CHAPTER X
THE MAGICAL WORD MOROCCO!
When Mary arrived home, she found Cynthia and Captain Alec still inpossession of the drawing-room; their manner accused her legitimate entryinto the room of being an outrageous intrusion. She took no heed of that,and indeed little heed of them. To tell the truth, she was ashamed toconfess, but it was the truth, she felt rather tired of them thatevening. Their affair deserved every laudatory epithet, except that ofinteresting; so she declared peevishly within herself as she tried tojoin in conversation with them. It was no use. They talked on, and injustice to them it may be urged that they were fully as bored with Maryas she was with them; so naturally their talents did not shine theirbrightest. But they had plenty to say to one another, and dutifully threwin a question or a reference to Mary every now and then. Sitting apartat the other end of the long low room--it ran through the whole depth ofher old-fashioned dwelling--she barely heeded and barely answered. Theysmiled at one another and were glad.
She was very tired; her feelings were wounded, her nerves on edge; shecould not even attempt any cool train of reasoning. The outcome of hertalk with Beaumaroy filled her mind rather than the matter of it; and,more even than that, the figure of the man seemed to be with her, almostto stand before her, with his queer alternations of despair and mirth, ofdefiance and pleading, of derision and alarm. One moment she wasintensely irritated with him; in the next she half forgave the plaintiveimage which the fancy of her mind conjured up before her eyes.
Her eyes closed--she was so very tired, the fight had taken it out ofher! To have to do things like that was an odious necessity, which hadnever befallen her before. That man had done--well, Captain Alec wasquite right about him! Yet still the shadowy image, though thusreproached, did not depart; it was smiling at her now with its oldmockery--the kindly mockery which his face wore before they quarrelled,and before its light was quenched in that forlorn bewilderment. And itseemed as though the image began to say some words to her, disconnectedwords, not making a sentence, but yet having for the image a pregnantmeaning, and seeming to her--though vaguely and very dimly--to be the keyto what she had to understand. She was stupid not to understand words sofull of meaning--just as stupid as Beaumaroy had thought.
Then Doctor Mary fell asleep, sound asleep; she had been very near it forthe last ten minutes.
Captain Alec and Cynthia were in two chairs, close side by side, in frontof the fire. Once Cynthia glanced over her shoulder; the Captain hadglanced over his in the same direction already. One of his hands held oneof Cynthia's. It was well to be sure that Mary was asleep, really asleep.
She had gone to sleep on the name of Beaumaroy; on it she awoke. It camefrom Captain Alec's lips. He was standing on the hearthrug with his armround Cynthia's waist, and his other hand raising one of hers to hislips. He looked admirably handsome--strong, protecting, devoted. AndCynthia, in her fragile appealing prettiness, was a delicious foil, aperfect complement to the picture. But now, under stress ofemotion--small blame to a man who was making a vow of eternalfidelity!--under stress of emotion, as, on a previous occasion, underthat of indignation, the Captain had raised his voice!
"Yes, against all the scoundrels in the world, whether they're calledCranster or Beaumaroy!" he said.
Mary's eyes opened. She sat up. "Cranster and Beaumaroy?" They were thewords which her ears had caught. "What in the world has Mr. Beaumaroy todo with--" But she broke off, as she saw the couple by the fire. "Butwhat are you two doing?"
Cynthia broke away from her lover, and ran to her friend withjoyous avowals.
"I must have been sound asleep," cried Mary, kissing her. Alec hadfollowed across the room and now stood close by her. She looked up athim. "Oh, I see! She's to be safe now from such people?" On thisparticular occasion Mary's look at the Captain was not admiring; it was alittle scornful.
"That's the idea," agreed the happy Alec. "Another idea is that Itrot you both over in the car to Old Place--to break the news andhave dinner."
"Splendid!" cried Cynthia. "Do come, Mary!"
Mary shook her head. "No; you go, you two," she said. "I'm tired, and Iwant to think." She passed her hand across her eyes. She seemed to wipeaway the mists of sleep. Her face suddenly grew animated and exultant."No, I don't want to think! I know!" she exclaimed emphatically.
