The Crime and the Criminal

  CHAPTER XIX.

  THE PROMISE.

  But he went with me to Cockington. More, he picked up the cheque, andcashed it, and let Pendarvon have his money before he went. He struckme as not being very far from drunk when we started. Having commencedto drink, he kept at it like a fish. He was in deliriously high spiritsby the time we reached our journey's end. I began to suspect that therewas literal truth in what he had said; that there was a strain ofmadness in his blood; and that, consciously or otherwise, he was inactual training for a madhouse. The more I considered it, the less hisconduct for some time past smacked to me of sanity.

  It was past nine when we reached Jardine's. At the door they told usthat dinner had been kept waiting for our arrival. It was ready to beserved as soon as we appeared. Making a quick change, I hurried downinto the drawing-room. As I entered Dora Jardine advanced to meet me.

  "We expected papa by the same train by which you came, but he isdetained in town. I have just had a telegram from him to say so. Hesays that he hopes to be here for the shoot, so perhaps he will comedown by the mail--it gets here in the middle of the night, just beforefour." I bowed. She added, in a lower tone of voice, "Isn't it odd howsome people have too much to do, and others have too little?"

  "I am afraid, Miss Jardine, that such inequality is characteristic;while, if you are referring particularly to me, I assure you that veryshortly I hope to be overwhelmed beneath the pressure of innumerableengagements."

  She turned to the others. I knew them all. There was her aunt, Mrs.Crashaw, fat, not fair, and more than forty, a childless widow, who wasunderstood to be rich. Lady Mary Porteous, the Marquis of Bodmin'ssister, who was not so young as she had been. And there was MissWhortleberry, the daughter of Asa Whortleberry, late of Chicago, andthe present possessor of all his millions. Miss Whortleberry was one ofthose young women who seem to be America's most peculiar and specialproduct. To look at she was a graceful, slender little thing, with bigeyes and a face that was almost angelic in its innocence. Anunsuspecting stranger might have been excused for taking it for grantedthat in the frame of a delicate girl there was the simple spirit of achild. A more prolonged inspection would, however, have revealed to himthe fact that her costume was, to say the least of it, more suggestiveof Paris than Arcadia. But it was when she opened her mouth that shegave herself away. Her voice, quite apart from its nasal twang, alwaysreminded me, in some queer way, of Lancashire streets; it was hard andmetallic. Her conceit was simply monumental. You could not talk to herfor half an hour without discovering that there was only one heaven forher, and that was the heaven of dollars, and that, in her ownestimation at any rate, she was its uncrowned queen.

  She was lolling back in a corner of a sofa as I advanced to her. Shevouchsafed me the tips of her fingers.

  "Ah, it's you."

  That was all the greeting she condescended to bestow.

  There were four men. George Innes--Lord George Innes--who, on thestrength of being one of the finest shots in England, is in hot requestwherever there are birds about. I believe Innes is one of the cleanestliving men I know. He is not rich, but, I take it, he lives within hisincome. He is fond of a modest gamble, but he won't play for bigstakes, and he will only sit down where there's ready-money. His manneris a trifle suggestive of a poker down his back, but if I had been runin a different mould I could have fraternised with Innes. The man to merings true--he is a man. He dislikes me--it is perhaps, just as wellfor him that he should.

  Then there was Tommy Verulam, an ass, if ever there was one. I supposehe was there because of his father. I don't know what otherrecommendation he has. Then there was Denton, the man who writes.Personally, I have no taste for men who write. They may be all right inprint, but generally they are nothing out of it, and the worst of itis, they are apt to think they are. And Silcox, M.P. I am told that heis very popular in his party, as being the only man in the Radical gangwho is a fool, and knows it.

  Presently Archie appeared. He was flushed. I thought he lookeduncommonly well. He is a handsome beggar in his way. Dora received himwith a something in her air which made his flush mount higher. Iguessed how she set all his pulses tingling. Even Miss Whortleberryextended to him a welcome which, for her, was quite affectionate--hewas a son of the Duke of Glenlivet.

  Dora went in with Innes, as being the biggest there. I came in with thetail. We would change all that!

