CHAPTER XVIII.
DAMON AND PYTHIAS: A MODERN INSTANCE.
"WEST KENSINGTON.
"DEAR MR. TOWNSEND,--Will you come and dine with me one evening nextweek? I am always free.
"I want to ask your advice on a small personal concern. You know theworld so much better than I do.
"Truly yours,
"HELEN CARRUTH."
The next morning, when I woke from dreams of poker, this was the firstletter which I opened. It was nicely written, in a small, round hand,as clear as copperplate--somehow it did not strike me as being thewriting of a woman who did not know the world. Mrs. Carruth seemedfriendly. With a background of intentions, as usual? What was the"small personal concern?" An excuse?--only that and nothing more? Iwondered.
I had to go down to Cockington by the afternoon train--to Dora, and toHaselton Jardine. I should probably stay there till Tuesday orWednesday--it depended. I might make it Thursday with Mrs. Carruth--ifanything turned up at the last moment I could always send an excuse.Something about the woman attracted me. A _tete-a-tete_ might proveamusing. There and then I scribbled an acceptance--appointing Thursday.
I was conscious of the possession of a head--the adventures of thenight had left the flavour of brandy behind. We had made up accountsbefore we parted. There had been diversions! I had a nice littlepocketful of money. Pendarvon owed me seventeen thousand odd, Archieowed him over four thousand, and me over thirty-five thousand. As Isurveyed Archie's heap of IOU's I felt that I had better make earlyinquiries into the prices current of waste paper. Pendarvon's seventeenthousand I would get within the week, or mention it.
No need to trouble myself about Pendarvon. While I still was fingeringhis paper, Burton brought me an envelope on which I recognised hishandwriting.
"Mr. Pendarvon's servant waits for an answer, sir?"
The envelope contained a cheque and note.
"ARLINGTON STREET.
"_Friday_.
"DEAR TOWNSEND,--Enclosed find a cheque for L17,450. Short reckoningsmake long friends. Please give IOU's to bearer.
"Yours,
"C. P."
I packed up his IOU in an envelope, with a word of thanks, and handedthem to Burton. Pendarvon was the sort of man one liked to playwith--when one won. He might not prove so pleasant an opponent when onelost, and owed one's losings, and was pressed for cash. Asking for nograce, he gave none. Archie would have to find that four thousand in aweek.
Poor dear old Archie!
What was I to do? I had as much chance of getting thirty-five thousandpounds out of him as out of the first beggar I might meet in thestreet. Well, I could afford to be magnanimous. I was like unto himthat expecteth nothing. I might let him off--if his beggarly, butproud, Scotch blood would suffer it. It might be worth my while to puthim under an obligation.
He came in just as I had finished dressing--looking as if he had beenspending the time since I had seen him last in trying to find that fiveand thirty thousand pounds. His eyes were bloodshot. His face was whiteand drawn. He was a vivid illustration of the night it must have been.Vouchsafing no greeting, sitting down without a word, leaning on thehandle of his stick, he stared at nothing with his bloodshot eyes.
I opened the ball.
"Are you coming down with me to Torquay by the three o'clock?" Silence."I suppose you haven't forgotten your engagement with Jardine?"
"I can't keep it. For a sufficient reason."
"What's that? Feel seedy? The run down will do you good. You'll feel asfit as a fiddler by the time you get to Cockington."
"That's not the reason."
"What is it then? I suppose you're not going to throw themover--they'll want your gun."
"The reason I'm not going is because I have not sufficient money withwhich to pay the fare."
I stared. I had not supposed the thing was so bad as that. Yet it wascharacteristic. In one of his moods he was just the man to play for hisboots, and not miss them till he wanted to put them on.
"I suppose you're joking."
By way of reply he relinquished his stick, stood up, and solemnlyturned out his pockets one by one. He held some coins out towards me inhis hand.
"Six-and-ninepence. That represents my cash in hand. Of course, thereis always the pawnshop."
"Stuff. You can always borrow."
"I am glad to hear it. From whom? Give me the gentleman's name. He isnot known to me, I'll swear. I must be unknown to him, or he wouldnever lend."
"Can't you do anything on a bit of stiff?"
"I repeat--give me the gentleman's name."
"If it comes to that, I'll lend you a hundred or so to go on withmyself, as you very well know."
"I owe you five and thirty thousand pounds already."
"Look here, Archie, I don't want to make myself disagreeable, as youbelieve, but when you like you can be about as much of an idiot as theymake them. Your proceedings last night would have been more appropriateat a symposium in the county asylum. As to what you say you owe me,we'll postpone the settling day, with your permission, to when yourship comes home."
"The arrangement was that all paper was to be taken up within a week."
"Rubbish. You and I know what those sort of arrangements are worth."
"Are you suggesting that I'm a thief?"
"I'm doing nothing of the sort. I'm asserting that you're a fool."
"Reggie!"
"Archie?"
He glared at me so that, for a moment, I thought that he was going togive further proof of the truth of my words upon the spot. But hechanged his mind. He dropped on to a chair with a sort of gasp.
"What you say is correct enough. I have no right to cavil. I thank youfor the word." He sat silent. Then he added, "But it's not only you Iowe, I owe Pendarvon."
"If you take my advice, you'll pay Pendarvon."
"It's not advice I want; it's money. I owe the man, in round numbers,four thousand five hundred pounds. I don't know where to turn to raisefour hundred."
"My dear Archie, you must excuse my saying, that's your affair. Youwould punt--although he gave you warning. The man lost heavily himself.This morning he's sent me round a cheque to settle."