"Mary dear, are you still asleep? Are you talking in your sleep?"
"The keyword! It came to me, somehow, in my sleep. The keyword--Morocco!"
"What the deuce has Morocco--" Captain Alec began, with justifiableimpatience.
"Ah, you never heard that, and, dear Captain Alec, you wouldn't haveunderstood it if you had. You thought he was reciting poems. What he wasreally doing--"
"Look here, Doctor Mary, I've just been accepted by Cynthia, and I'mgoing to take her to my mother and father. Can you get your mind on tothat?" He looked at her curiously, not at all understanding herexcitement, perhaps resenting the obvious fact that his Cynthia'shappiness was not foremost in her friend's mind.
With a great effort Mary brought herself down to the earth--to the earthof romantic love from the heaven of professional triumph. True, thelatter was hers, the former somebody else's. "I do beg your pardon. I doindeed. And do let me kiss you again, Cynthia darling--and you, dearCaptain Alec, just once! And then you shall go off to dinner." Shelaughed excitedly. "Yes, I'm going to push you out."
"Let's go, Alec," said Cynthia, not unkindly, yet just a littlepettishly. The great moment of her life--surely as great a moment asthere had ever been in anybody's life--had hardly earned adequaterecognition from Mary. As usual, her feelings and Alec's were at one.Before they passed to other and more important matters, when they droveoff in the car she said to Alec, "It seems to me that Mary's strangelyinterested in that Mr. Beaumaroy. Had she been dreaming of him, Alec?"
"Looks like it! And why the devil Morocco?" His intellect baffled,Captain Alec took refuge in his affections.
Left alone, and so thankful for it, Doctor Mary did not attempt to sitstill. She walked up and down, she roved here and there, smoking anyquantity of cigarettes; she would certainly have forbidden such excess toa patient. The keyword; its significance had seemed to come to her inher sleep. Something in that subconsciousness theory? The word explained,linked up, gave significance--that magical word Morocco!
Yes, they fell into place now, the things that had been so puzzling, andthat looked now so obviously suggestive. Even one thing which she hadthought nothing about, which had not struck her as having anysignificance, now took on its meaning--the gray shawl which the oldgentleman so constantly wore swathed round his body, enveloping the wholeof it except his right arm. Did he wear the shawl while he took hismeals? Doctor Mary could not tell as to that. Perhaps he did not; at hismeals only Beaumaroy, and perhaps their servant, would be present. But heseemed to wear it whenever he went abroad, whenever he was exposed to thescrutiny of strangers. That indicated secretiveness, perhaps fear, theapprehension of something. The caution bred by that might give way underthe influence of great cerebral excitement. Unquestionably Mr. Saffronhad been very excited when he waved the sheet of hieroglyphics andshouted to Beaumaroy about Morocco. But whether he wore the shawl or notin the safe privacy of Tower Cottage, whatever might be the truth aboutthat--perhaps he varied his practice according to his condition--on onething Doctor Mary would stake her life; he used the combinationknife-and-fork!
For it was over that implement that Beaumaroy had tripped up. It ought tohave been hidden before she was admitted to the cottage. Somebody hadbeen careless, somebody had blundered--whether Beaumaroy himself or hisservant was immaterial. Beaumaroy had lied, readily and ingeniously, butnot quite readily enough. The dart of his hand had betrayed him; that,and a look in his eyes, a tell-tale mirth which had seemed to mock bothher and himself, and had made his ingenious lie even at the momentunconvincing. Yes, whether Mr. Saffron wore the shawl or not, hecertainly used the combination table implement!
And the "poems?" The poems
which Mr. Saffron recited to himself in bed,and which he had said, in Captain Alec's hearing, were good and "wentwell." It was Beaumaroy, of course, who had called them poems; theCaptain had merely repeated the description. But with her newly foundinsight Doctor Mary knew better. What Mr. Saffron declaimed in thatvibrating, metallic voice, were not poems, but--speeches!