  After dinner I made straight for the drawing-room. Something seemed totell me that I had better make the running while I could. It was thepace which would win. Besides, the consciousness that I was once morein Dora's near neighbourhood had on me the same queer effect which itevidently had on Archie. I found her talking to the Whortleberry.Presently the millionairess went off with Mary Porteous. I had Dora tomyself.

  It was odd how the recognition of this fact gave me what positivelyamounted to a thrill. And yet, for a moment or two, neither of usspoke. She sat opening and shutting her fan. I sat and watched herperformance. And when I did speak at last, my voice actually trembled.

  "I have been thinking of what you said to me the other evening."

  "What was that?"

  "Have you forgotten?"

  "Haven't you?"

  "I could scarcely have been thinking of it if I had forgotten."

  "What did I say?"

  "You gave me courage."

  "Courage?"

  "Yes."

  "Were you in want of courage?"

  "Of that particular sort of courage. Some men only get that particularsort of courage from a woman. I know you gave it me."

  She glanced up with those strange eyes of hers.

  "Tell me what you mean."

  "It would take me an hour to explain. Don't you know?"

  "You never struck me as being in want of courage of any sort or kind."

  There was an ironic intonation in her voice, which, in some subtlefashion, recalled her father.

  "Is that meant as a reproach?"

  "No." She hesitated, as if to consider. Then went on, "It is not somuch your courage which I should have questioned, as the direction inwhich it has been shown. It is a sufficiently rare quality to make itunfortunate that any of it should be wasted. How much of it has beenwasted you know even better than I do."

  "I understand you. I thank you, not only for what you say, but also forwhat you leave unsaid. I am not only going to turn over a new leaf,Miss Jardine; I am going to commence a new volume. Though I shallalways feel, myself, that you have commenced it for me."

  "I am content, so long as it is a volume of a certain kind."

  What did she mean? I seldom knew quite what she did mean. She puzzledme almost as much as her father. She was not like the average girl onebit. As she looked at me with her curiously smiling eyes, with thesuggestion of strength which they conveyed to me, I felt that it wasprobable that she knew much more of the contents of my volume, the onewhich I claimed to be just closing, than I was likely to know of hers.

  "Do you know, Miss Jardine, that you are making of me a proselyte."

  "In what sense?"

  "I have never, hitherto, believed in the influence of women. You aremaking of me a believer."

  "That certain women have influence over certain men I think there canbe no doubt whatever. I have influence over you; you have influenceover me. Only"--she stopped my speaking with a movement of her fan--"Ishould be on my guard against your influence over me until I felt thatmy influence over you had produced certain results."

  "I suppose that any attempts on my part to guard against your influencewould be vain."

  "You would not attempt to make them. You are not that kind of man."

  "Miss Jardine!"

  "You are not. You would not attempt to resist the influence of anywoman. You would rather welcome it as a sort of study in sensation, asfar as it would go. But it would not go far. It would soon reach abed-rock of resistance. As soon as it reached that rock it would vanishinto not
hing."

  "You flatter me by making so close a study of my peculiarities."

  "I do not flatter you. I take an interest in you, because, for onereason, you take an interest in me. Now, Mr. Townsend, I am sure that Ishould find that bed-rock of resistance at a greater distance from thesurface. If ever you welcomed my influence you might find it go muchfarther than you had at first intended. So I warn you in advance."

  I was silenced, not so much by her words as by her bearing. Her eyeshad an effect on me which no eyes had ever had on me before. Theymastered me, and made me conscious of a sense of satisfaction at beingmastered.

  "You make me afraid of you."

  "Just now you said I gave you courage."

  "The two things are compatible. Fear of you might give me courage."

  "You mean fear of appearing contemptible to me?"

  "Exactly."

  "Then that sort of courage I should like to give you." A gleam cameinto her eyes which was almost like a flash of lightning. "Perhaps Iwill."

  "Do I not tell you that you have given me a taste of it already?"

  We might have reached delicate ground. When a man and a woman deal inpersonalities, and persevere in them, a situation of some sort is aptto ensue. Archie's appearance postponed the crisis which I wasbeginning to think was nearer even than I had supposed. Archie seemedin a condition of almost feverish exaltation. In the look with which hefavoured me there was something which certainly was not altogetherfriendly. Dora did not seem to notice it. She welcomed him with asmile. As he sat down on the other side of her I got up. I left themtogether.

