CHAPTER XLI
THE COLONEL SPEAKS
Wrayson glanced at the clock for the twentieth time.
"I am afraid," he said gravely, "that Mr. Sydney Barnes has been one toomany for us."
"Do you think," Louise asked, "that he has persuaded the girl to give himthe packet?"
"It looks like it," Wrayson confessed.
Louise frowned.
"Of course," she said, "I think that you were mad to let her go before.She had the letters here in the room. You would have been perfectlyjustified in taking them from her."
"I suppose so," Wrayson assented, doubtfully. "Somehow she seemed to getthe upper hand of us towards the end. I think she suspected that some ofus knew more than we cared to tell her about--her husband's death."
Louise shivered a little and remained silent. Wrayson walked to thewindow and back.
"To tell you the truth," he said, "I expected some one else hereto-night who has failed to turn up."
"Who is that?" the Baroness asked.
Wrayson hesitated for a moment and glanced towards Louise.
"Colonel Fitzmaurice," he said.
Louise seemed to turn suddenly rigid. She looked at him steadfastly for amoment without speaking.
"My father," she murmured at last.
Wrayson nodded.
"Yes!" he said.
"But--what has he to do with this?" Louise asked, with her eyes fixedanxiously, almost fearfully, upon his.
"I went to him for advice," Wrayson said quietly. "He has been alwaysvery kind, and I thought it possible that he might be able to help us. Hepromised to be here at the same hour as the others. Listen! There is thebell at last."
The Colonel entered the room. Louise half rose to her feet. Wraysonhastened to meet him.
"Herbert," he said, with an affectionate smile, "forgive me for being alittle late. Baroness, I am delighted to see you--and Louise."
The Baroness held out both her hands, which the Colonel raised gallantlyto his lips. Louise he greeted with a fatherly and unembarrassed smile.
"I must apologize to all of you," he said, "but perhaps this will be mybest excuse."
He took the packet from his breast pocket and handed it over to theBaroness. The room seemed filled with exclamations. The Colonel beamedupon them all.
"Quite simple," he declared. "I have just taken them from Mr. SydneyBarnes upstairs. He, in his turn, took them from--"
The door was suddenly opened. Mrs. Morris Barnes rushed into the room andgazed wildly around.
"Where is he?" she exclaimed. "He has robbed me. The little beast! He gotinto my rooms while I was out."
The Colonel led her gallantly to a chair.
"Calm yourself, my dear young lady," he said.
"Where is he?" she cried. "Has he been here?"
The Colonel shook his head.
"He is in his room upstairs, but," he said, "I should not advise you togo to him."
"He has my packet--Augustus' packet," she cried, springing up.
The Colonel laid his hand upon her arm.
"No!" he said, "that packet has been restored to its rightful owner."
She rose to her feet, trembling with anger. The Colonel motioned her toresume her seat.
"Come," he said, "so far as you are concerned, you have nothing tocomplain of. You offered, I believe, to give it up yourself on onecondition."
She looked at him with sudden eagerness.
"Well?" she cried, impatiently.
"That condition," he said, "shall be complied with."
She looked into his face with strange intentness.
"You mean," she said slowly, "that I shall know who it was that killedmy husband?"
"Yes!" the Colonel answered.
A sudden cry rang through the room. Louise was on her feet. She camestaggering towards them, her hands outstretched.
"No!" she screamed, "no! Father, you are mad! Send the woman away!"
He smiled at her deprecatingly.
"My dear Louise!" he exclaimed, "our word has been passed to this youngwoman. Besides," he added, "circumstances which have occurred within thelast hour with our young friend upstairs would probably render anexplanation imperative! I am sorry for your sake, my dear young lady," hecontinued, turning to Mrs. Barnes, "to have to tell you this, but if youinsist upon knowing, it was I who killed your husband."
Louise fell back into her chair and covered her face with her hands. TheBaroness looked shocked but not surprised. Wrayson, dumb and unnerved,had staggered back, and was leaning against the table. Mrs. Barnes hadalready taken a step towards the door. She was very pale, but her eyeswere ablaze. Incredulity struggled with her passionate desire forvengeance.
"You!" she exclaimed. "What should you want to kill him for?"