And "Morocco" itself! To anybody who remembered history for a few yearsback, even with the general memory of the man in the street, to anybodywho had read the controversies about the war, Morocco brought not puzzle,but enlightenment. For had not Morocco been really the starting point ofthe Years of Crisis--those years intermittent in excitement, but constantin anxiety? Beaumaroy was to start tomorrow for Morocco--on the strengthof the hieroglyphics! Perhaps he was to go on from Morocco to Libya;perhaps he was to raise the Senussi (Mary had followed the history of thewar), to make his appearance at Cairo, Jerusalem, Bagdad! He was to be aforerunner, was Mr. Beaumaroy. Mr. Saffron, his august master, wouldfollow in due course! With a sardonic smile she wondered how theingenious man would get out of starting for Morocco; perhaps he would notsucceed in obtaining a passport, or, that excuse failing, in eluding thevigilance of the British authorities. Or some more hieroglyphics mightcome, carrying another message, postponing his start, saying that thepropitious moment had not yet arrived after all. There were severaldevices open to ingenuity; many ways in which Beaumaroy might protract asituation not so bad for him even as it stood, and quite rich inpossibilities. Her acid smile was turned against herself when sheremembered that she had been fool enough to talk to Beaumaroy aboutsensitive honor!
Well, never mind Mr. Beaumaroy! The case as to Mr. Saffron stood prettyplain. It was queer and pitiful, but by no means unprecedented. She mightbe not much of an alienist, as Dr. Irechester had been kind enough tosuggest to Mr. Naylor, but she had seen such cases herself--evenstranger ones, where even higher Powers suffered impersonation, witheffects still more tragically absurd to onlookers. And she rememberedreading somewhere--was it in Maudslay--that in the days of Napoleon, whenprinces and kings were as ninepins to be set up and knocked down at thetyrant's pleasure, the asylums of France were full of such great folk?Potentates there galore! If she had Mr. Saffron's "record" before her,she would expect to read of a vain ostentatious man, ambitious in his ownsmall way; the little plant of these qualities would, given a morbidphysical condition, develop into the fantastic growth of delusion whichshe had now diagnosed in the case of Mr. Saffron--diagnosed with theassistance of some lucky accidents!
But what was her duty now--the duty of Dr. Mary Arkroyd, a dulyqualified, accredited, responsible medical practitioner? With a slightshock to her self-esteem she was obliged to confess that she had onlythe haziest idea. Had not people who kept a lunatic to be licensed orsomething? Or did that apply only to lunatics in the plural? And didBeaumaroy keep Mr. Saffron within the meaning of whatever the lawmight be? But at any rate she must do something; the state of thingsat Tower Cottage could not go on as it was. The law of theland--whatever it was--must be observed, Beaumaroy must be foiled, andpoor old Mr. Saffron taken proper care of. The course of hermeditations was hardly interrupted by the episode of her light eveningmeal; she was back in her drawing-room by half past eight, her mindengrossed with the matter still.
It was a little after nine when there was a ring at the hall door. Notthe lovers back so early? She heard a man's voice in the hall. The nextmoment Beaumaroy was shown in, and the door shut behind him. He stoodstill by it, making no motion to advance towards her. He was breathingquickly, and she noticed beads of perspiration on his forehead. She hadsprung to her feet at the sight of him and faced him with indignation.
"You have no right to come here, Mr. Beaumaroy, after what passedbetween us this afternoon."
"Besides being, as you saw yourself, very excited, my poor old friendisn't at all well tonight."
"I'm very sorry; but I'm no longer Mr. Saffron's medical attendant. If Ideclined to be this afternoon, I decline ten times more tonight."
"For all I know, he's very ill indeed, Dr. Arkroyd." Beaumaroy's mannerwas very quiet, restrained, and formal.
"I have come to a clear conclusion about Mr. Saffron's case since Ileft you."