  "Poor chap!" I told myself as I strolled off, "let him have hisinnings. He must be badly burned or he would make a more strenuousendeavour to avoid the fire."

  Lounging into the little drawing-room beyond, I came into collisionwith the aunt. She had the place to herself. She appeared to be justwaking up from the enjoyment of forty winks. I daresay if I had notcome upon the scene she would have had another. At the sight of me sheroused. She beckoned me to occupy an adjacent chair. She was the aunt,and I still was unattached. I sat beside her.

  "What do you think of Dora?" Her tone was confidential. She spoke to meunder cover of her handkerchief. Seeing that I was puzzled, sheexplained--"I mean, how do you think she's looking?"

  "I think she's looking very well."

  "Isn't she! Wonderfully well! Don't you think she's lovely?"

  I hardly knew what to say. She could scarcely expect me to be ecstatic.

  "Indeed I do."

  "Of course you would!" She smiled--such a smile. "And she's all shelooks, and more. She is good as she is beautiful, and so clever.Extraordinarily so! She's a wonderful girl!" She closed her eyes, as ifthe wonder was too great for visual contemplation. "I often think thatit is unfortunate that she was not born a man."

  "You can scarcely expect me to agree with you there."

  "You wicked creature!" She prodded me with her fat fingers in the arm.Mrs. Crashaw was one of those old women who, whenever they can,punctuate their remarks on the persons of their listeners. She arrangedher bracelets on her wrists. "Haselton tells me that he has a very highopinion of you, Mr. Townsend."

  "I am very glad to hear it. I only hope he does not think more highlyof me than I deserve."

  "I hope not. Young men nowadays are so wicked. They deserve so little.As you probably are aware, Mr. Townsend, I am Haselton's only sister.He reposes in me his entire confidence. He has no secrets from me."

  I believed her! She might be his only sister, but Sir Haselton Jardinewas as likely to repose his entire confidence in a woman of Mrs.Crashaw's type as in the first town crier. Whatever he told her wouldprobably be told with, at least, one eye to advertisement.

  "My brother Haselton is a man of peculiar gifts. A remarkable man. Aman of genius if ever there was one. He is, of course, respected by allof us, by his country and his Queen. He has a marvellous knowledge ofthe world, and a great esteem for those sacred things which are toooften disregarded. And when I learn that he has a high opinion of anyperson I know that that person must be all right upon the moral side. Iam glad, Mr. Townsend, to be able to think this of you."

  I looked down. I could not help but smile.

  "Thank you, Mrs. Crashaw; you are very good."

  "In this age of flippancy, the most shocking things are suffered. Ihear, I assure you, of things which would astound you. I have madeHaselton's hair stand up on end. It always gives me pleasure to hear ofa young man who is not only clever but good. For my part, let them saywhat they will, I think it is better to be good than clever. I hope,Mr. Townsend, that you will always bear that in mind."

  Again she prodded me in the arm. I could but bow my head.

  "The man who marries Dora will be a most fortunate man. She has moneyof her own. She will have money from her father. She may have moneyfrom me--mind, I make no promise--I say she may have. It depends." Mrs.Crashaw smoothed out her ample skirts in front of her. "Then there isthe family influence and position. With a clever girl like Dora for awife nothing ought to be impossible to her husband."

  The dear old thing might be prosy, but it did me good to hear hertalking. Such observations, coming from such a quarter, carried weightand meaning. They meant that my position looked already as if it wasassured. They meant that the whole thing--spontaneously, so far as Iwas concerned--had been threshed out in family councils, and that thenthe decision had been given for me. The thing seemed too good to betrue; and yet it was true--here was the living witness. I was in for astroke of fortune so stupendous as to seem to verge on the miraculous.

  If only I had known of it before last Sunday! If only I had suspectedthat the thing was even possible! Why had I been so blind? Why had Inot seen it coming? Why had Sir Haselton not dropped a hint in time?Oh, if he only had!

