CHAPTER XII
THE LURID PAST OF JNO. PETERS
"That's right!" said Sir Mallaby Marlowe. "Work while you're young, Sam,work while you're young." He regarded his son's bent head withaffectionate approval. "What's the book to-day?"
"Widgery on Nisi Prius Evidence," said Sam, without looking up.
"Capital!" said Sir Mallaby. "Highly improving and as interesting as anovel--some novels. There's a splendid bit on, I think, page two hundredand fifty-four where the hero finds out all about Copyhold and CustomaryEstates. It's a wonderfully powerful situation. It appears--but I won'tspoil it for you. Mind you don't skip to see how it all comes out in theend!" Sir Mallaby suspended conversation while he addressed an imaginaryball with the mashie which he had taken out of his golf-bag. For thiswas the day when he went down to Walton Heath for his weekly foursomewith three old friends. His tubby form was clad in tweed of a violentnature, with knickerbockers and stockings. "Sam!"
"Well?"
"Sam, a man at the club showed me a new grip the other day. Instead ofoverlapping the little finger of the right hand.... Oh, by the way,Sam."
"Yes?"
"I should lock up the office to-day if I were you, or anxious clientswill be coming in and asking for advice, and you'll find yourself indifficulties. I shall be gone, and Peters is away on his holiday. You'dbetter lock the outer door."
"All right," said Sam absently. He was finding Widgery stiff reading. Hehad just got to the bit about Raptu Haeredis, which--as of course youknow, is a writ for taking away an heir holding in socage.
Sir Mallaby looked at his watch.
"Well, I'll have to be going. See you later, Sam."
"Good-bye."
Sir Mallaby went out, and Sam, placing both elbows on the desk andtwining his fingers in his hair, returned with a frown of consternationto his grappling with Widgery. For perhaps ten minutes the struggle wasan even one, then gradually Widgery got the upper hand. Sam's mind,numbed by constant batterings against the stony ramparts of legalphraseology, weakened, faltered, and dropped away; and a moment laterhis thoughts, as so often happened when he was alone, darted off andbegan to circle round the image of Billie Bennett.
Since they had last met, at Sir Mallaby's dinner-table, Sam had toldhimself perhaps a hundred times that he cared nothing about Billie, thatshe had gone out of his life and was dead to him; but unfortunately hedid not believe it. A man takes a deal of convincing on a point likethis, and Sam had never succeeded in convincing himself for more thantwo minutes at a time. It was useless to pretend that he did not stilllove Billie more than ever, because he knew he did; and now, as thetruth swept over him for the hundred and first time, he groaned hollowlyand gave himself up to the grey despair which is the almost inseparablecompanion of young men in his position.
So engrossed was he in his meditation that he did not hear the lightfootstep in the outer office, and it was only when it was followed by atap on the door of the inner office that he awoke with a start to thefact that clients were in his midst. He wished that he had taken hisfather's advice and locked up the office. Probably this was somefrightful bore who wanted to make his infernal will or something, andSam had neither the ability nor the inclination to assist him.
Was it too late to escape? Perhaps if he did not answer the knock, theblighter might think there was nobody at home. But suppose he opened thedoor and peeped in? A spasm of Napoleonic strategy seized Sam. Hedropped silently to the floor and concealed himself under the desk.Napoleon was always doing that sort of thing.
There was another tap. Then, as he had anticipated, the door opened.Sam, crouched like a hare in its form, held his breath. It seemed to himthat he was going to bring this delicate operation off with success. Hefelt he had acted just as Napoleon would have done in a similar crisis.And so, no doubt, he had to a certain extent; only Napoleon would haveseen to it that his boots and about eighteen inches of trousered legswere not sticking out, plainly visible to all who entered.
"Good morning," said a voice.
Sam thrilled from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. It wasthe voice which had been ringing in his ears through all his wakinghours.
"Are you busy, Mr. Marlowe?" asked Billie, addressing the boots.
Sam wriggled out from under the desk like a disconcerted tortoise.
"Dropped my pen," he mumbled, as he rose to the surface.
He pulled himself together with an effort that was like a physicalexercise. He stared at Billie dumbly. Then, recovering speech, heinvited her to sit down, and seated himself at the desk.
"Dropped my pen!" he gurgled again.
"Yes?" said Billie.
"Fountain-pen," babbled Sam, "with a broad nib."
"Yes?"
"A broad _gold_ nib," went on Sam, with the painful exactitude whichcomes only from embarrassment or the early stages of intoxication.
"Really?" said Billie, and Sam blinked and told himself resolutely thatthis would not do. He was not appearing to advantage. It suddenlyoccurred to him that his hair was standing on end as the result of hisstruggle with Widgery. He smoothed it down hastily, and felt a triflemore composed. The old fighting spirit of the Marlowes now began toassert itself to some extent. He must make an effort to appear as littleof a fool as possible in this girl's eyes. And what eyes they were!Golly! Like stars! Like two bright planets in....