"I thought you might. I suppose 'Morocco' put you on the scent? And Isuppose, too, that you looked at that wretched bit of paper?"
"I--I thought of it--" Here Mary was slightly embarrassed.
"You'd have been more than human if you hadn't. I was out again after itin five minutes--as soon as I missed it; you'd gone, but I concludedyou'd seen it. He scribbles dozens like that."
"You seem to admit my conclusion about his mental condition," sheobserved stiffly.
"I always admit when I cease to be able to deny. But don't let's standhere talking. Really, for all I know, he may be dying. His heart seems tome very bad."
"Go and ask Dr. Irechester."
"He dreads Irechester. I believe the sight of Irechester might finishhim. You must come."
"I can't--for the reasons I've told you."
"Why? My misdeeds? Or your rules and regulations? My God, how I haterules and regulations! Which of them is it that is perhaps to cost theold man his life?"
Mary could not resist the appeal; that could hardly be her duty, andcertainly was not her inclination. Her grievance was not against poor oldMr. Saffron, with his pitiful delusion of greatness, of a greatness, too,which now had suffered an eclipse almost as tragical as that which hadbefallen his own reason. What an irony in his mad aping of it now!
"I will come, Mr. Beaumaroy, on condition that you give me candidly andtruthfully all the information which, as Mr. Saffron's medical attendant,I am entitled to ask."
"I'll tell you all I know about him, and about myself, too."
"Your affairs and--er--position matter to me only so far as they bear onMr. Saffron."
"So be it. Only come quickly; and bring some of your things that may helpa man with a bad heart."
Mary left him, went to her surgery, and was quickly back with her bag."I'll get out the car."
"It'll take a little longer, I know, but do you mind if we walk? Carsalways alarm him. He thinks that they come to take him away. Every carthat passes vexes him; he looks to see if it will stop. And when yoursdoes--" He ended with a shrug.
For the first time Mary's feelings took on a keen edge of pity. Poor oldgentleman! Fancy his living like that! And cars, military cars, too, hadbeen so common on the road across the heath.
"I understand. Let us go at once. You walked yourself, I suppose?"
"Ran," said Beaumaroy, and, with the first sign of a smile, wiped thesweat from his brow with the back of his hand.
"I'm ready, Mr. Beaumaroy," said Doctor Mary.
They walked along together in silence for fully half the way. ThenBeaumaroy spoke. "He was extremely excited--at his worst--when he and Iwent into the cottage. I had to humor him in every way; it was the onlything to do. That was followed by great fatigue, a sort of collapse. Ipersuaded him to go to bed. I hope we shall find him there, but I don'tknow. He would let me go only on condition that I left the door of theTower unlocked, so that he could go in there if he wanted to. If he has,I'm afraid that you may see something--well, something rather bizarre,Dr. Arkroyd."
"That's all in the course of my profession."
Silence fell on them again, till the outline of cottage and Tower cameinto view through the darkness. Beaumaroy spoke only once again beforethey reached the garden gate.
"If he should happen to be calmer now, I hope you will not consider itnecessary to tell him that you suspect anything unusual."
"He is secretive?"
"He lives in terror."
"Of what?"
"Of being shut up. May I lead the way in, Dr. Arkroyd?"
They entered the cottage, and Beaumaroy shut the door. A lamp was burningdimly in the passage. He turned it up. "Would you kindly wait here oneminute?" Receiving her nod of acquiescence, he stepped softly up thestairs, and she heard
him open a door above; she knew it was that of Mr.Saffron's bedroom, where she had visited the old man. She waited, nowwith a sudden sense of suspense. It was very quiet in the cottage.
Beaumaroy was down again in a minute.
"It is as I feared," he said quietly. "He has got up again, and gone intothe Tower. Shall I try and get him out, or will you--"
"I will go in with you, of course, Mr. Beaumaroy."
His old mirthful, yet rueful, smile came on his lips--just for a moment.Then he was grave and formal again. "This way, then, if you please, Dr.Arkroyd," he said deferentially.