  But the game was not yet lost. Lost?--it was all but gained! I had butto breast the tape, and win. The riding would do it. Luck was on myside.

  I turned in early. I had had little enough of bed the night before. Iwanted to get up fit, with a clear eye and steady hand. I did not wantInnes to beat me too badly with the birds. One likes to hold one's own,whatever is the game.

  In the corridor, as I was making for the sheets, who should I meet butDora. She thought that I was going to make changes in my costume, tofit me for the smoking-room.

  "Going to change your coat?"

  "Not I. I'm going to bed."

  "Really?"

  "Really. I want to make some additions to to-morrow's bag. Sir Haseltonwon't thank me if I don't."

  She looked at me as if she was trying to read my face. When she triedto do that I felt, in some occult fashion, that she succeeded. I wouldhave been prepared to wager that she had her father's power of readingfaces--and more.

  "I want you to promise me something."

  "What is it?"

  "I want you to promise to top Lord George's score."

  "You ask a hard thing, Miss Jardine. I do not profess to be Lord GeorgeInnes's equal as a shot."

  "I believe, if you like, you can do anything."

  "You believe too much of me. Honestly, for my sake, I wish you wouldbelieve a little less."

  "Will you promise?"

  "I promise that I will try my hardest, that I will do my best; and, asthe archer says in 'Ivanhoe,' no man can do more."

  "You will hare to do more for me; you will have to promise, and youwill have to keep your promise."

  It seemed an unreasonable request to make--especially in that insistentfashion--such a promise no man could be sure of keeping. A thousandthings might be against him. I might shoot better than I had ever shotin my life, and yet not be certain of topping the score. Yet, when Isaw the something that was in her eyes, I cast caution to the wind.

  "I promise."

  She held out her hand.

  "Good-night."

  She allowed me to retain her hand for a moment in mine.

  "I know you will keep the promise you have made."

&
nbsp; She was gone. I turned into my room. And, when in it, I reflected.

  "If she knows that I will keep the promise I have made she knows a gooddeal more than I do. I wonder what will happen if I don't. I can, as arule, see pretty straight along the barrel of a gun, but I do hope togoodness the birds will be good enough to cross my line of fire. She'sthe sort of girl to take the miscarriage even of such a promise as anomen. I want the omen to be all the other way."

  Some one knocked at the door. It was Archie. He had a smoking jacketon.

  "Aren't you coming down into the smoking-room?"

  "I am not. And, if you take my tip, you won't go either. You must bealmost as much in want of a trifle of bed as I am."

  "I am obliged to you. I make my own sleeping arrangements." His tonewas snappy. He seated himself on the arm of a chair. "Were you inearnest in what you said to me this morning?"

  "To what are you referring?"

  "To what you said about Miss Jardine."

  "Certainly I was in earnest."

  He fixed his glance upon me in a fashion I did not relish.

  "Haven't you a grain of pity? Is there nothing human about you,Townsend?"

  I felt strongly that that sort of thing must cease. The idea of LordArchibald Beaupre's mentorship was an idea not to be endured.

  "There has been a good deal about your manner towards me lately,Beaupre, to which I have objected, and with good cause. You havepresumed on the friendship which exists between us in a manner of whichI should have thought you, of all men, would have been incapable." Heflushed. I saw I had struck home. "You must excuse me saying that ifyou consider that the fact of our being acquainted with each otherentitles you to unwarrantably interest yourself in my private affairs,I must request that that acquaintance shall cease."

  "You don't understand me--or you won't."

  "I understand you better than you imagine. You are not the firstjealous man I have known."

  He went white and red.

  "It isn't jealousy; I swear it isn't."

  "It is a matter of complete indifference to me what it is. I object toit in any case."

  He was silent for some seconds. He stared at his toes.

  "Tell me one thing--have you proposed to her?"

  "I shall tell you nothing. After the tone which you have used towardsme I decline to allow you to ask me questions."

  He got off the arm of the chair.

  "Then God help her." He went to the door. At the door he turned again."I don't believe that He will suffer it."

  Then he went

  If Archie went on like that much longer, he and I should quarrel.Vicarious morality is a variety of the article to which the mostliberal-minded inevitably objects.