit alone here. I daren't. Else, I'm quitemyself. So if so be you don't want me any more; if I can't be of anyfurther use to you or to--to Mr. Lawford, I'd prefer to go home.'

  'Very well, Ada; thank you. You can go out this way.'

  The door was unchained and unbolted, and 'Good-night' said. And Sheilaswept back in sombre pomp to her absorbed friends.

  'She's quite a good creature at heart,' she explained frankly, as if todisclaim any finesse, 'and almost quixotically loyal. But what reallydid she mean, do you think? She is so obstinate. That maddening "someone"! How they do repeat themselves. It can't be my husband; not DrFerguson, I mean. You don't suppose--oh surely, not "some one" else!'Again the dark silence of the house seemed to drift in on the littlecompany.

  Mr Craik cleared his throat. 'I failed to catch quite all that the maidsaid,' he murmured apologetically; 'but I certainly did gather it was tosome kind of--of emanation she was referring. And the "ruin," you know.I'm not a mystic; and yet do you know, that somehow seemed to me almostoffensively suggestive of--of demonic influence. You don't suppose,Mrs Lawford--and of course I wouldn't for a moment venture on such aconjecture unsupported-but even if this restless spirit (let us callit) did succeed in making a footing, it might possibly be rather inthe nature of a lodging than a permanent residence. Moreover we are, Ithink, bound to remember that probably in all spheres of existence likeattracts like; even the Gadarene episode seems to suggest a possibleMULTIPLICATION!' he peered largely. 'You don't suppose, Mrs Lawford...?'

  'I think Mr Craik doesn't quite relish having to break the news, Sheiladear,' explained Mrs Lovat soothingly, 'that perhaps Sabathier's out.Which really is quite a heavenly suggestion, for in that case yourhusband would be in, wouldn't he? Just our old stolid Arthur again, youknow. And next Mr Craik is suggesting, and it certainly does seem ratherfascinating, that poor Ada's got mixed up with the Frenchman's friends,or perhaps, even, with one of the seventy-two Princes Royal. I knowwomen can't, or mustn't reason, Mr Danton, but you do, I hope, justcatch the drift?'

  Danton started. 'I wasn't really listening to the girl,' he explainednonchalantly, shrugging his black shoulders and pursing up his eyes.'Personally, Mrs Lovat, I'd pack the baggage off to-night, box and all.But it's not my business.'

  'You mustn't be depressed--must he, Mr Craik? After all, my dear man,the business, as you call it, is not exactly entailed. But really,Sheila, I think it must be getting very late. Mr Bethany won't come now.And the dear old thing ought certainly to have his say before we go anyfurther; OUGHTN'T he, Mr Danton? So what's the use of worriting poorAda's ghost any longer. And as for poor Arthur--I haven't the faintestdesire in the world to hear the little cart drive up, simply in case itshould be to leave your unfortunate husband behind it, Sheila. Whatit must be to be alone all night in this house with a dead and buriedFrenchman's face--well, I shudder, dear!'

  'And yet, Mrs Lovat,' said Mr Craik, with some little show of returningbravado, 'as we make our bed, you know.'

  'But in this case, you see,' she replied reflectively, 'if all accountsare true, Mr Craik, it's manifestly the wicked Frenchman who has madethe bed, and Sheila who refu---- But look; Mr Danton is fretting to gethome.'

  'If you'll all go to the door,' said Danton, seizing a fleetingopportunity to raise his eyebrows more expressively even than if he hadagain shrugged his shoulders at Sheila, 'I'll put out the light.'

  The night air flowed into the dark house as Danton hastily groped hisway out of the dining-room.

  'There's only one thing,' said Sheila slowly. 'When I last saw myhusband, you know, he was, I think, the least bit better. He was alwaysstubbornly convinced it would all come right in time. That's why,I think, he's been spending his--his evenings away from home. Butsupposing it did?'

  'For my part,' said Mrs Lovat, breathing the faint wind that was risingout of the west, 'I'd sigh; I'd rub my eyes; I'd thank God for such anexciting dream; and I'd turn comfortably over and go to sleep again. I'mall for Arthur--absolutely--back against the wall.'

  'For my part,' said Danton, looming in the dusk, 'friend or no friend,I'd cut the--I'd cut him dead. But don't fret, M
rs Lawford, devil or nodevil, he's gone for good.'

  'And for my part--' began Mr Craik; but the door at that moment slammed.

  Voices, however, broke out almost immediately in the porch. And aftera hurried consultation, Lawford in his stagnant retreat heard the doorsoftly reopen, and the striking of a match. And Mr Craik, followedclosely by Danton's great body, stole circumspectly across his dimchink, and the first adventurer went stumbling down the kitchenstaircase.

  'I suppose,' muttered Lawford, turning his head in the darkness, 'theyhave come back to put out the kitchen gas.'

  Danton began a busy tuneless whistle between his teeth.

  'Coming, Craik?' he called thickly, after a long pause.

  Apparently no answer had been returned to his inquiry: he waited alittle longer, with legs apart, and eyeballs enveloped in broodingdarkness. 'I'll just go and tell the ladies you're coming,' he suddenlybawled down the hollow. 'Do you hear, Craik? They're alone, you know.'And with that he resolutely wheeled and rapidly made his way downthe steps into the garden. Some few moments afterwards Mr Craik shookhimself free of the basement, hastened at a spirited trot to rejoin hiscompanions, and in his absence of mind omitted to shut the front door.