However, that was neither here nor there. He pulled down his waistcoatand became cold and business-like,--the dry young lawyer.
"Er--how do you do, Miss Bennett?" he said with a question in his voice,raising his eyebrows in a professional way. He modelled this performanceon that of lawyers he had seen on the stage, and wished he had somesnuff to take or something to tap against his front teeth. "MissBennett, I believe?"
The effect of the question upon Billie was disastrous. She had come tothis office with beating heart, prepared to end all misunderstandings,to sob on her soul-mate's shoulder and generally make everything up; butat this inane exhibition the fighting spirit of the Bennetts--which wasfully as militant as that of the Marlowes--became roused. She toldherself that she had been mistaken in supposing that she still lovedthis man. She was a proud girl and refused to admit herself capable ofloving any man who looked at her as if she was something that the cathad brought in. She drew herself up stiffly.
"Yes," she replied. "How clever of you to remember me."
"I have a good memory."
"How nice! So have I!"
There was a pause, during which Billie allowed her gaze to travelcasually about the room. Sam occupied the intermission by staringfurtively at her profile. He was by now in a thoroughly overwroughtcondition, and the thumping of his heart sounded to him as if workmenwere mending the street outside. How beautiful she looked, with that redhair peeping out beneath her hat and.... However!
"Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked in the sort of voiceWidgery might have used. Sam always pictured Widgery as a small man withbushy eyebrows, a thin face, and a voice like a rusty file.
"Well, I really wanted to see Sir Mallaby."
"My father has been called away on important business to Walton Heath.Cannot I act as his substitute?"
"Do you know anything about the law?"
"Do I know anything about the law!" echoed Sam, amazed. "Do I know----!Why, I was reading my Widgery on Nisi Prius Evidence when you came in."
"Oh, were you?" said Billie, interested. "Do you always read on thefloor?"
"I told you I dropped my pen," said Sam coldly.
"And of course you couldn't read without that! Well, as a matter offact, this has nothing to do with Nisi--what you said."
"I have not specialised exclusively on Nisi Prius Evidence. I know thelaw in all its branches."
"Then what would you do if a man insisted on playing the orchestrionwhen you wanted to get to sleep?"
"The orchestrion?"
"Yes."
"The orchestrion, eh? Ah! H'm!" said Sam.
"You still ha
ven't made it quite clear," said Billie.
"I was thinking."
"Oh, if you want to _think_!"
"Tell me the facts," said Sam.
"Well, Mr. Mortimer and my father have taken a house together in thecountry...."
"I knew that."
"_What_ a memory you have!" said Billie kindly. "Well, for some reasonor other they have quarrelled, and now Mr. Mortimer is doing everythinghe can to make father uncomfortable. Yesterday afternoon father wantedto sleep, and Mr. Mortimer started this orchestrion just to annoy him."
"I think--I'm not quite sure--I think that's a tort," said Sam.
"A what?"
"Either a tort or a malfeasance."
"Why, you do know something about it after all!" cried Billie, startledinto a sort of friendliness in spite of herself. And at the words andthe sight of her quick smile Sam's professional composure reeled on itsfoundations. He had half risen, with the purpose of springing up andbabbling of the passion that consumed him, when the chill reflectioncame to him that this girl had once said that she considered himridiculous. If he let himself go, would she not continue to think himridiculous? He sagged back into his seat; and at that moment there cameanother tap on the door which, opening, revealed the sinister face ofthe holiday-making Peters.
"Good morning, Mr. Samuel," said Jno. Peters. "Good morning, MissMilliken. Oh!"
He vanished as abruptly as he had appeared. He perceived that what hehad taken at first glance for the stenographer was a client, and thatthe junior partner was engaged on a business conference. He left behindhim a momentary silence.
"What a horrible-looking man!" said Billie, breaking it with a littlegasp. Jno. Peters often affected the opposite sex like that at firstsight.
"I beg your pardon?" said Sam absently.
"What a dreadful-looking man! He quite frightened me!"
For some moments Sam sat without speaking. If this had not been one ofhis Napoleonic mornings, no doubt the sudden arrival of his old friend,Mr. Peters, whom he had imagined at his home in Putney packing for histrip to America, would have suggested nothing to him. As it was, itsuggested a great deal. He had had a brain-wave, and for fully a minutehe sat tingling under its impact. He was not a young man who often hadbrain-waves, and, when they came, they made him rather dizzy.
"Who is he?" asked Billie. "He seemed to know you? And who," shedemanded after a slight pause, "is Miss Milliken?"
Sam drew a deep breath.
"It's rather a sad story," he said. "His name is John Peters. He used tobe clerk here."
"But he isn't any longer?"
"No." Sam shook his head. "We had to get rid of him."
"I don't wonder. A man looking like that...."
"It wasn't that so much," said Sam. "The thing that annoyed father wasthat he tried to shoot Miss Milliken."
Billie uttered a cry of horror.
"He tried to shoot Miss Milliken!"
