The Heart of a Woman

  CHAPTER XVII

  AND WHAT OF THE SECRET?

  When Luke arrived at his uncle's house early the next morning, he wasmet in the hall by Doctor Newington, who was descending the stairs andwho gravely beckoned to the young man to follow him into the library.

  "They called me in last night," he said in reply to Luke's quick andanxious query. "The butler--or whatever he may be--told me that he wasbusy fastening up the front door preparatory to going to bed when heheard a heavy thud proceeding from the library. He found his masterlying full length on the floor: the head had come in violent contact,as he fell, with the corner of this table; blood was trickling from ascalp wound, and Lord Radclyffe himself was apparently in a swoon. Theman is a regular coward and a fool besides. He left his master lyingjust as he had fallen, but fortunately he knew me and knew where tofind me, and within ten minutes I was on the spot, and had got LordRadclyffe into bed."

  "Is it," asked Luke, "anything serious?"

  "Lord Radclyffe has not been over strong lately. He has had a greatdeal to put up with, and at his age the system is not sufficientlyelastic or--how shall I put it?--sufficiently recuperative to standeither constant nerve strain or nagging worries."

  "I don't know," interposed Luke stiffly, "that my uncle has had eithernerve strain or worry to put up with."

  "Oh," rejoined the doctor, whose gruff familiarity seemed to Luke'ssensitive ear to be tainted with the least possible note ofimpertinence, "I am an old friend of your uncle, you know, and of allyour family; there isn't much that has escaped my observation duringthe past year."

  "You have not yet told me, doctor," said Luke, a shade more stifflythan before, "what is the matter with Lord Radclyffe."

  There was distinct emphasis on the last two words.

  Doctor Newington shrugged his shoulders good-humouredly.

  "Your uncle has had something in the nature of a stroke," he saidbluntly, and he fixed keen light-coloured eyes on those of Luke,watching the effect which the news--baldly and crudely put--would haveon the young man's nerves. He was a man with what is known as afashionable practice. He lived in Hertford Street and his rounds wereencircled by the same boundaries as those of the rest of Mayfair. Hehad had plenty of opportunity of studying those men and women whocompose the upper grades of English society. They and their perfect_sang-froid_, their well-drilled calm under the most dire calamities,or most unexpected blows had often caused him astonishment when he wasa younger man, fresh from hospital work, and from the haunts ofhumbler folk, who had no cause or desire to hide the depth of theirfeelings. Now he was used to his fashionable patients and had ceasedto wonder, and Luke's impassiveness on hearing of his uncle's suddenillness did not necessarily strike him as indifference.

  "Is it serious?" asked Luke.

  "Serious. Of course," assented the doctor.

  "Do you mean that Lord Radclyffe's life is in danger?"

  "At sixty years of age, life is always in danger."

  "I don't mean that," rejoined Luke with a slight show of impatience."Is Lord Radclyffe in immediate danger?"

  "No. With great care and constant nursing, he may soon rally, though Idoubt if he will ever be as strong and hearty as he was this time lastyear."

  "Then what about a nurse?"

  "I'll send one down to-day, but----"

  "Yes?"

  "Lord Radclyffe's present household is--well, hardly adequate to theexigencies of a long and serious illness--he ought to have a day and anight nurse. I can send both, but they will want some waiting on andof course proper meals and ordinary comforts----"

  "I can see to all that. Thank you for your advice."

  "A good and reliable cook is also necessary--who understands invalidcooking--all that is most important."

  "And shall be attended to at once. Is there anything else?"

  "Perfect rest and quiet of course are the chief things."

  "I shan't worry him, you may be sure, and no one else is likely tocome near him."

  "Except the police," remarked the doctor dryly.

  "The police?"

  The grave events of the night before, and those that were ready tofollow one another in grim array for the next few days had almost fledfrom Luke's memory in face of the other--to him moreserious--calamity--his uncle's illness.

  "Oh! Ah, yes!" he said vaguely. "I had forgotten."

  "The nurses," rejoined the doctor with a pompousness which somehowirritated Luke, "will have my authorization to forbid any one havingaccess to Lord Radclyffe for the present. I will write out thecertificate now, and this you can present to any one who may show adesire to exercise official authority in the matter of interviewing mypatient."

  "I daresay that I can do all that is necessary at the inquest and soon--Lord Radclyffe need not be worried."

  "He mustn't be worried. To begin with he would not know any one, andhe is wholly unable to answer questions."