The Colonel sighed regretfully.
"My dear young lady," he said, "it is very painful for me to have to beso explicit, but the situation demands it. I killed him because he wasunfit to live--because he was a blackmailer of women, an unclean liver,a foul thing upon the face of the earth."
"It's a damned lie!" the girl hissed. "He was good to me, and you shallswing for it!"
The Colonel looked genuinely distressed.
"I am afraid," he said, "that you are prejudiced. If he was, as you say,kind to you, it was for his own pleasure. Believe me, I made a carefulstudy of his character before I decided that he must go."
She looked at him with fierce curiosity.
"Are you a god," she demanded, "that you should have power of life ordeath? Who are you to set yourself up as a judge?"
"Pray do not believe," he begged, "that I arrogate to myself any suchposition. Only, unfortunately, as regards your late husband's characterthere could be no mistake, and concerning such men as he I have verystrong convictions."
Wrayson, who had recovered himself a little, laid his hand upon theColonel's shoulder.
"Colonel," he said hoarsely, "you're not serious! You can't be! Becareful. This woman means mischief. She will take you at your word."
"How else should she take me?" the Colonel asked calmly. "I suppose herprejudice in favour of this man was natural, but all I can say is that,under similar circumstances, I should act to-day precisely as I did onthe night when I found him about to sell a woman's honour, for money tominister to the degraded pleasures of his life."
The woman leaned towards him, venomous and passionate.
"You're a nice one to preach, you are," she cried hysterically, "you,with a man's blood upon your hands! You, a murderer! Degraded indeed!What were his poor sins compared with yours?"
The Colonel shook his head sadly.
"I am afraid, my dear young lady," he said, "that I should never be ableto convert you to my point of view. You are naturally prejudiced, andwhen I consider that I have failed to convince my own daughter"--heglanced towards Louise--"of the soundness of my views, it goes withoutsaying that I should find you also unsympathetic. You are anxious, I see,to leave us. Permit me!"
He held open the door for her with grave courtesy, but Wrayson pushed himaside. He had recovered himself to some extent, but he still felt asthough he were moving in some horrible dream.
"Colonel!" he exclaimed hoarsely, "you know what this means! You knowwhere she will go!"
"'TO THE NEAREST POLICE STATION! THAT'S WHERE I'M OFF.'"]
"If he don't, let me tell him," she interrupted. "To the nearest policestation! That's where I'm off."
Wrayson glanced quickly at the Colonel, who seemed in no way discomposed.
"Naturally," he assented. "No one, my dear young lady, will interferewith you in your desire to carry out your painfully imperfect sense ofjustice. Pray pass out!"
She hesitated for a moment. Her poor little brain was struggling,perhaps, for the last time, to adapt itself to his point of view--tounderstand why, at a moment so critical, he should treat her with theeasy composure and tolerant good-nature of one who gives to a spoiltchild its own way. Then she saw signs of further interference
onWrayson's part, and she delayed no longer.
The Colonel closed the door after her, and stood for a moment with hisback against it, for Wrayson had shown signs of a desire to follow thewoman whose egress he had just permitted. He looked into their faces,white with horror--full of dread of what was to come, and he smiledreassuringly.
"Amy," he said, turning to the Baroness, "surely you and Wrayson here arepossessed of some grains of common sense. Louise, I know, is too easilyswayed by sentiment. But you, Wrayson! Surely I can rely on you!"
"For anything," Wrayson answered, with trembling lips. "But what can Ido? What is there to be done?"
The Colonel smiled gently.
"Simply to listen intelligently--sympathetically if you can," hedeclared. "I want to make my position clear to you if I can. You heardwhat that poor young woman called me? Probably you would have used thesame word yourself. A murderer!"
"Yes!" Wrayson muttered. "I heard!"
"When I came back from the Soudan twelve years ago, I had beeninstrumental in killing some thousands of brave men, I dare say I hadkilled a score or so with my own hand. Was I a murderer then?"
"No!" Wrayson answered. "It was a different thing."