"He _did_ shoot her--the third time," said Sam, warming to his work."Only in the arm, fortunately," he added. "But my father is rather astern disciplinarian and he had to go. I mean, we couldn't keep himafter that."
"Good gracious!"
"She used to be my father's stenographer, and she was thrown a good dealwith Peters. It was quite natural that he should fall in love with her.She was a beautiful girl, with rather your own shade of hair. Peters isa man of volcanic passions, and, when, after she had given him tounderstand that his love was returned, she informed him one day that shewas engaged to a fellow at Ealing West, he went right off his onion--Imean, he became completely distraught. I must say that he concealed itvery effectively at first. We had no inkling of his condition till hecame in with the pistol. And, after that ... well, as I say, we had todismiss him. A great pity, for he was a good clerk. Still, it wouldn'tdo. It wasn't only that he tried to shoot Miss Milliken. The thingbecame an obsession with him, and we found that he had a fixed idea thatevery red-haired woman who came into the office was the girl who haddeceived him. You can see how awkward that made it. Red hair is sofashionable now-a-days."
"My hair is red!" whispered Billie pallidly.
"Yes, I noticed it myself. I told you it was much the same shade as MissMilliken's. It's rather fortunate that I happened to be here with youwhen he came."
"But he may be lurking out there still!"
"I expect he is," said Sam carelessly. "Yes, I suppose he is. Would youlike me to go and send him away? All right."
"But--but is it safe?"
Sam uttered a light laugh.
"I don't mind taking a risk or two for your sake," he said, andsauntered from the room, closing the door behind him. Billie followedhim with worshipping eyes.
Jno. Peters rose politely from the chair in which he had seated himselffor the more comfortable perusal of the copy of _Home Whispers_ which hehad brought with him to refresh his mind in the event of the firm beingtoo busy to see him immediately. He was particularly interested in theseries of chats with Young Mothers.
"Hullo, Peters," said Sam. "Want anything?"
"Very sorry to have disturbed you, Mr. Samuel. I just looked in to saygood-bye. I sail on Saturday, and my time will be pretty fully taken upall the week. I have to go down to the country to get some finalinstructions from the client whose important papers I am taking over.I'm sorry to have missed your father, Mr. Samuel."
"Yes, this is his golf day. I'll tell him you looked in."
"Is there anything I can do before I go?"
"Do?"
"Well--"--Jno. Peters coughed tactfully--"I see that you are engagedwith a client, Mr. Samuel, and I was wondering if any little point oflaw had arisen with which you did not feel yourself quite capable ofcoping, in which case I might perhaps be of assistance."
"Oh, that lady," said Sam. "That was Miss Milliken's sister."
"Indeed? I didn't know Miss Milliken had a sister."
"No?" said Sam.
"She is not very like her in appearance."
"No. This one is the beauty of the family, I believe. A very bright,intelligent girl. I was telling her about your revolver just before youcame in, and she was most interested. It's a pity you haven't got itwith you now, to show to her."
"Oh, but I have it! I have, Mr. Samuel!" said Peters, opening a smallhandbag and taking out a hymn-book, half a pound of mixed chocolates, atongue sandwich, and the pistol, in the order named. "I was on my way tothe Rupert Street range for a little practice. I should be glad to showit to her."
"Well, wait here a minute or two," said Sam. "I'll have finished talkingbusiness in a moment."
He returned to the inner office.
"Well?" cried Billie.
"Eh? Oh, he's gone," said Sam. "I persuaded him to go away. He was alittle excited, poor fellow. And now let us return to what we weretalking about. You say...." He broke off with an exclamation, andglanced at his watch. "Good Heavens! I had no idea of the time. Ipromised to run up and see a man in one of the offices in the nextcourt. He wants to consult me on some difficulty which has arisen withone of his clients. Rightly or wrongly he values my advice. Can youspare me for a short while? I shan't be more than ten minutes."
"Certainly."
"Here is something you may care to look at while I'm gone. I don't knowif you have read it? Widgery on Nisi Prius Evidence. Most interesting."
He went out. Jno. Peters looked up from his _Home Whispers_.
"You can go in now," said Sam.
"Certainly, Mr. Samuel, certainly."
Sam took up the copy of _Home Whispers_ and sat down with his feet onthe desk. He turned to the serial story and began to read the synopsis.
In the inner room Billie, who had rejected the mental refreshmentoffered by Widgery and was engaged on making a tour of the office,looking at the portraits of whiskered men whom she took correctly to bethe Thorpes, Prescotts, Winslows, and Applebys mentioned on thecontents-bill outside, was surprised to hear the door open at her back.She had not expected Sam to return so instantaneously.
Nor had he done so. It was not Sam who entered. It was a man ofrepellent aspect whom she recognised instantly, for Jno. Peters was oneof those men who, once seen, are not easily forgotten. He was smiling acruel, cunning smile--at least, she thought he was; Mr. Peters himselfwas under the impression that his face was wreathed in a benevolentsimper; and in his hand he bore the largest pistol ever seen outside amotion-picture studio.
"How do you do, Miss Milliken?" he said.