"He has, has he? He is an honest man. My God! what it is to havemoney!"
"That's nonsense. If you were made of money you would not be justifiedin playing as you played last night."
"That's right. Give it me. I deserve it all. I wonder what my fatherwill think when he finds out, once more, what sort of son I am."
"He'll think of the days of his own youth. When they are confrontedwith similar revelations, all our fathers do."
"I doubt it. I don't think my father was ever such as I am. Certainly,he never bound himself to commit murder within a month. I suppose thatyou have not forgotten that the Honour of the Club is in my keeping."
I had not. I had very clearly understood that it was that fact whichhad caused him to make the spectacle of himself which he had done. Istood contemplating the fire, twisting Mrs. Carruth's note between myfingers. He repeated his own words bitterly--"The Honour of the Club."
"It's a pretty club."
"My faith it is!"
"Your only bantling."
"Don't say that. It's Pendarvon's. You know it is. It's the biggestpart of the debt I owe him. When I think of it, I feel like killinghim."
"Why don't you?"
"It's against the rules. You stood by the rules, and so will I."
"Who are you going to kill?"
"For one thing, I shall kill my father. It will be as good as hisdeath-blow when he hears of the sort of thing I am."
"That sort of murder won't come within the scope of the definition. Ifit did, possibly seven men out of ten
would be entitled to the diplomaof the club. Archie, I'll make you a proposition. I'll give you themoney to pay Pendarvon, and I'll cry quits for what you owe me, ifyou'll agree, since you must kill some one, to kill any person I maynominate."
"Reggie!--what devil's game are you up to now?"
"At present, none. At this moment I have not the faintest reason towish myself rid of any living creature. But before the end of the monththe situation may be altered. Is it a deal?"
He hesitated; rose, and began to walk about the room. I watched him ashe did so. I noticed how he clasped and unclasped his hands. He turnedto me.
"I agree."
I sat down, then and there, and wrote him an open cheque for fivethousand pounds.
"The balance will enable you to rub along for a time. If you take mytip, you'll let Pendarvon have his coin at once--before leaving town."
He took the cheque. Scanning the figures, he began to fold it up withnervous fingers. A smile--of a kind--wrinkled his lips.
"What things we may become! If ever there was blood money, this is it.And I'm a Beaupre. And do you know, Townsend, that for ever so longI've been dreaming dreams." He looked up at me, with a sudden flashingof his eyes. "Dreams of Dora Jardine."
I turned again to the fire--smiling in my turn.
"You told me so before."
"But I never told you what sort of dreams I had been dreaming. I nevertold you how she fills all my veins till, in all the world, I seenothing, think of nothing else, but her. I never told you how she iswith me by day and by night, sleeping and waking; that, wherever I am,and whatever I do, I am always repeating to myself her name. I nevertold you that the dreams which I have dreamed of her have driven memad. I never told you that."
"With all due respect to you, I should hardly have believed you if youhad."
"Why? Because I am the thing I am? There's the pity of it! I have beenso conscious of my unworthiness, so conscious that I never could beworthy, that, constrained by some madness which I verily believe is inmy blood, I have become more unworthy still." He came closer to me. Hisvoice dropped to a sort of breathless whisper. "And yet, Reggie, do youknow, I believe that, in spite of all, she cares for me."
"I think not."
He became, all at once, almost ferocious.
"You think not! What right have you to think? How can you tell whatgrounds I may have for my belief?"
I turned to him. I had purposely kept my back towards him while he hadbeen indulging in his hysterical ravings. Now I was surprised andamused to see what a change his hysterics had produced. His cheeks wereflushed. His eyes were flaming. He seemed to have increased in stature.He seemed to have lost all traces of the hang-dog air with which he hadentered the room.
"I ought, Archie, to have stopped you. If I remember rightly I did stopyou on a previous occasion. I have, I assure you, good cause forthinking that your belief is an erroneous one; that cause is, that Ihave reason to believe that she cares for me."
"For you--Reggie!"
"I will be frank with you. With her father's express approval I amgoing down to Cockington to-day in the character of Miss Jardine'ssuitor."
"You!--My God!"
"Very shortly I hope to receive your congratulations on the confessedlyundeserved good fortune which has dowered me with such a wife."
"But"--the man was trembling so that he could scarcelyspeak--"you're--you're a murderer."
"I am as you will shortly be. Let us hope that my man is not listeningto these plain truths. What then?"
He began fumbling in his waistcoat pocket.
"I won't have your money. You can't buy me body and soul--no, notaltogether. She shall know what manner of man you are."
He threw my cheque from him on to the floor.
"I see. Having led me into crime, you are going to tell of me. Is thatsort of conduct in accordance with the Beaupre code of honour? Are yousure that you are not proposing to play Judas merely because I haveconquered where you have failed?"
"No! No! I won't tell! I won't tell! You know I won't! But--that youshould be going to marry Dora Jardine!"
He sank in a heap on to a chair, looking once more as pitiable anobject as one would care to see.
"Come, Archie, pull yourself together. Have a drink, and play the man.Pick up the cheque, run down with me to Cockington, and wish me luckupon the road. Surely your own experience has taught you that love'stransferable. So long as one has an object it does not much matter whatit is, or whether it's in the singular or plural. Between ourselves, Ibelieve that Miss Whortleberry, the American millionairess, is with theJardines. You marry her--and her millions--I promise you I won't tell."
My words did not seem to brighten him up to any considerable extent. Hesat staring with wide open eyes, almost like a man who had beenstricken with paralysis.