"Then killing is not necessarily murder," the Colonel remarked. "Good!Now take the case of a man like Morris Barnes. He belonged to the classof humanity which you can call by no other name than that of vermin.Whatever he touched he defiled. He was without a single good instinct, asingle passable quality. Wherever he lived, he bred contamination.Whoever touched him was the worse for it. His influence upon the worldwas an unchanging one for evil. Put aside sentiment for one moment, falsesentiment I should say, and ask yourself what possible sin can there bein taking the life of such a one. If he had gone on four legs instead oftwo, his breed would have been exterminated centuries ago."
"We are not the judges," Wrayson began, weakly enough.
"We are, sir," the Colonel thundered. "For what else have we been givenbrains, the moral sense, the knowledge of good or evil? There are thoseamongst us who become decadents, whose presence amongst us breedscorruption, whose dirty little lives are like the trail of a foul insectacross the page of life. I hold it a just and moral thing to rid theworld of such a creature. The sanctity of human life is the canting cryof the falsely sentimental. Human life is sacred or not, according toits achievements. Such a one as Morris Barnes I would brush away like apoisonous fly."
"Bentham!" Wrayson faltered.
"I killed him, sir!" the Colonel answered, "and others of his kidneybefore him. Louise knew it. I argued with her as I am doing with you, butit was useless. Nevertheless, I have lived as seemed good to me."
"There is the law," Wrayson said, with a horrified glance towards Louise.He understood now.
The Colonel bowed his head.
"I am prepared," the Colonel answered, "to pay the penalty of allreformers."
There was a ring at the bell. Wrayson threw open the door. A small boystood there. He held a piece of paper in his hand.
"The lidy said," he declared, "that the white-headed gentleman would giveme 'arf a crown for this 'ere!"
Wrayson gave him the money, and stepped back into the room. He gavethe paper to the Colonel, who read it calmly, first to himself andthen aloud.
* * * * *
"I leave you to your conshens. He may have been bad, but he wasgood to me!
"AGNES B."
* * * * *
The Colonel's eyes grew very soft.
"Poor little woman," he said to himself. "Wrayson, you'll look after her.You'll see she doesn't come to grief!"
There was the sound of a heavy fall in the room above. The Colonel's faceassumed an air of intense irritation.
"It's that infernal window pole," he declared. "I had doubts about it allthe time."
Wrayson looked at him in horror.
"What do you mean?" he demanded.
"Perhaps you had better go up and see," the Colonel answered, taking uphis hat. "A very commonplace tragedy after all! I don't quite see whatelse he could have done. He was penniless, half mad with disappointment;he'd been smoking too many cigarettes and drinking too much cheap liquor,and he was in danger of arrest for selling the landlord's furniture. Noother end for him, I am afraid."
Wrayson threw open the door.
"Don't hurry," the Colonel declared. "You'll probably find that he hashanged himself, but he must have been dead for some time."
Wrayson tore up the stairs. The Colonel watched him for a moment. Then,with a little sigh, he began to descend.
"False sentiment," he murmured to himself sadly. "The world's full ofit."
CHAPTER XLII
LOVE REMAINS
Wrayson rode slowly up the great avenue, and paused at the bend to seefor the first time at close quarters the house, which from the valleybelow had seemed little more than a speck of white set in a deep bower ofgreen. Seen at close quarters its size amazed him. With its cluster ofoutbuildings, it occupied nearly the whole of the plateau, which was likea jutting tableland out from the side of the mountain. It was of twostories only, and encircled with a great veranda supported by emboweredpillars. Free at last from the densely growing trees, Wrayson, for thefirst time during his long climb, caught an uninterrupted view of themagnificent panorama below. A land of hills, of black forests and shiningrivers; a land uncultivated but rich in promise, magnificent in itsprimitivism. It was a wonderful dwelling this, of which the owner,springing down from the veranda, was now on his way to meet his guest.
The two men shook hands with unaffected heartiness. Duncan Fitzmaurice,in his white linen riding clothes, seemed taller than ever, a littlegaunt and thin, too, from a recent attack of fever. There was no doubtabout the pleasure with which he received his guest.
"Where is Louise?" he asked, looking behind down the valley.
"Coming up in the wagons," Wrayson answered. "She has been riding allday and was tired."