  "That settles the matter of course. So, if you will write thenecessary certificate, I'll see the police authorities at once on thesubject. Would Lord Radclyffe know me, do you think?" added the youngman after a slight pause of hesitancy.

  "Well," replied the doctor evasively, "I don't think I would worry himto-day. We'll see how he gets on."

  "He'll probably ask for me."

  "That is another matter, and if he does, you must of course see him.But unless there is a marked improvement during the day, he won't askfor any one."

  Luke was silent a moment or two while the doctor sat down at thewriting table and sought for pen and ink.

  "Very well," he said after awhile, "we'll leave it at that. LordRadclyffe--I can promise you this--shall on no account be disturbedwithout permission from you. How soon will the nurse arrive?"

  "Within the hour. The night nurse will come after tea."

  Doctor Newington wrote out and signed the usual medical certificate tothe effect that Lord Radclyffe's state of health demanded perfectquietude and rest and that he was unable to see any one or to answerany questions. He read his own writing through very carefully, thenfolded the paper in half and handed it to Luke.

  "This," he said, "will make everything all right. And I'll call againin a couple of hours' time. You won't forget the cook?"

  "No, I won't forget the cook."

  When the doctor had taken his leave, Luke stood for a moment quietlyin the library: he folded up the medical certificate which he hadreceived at the hands of Doctor Newington, and carefully put it awayin his pocket-book.

  "You won't forget the cook?"

  I don't think that ever in his life before had Luke realized thetrivialities of life as he did at this moment. Remember that he wasquite man of the world enough, quite sufficiently sensible and shrewdand English, to have noticed that the degree of familiarity in thedoctor's manner had passed the borderland of what was due to himself;the tone of contemptuous indifference savoured of impertinence. Andthere was something more than that.

  Last night when Luke wandered up and down outside the brilliantlylighted windows of the Danish Legation, trying to catch a few muffledsounds of the voice he so passionately loved to hear, he heard thefirst rumours that an awful crime had been committed which, for goodor ill, would have such far-reaching bearings on his own future; buthe had also caught many hints, vague suggestions full of hiddenallusions, of which the burden was: "Seek whom the crime benefits."

  Luke de Mountford was no fool. Men of his stamp--we are accustomed tocall them commonplace--take a very straight outlook on life. They arenot hampered by the psychological problems which affect the moralbalance of a certain class of people of to-day; they have no sexualproblems to solve. Theirs is a steady, wholesome, and clean life, andthe mirrors of nature have not been blurred by the breath ofpsychologists.

  Luke had never troubled his head about his neighbour's wife, about hishorse, or his ass, or anything that is his; therefore his vision aboutthe neighbour himself had remained acute.

  Although I must admit that at this stage the thought th
at he mightactually be accused of a low and sordid crime never seriously enteredhis head, he nevertheless felt that suspicion hovered round him, thatsome people at any rate held it possible that since he would benefitby the crime, he might quite well have contemplated it.

  The man Travers thought so certainly; the doctor did not deem itimpossible--and, of course, there would be others.

  No wonder that he stood and mused. Once more the aspect of life hadchanged for him. He was back in that position from which the advent ofthe unknown cousin had ousted him so easily--the cousin who had come,had seen, and had conquered the one thing needful--the confidence andhelp of Uncle Rad.

  By what means he had succeeded in doing that had been the greatmystery which had racked Luke's mind ever since he felt his uncle'saffection slipping away from him.

  Uncle Rad who had loudly denounced the man as an impostor and ablackmailer before he set eyes on him, was ready to give him love andconfidence the moment he saw him: and Luke was discarded like an oldcoat that no longer fitted. The affection of years was turned toindifference; and what meant more still the habits of a lifetime werechanged. Lord Radclyffe, tyrannical and didactic, became a nonentityin his own household. The grand seigneur, imbued with every instinctof luxury and refinement, became a snuffy old hermit, uncared for, notproperly waited on, feeding badly, and living in one room.

  All this Philip de Mountford had accomplished entirely by his merepresence. The waving of a wand--a devil's wand--and the metamorphosiswas complete! What magic was there in the man himself? What in thetale which he told? What subtle charm did he wield, that the news ofhis terrible death should strike the old man down as some withered oldtree robbed of its support?

  Now he lay dead, murdered, only God knew as yet by whom. Peoplesuspected Luke, because Fate had given a fresh turn to her wheel andreinstated him in the pleasing position from which the intruder hadousted him.

  Luke de Mountford was once more heir presumptive to the earldom ofRadclyffe, and the stranger had taken the secret of his success withhim to the grave.