A Kaffir boy came out with a tray and glasses. Wrayson helped himself toa whisky and soda, and lit a cigar.
"I'll get my pony and ride back with you to meet them," Duncan said.
Wrayson detained him.
"One moment," he said, "I have something to say to you first."
Duncan glanced at him a little anxiously. Wrayson answered the look.
"Nothing--disturbing," he said. "You learnt the end of everything frommy letters?"
"I think so," Duncan answered.
"The verdict on your father's death was absolutely unanimous," Wraysonsaid. "He was seen to stagger on the platform just as the train came in,and he seemed to make every effort to save himself. He was killed quiteinstantaneously. I do not think that any one had a suspicion that it wasnot entirely accidental."
Duncan nodded.
"And the other affair?"
"You mean the death of Sydney Barnes? No one has ever doubted that hecommitted suicide. Everything seemed to point to it. There is only oneman who knew about Morris Barnes and probably guesses the rest. His namewas Heneage, and he was your father's friend. He did not speak when hewas alive, so he is not likely to now. There is the young woman, ofcourse, Mrs. Morris Barnes. She has married again and gone to Canada.Louise looked after her."
Duncan took up his riding-whip from the table.
"Now tell me," he said, "what it is that you have to say to me."
"Do you read the papers?" Wrayson asked abruptly.
"Only so far as they treat of matters connected with this country,"Duncan answered.
"You have not read, then, of the Mexonian divorce?"
The man's eyes were lit with fire. The handle of the riding-whip snappedin his hands.
"They have never granted it!" he cried.
"Not in its first form," Wrayson answered hastily. "The whole suit fellto the ground for want of evidence."
"It is abandoned, then?" Duncan demanded.
"On the contrary, the courts have granted the decree,
" Wrayson answered,"but on political grounds only. Every material charge against the Queenwas withdrawn, and the divorce became a matter of arrangement."
"She is free from that brute, then," Duncan said quietly. "I am glad."
Wrayson glanced down towards the valley. A couple of wagons and severalKaffir boys with led horses were just entering the valley.
"Yes!" he said, "she is free!"
Something in his intonation, some change in his face, gripped hold ofDuncan. He caught his visitor by the shoulder roughly.
"What the devil do you mean?" he demanded, "What difference does it make?She would never dare--to--"
"You can never tell," Wrayson said, with a little sigh, "what a womanwill dare to do. Tell me the truth, Duncan. You care for her still?"
"God knows it!" he answered fiercely. "There has never been anotherwoman. There never could be."
"Jump on your pony, then, and ride down and meet them. Gently, man!Don't break your neck." ...
Later on they sat out upon the veranda. The swift darkness was fallingalready upon the land, the colour was fading fast from the gorgeousfragments of piled-up clouds in the western sky. Almost as they watched,the outline faded away from the distant mountains, the rolling woods losttheir shape.
"It's a wonderful country, yours, Duncan," Wrayson said.
"It is God's own country," Duncan answered quietly. "What we shall makeof it, He only knows! It is the country of eternal mysteries."
He pointed northwards.
"Think," he said, "beneath those forests are the ruins of cities,magnificent in civilization and art before a stone of Babylon was built,when Nineveh was unknown. What a heritage! What a splendid heritage, ifonly we can prove ourselves worthy of it!"
"Why not?" Wrayson asked quietly. "Our day of decline is not yet. Eventhe historians admit that."
"It is the money-grabbers of the world who belittle empire," Duncananswered. "It is from the money-grabbers of the Transvaal that we havemost to fear. Only those can know what Africa is, what it might mean tous, who shake the dust of civilization from their feet, and creep alittle way into its heart. It is here in the quiet places that one beginsto understand. One has the sense of coming into a virgin country, strong,fresh, and wonderful. Think of the race who might be bred here! Theywould rejuvenate the world!"
"And yet," the woman at his side murmured, the woman who had been aqueen, "it is not a virgin country after all. A little furthernorthwards and the forests have in their keeping the secrets of ages.Shall we ever possess them, I wonder!"
In the darkness she felt his arms about her. Louise and her husband hadwandered away.
"One thing at least remains, changeless and eternal as history itself,"he murmured, as their lips met. "Thank God for it!"
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