The Bars of Iron

  CHAPTER II

  CONCERNING FOOLS

  In the huge, oak-panelled hall of the Abbey, Sir Beverley Eveshamsat alone.

  A splendid fire of logs blazed before him on the open hearth, and thelight from a great chandelier beat mercilessly down upon him. His hairwas thick still and silvery white. He had the shoulders of a strong man,albeit they were slightly bowed. His face, clean-shaven, aristocratic,was the colour of old ivory. The thin lips were quite bloodless. They hada downward, bitter curve, as though they often sneered at life. The eyeswere keen as a bird's, stone-grey under overhanging black brows.

  He held a newspaper in one bony hand, but he was not apparently reading,for his eyes were fixed. The shining suits of armour standing likesentinels on each side of the fireplace were not more rigid than he.

  There came a slight sound from the other end of the hall, and instantlyand very sharply Sir Beverley turned his head.

  "Piers!"

  Cheerily Piers' voice made answer. He shut the door behind him and cameforward as he spoke. "Here I am, sir! I'm sorry I'm late. You shouldn'thave waited. You never ought to wait. I'm never in at the right time."

  "Confound you, why aren't you then?" burst forth Sir Beverley. "It's easyto say you're sorry, isn't it?"

  "Not always," said Piers.

  He came to the old man, bent down over him, slid a boyish arm aroundthe bent shoulders. "Don't be waxy!" he coaxed. "I couldn't help itthis time."

  "Get away, do!" said Sir Beverley, jerking himself irritably from him. "Idetest being pawed about, as you very well know. In Heaven's name, haveyour tea, if you want it! I shan't touch any. It's past my time."

  "Oh, rot!" said Piers. "If you don't, I shan't."

  "Yes, you will." Sir Beverley pointed an imperious hand towards a tableon the other side of the fire. "Go and get it and don't be a fool!"

  "I'm not a fool," said Piers.

  "Yes, you are--a damn fool!" Sir Beverley returned to his newspaper withthe words. "And you'll never be anything else!" he growled into thesilence that succeeded them.

  Piers clattered the tea-things and said nothing. There was no resentmentvisible upon his sensitive, olive face, however. He looked perfectlycontented. He turned round after a few seconds with a cup of steaming teain his hand. He crossed the hearth and set it on the table at SirBeverley's elbow.

  "That's just as you like it, sir," he urged. "Have it--just toplease me!"

  "Take it away!" said Sir Beverley, without raising his eyes.

  "It's only ten minutes late after all," said Piers, with all meekness. "Iwish you hadn't waited, though it was jolly decent of you. You weren'tanxious of course? You know I always turn up some time."

  "Anxious!" echoed Sir Beverley. "About a cub like you! You flatteryourself, my good Piers."

  Piers laughed a little and stooped over the blaze. Sir Beverley read onfor a few moments, then very suddenly and not without violence crumpledhis paper and flung it on the ground.

  "Of all the infernal, ridiculous twaddle!" he exclaimed. "Now what thedevil have you done to yourself? Been taking a water-jump?"

  Piers turned round. "No, sir. It's nothing. I shouldn't have come in inthis state, only it was late, and I thought I'd better report myself."

  "Nothing!" repeated Sir Beverley. "Why, you're drenched to the skin! Goand change! Go and change! Don't stop to argue! Do you hear me, sir? Goand change!"

  He shouted the last words, and Piers flung round on his heel with a hintof impatience.

  "And behave yourself!" Sir Beverley threw after him. "If you think I'llstand any impertinence from you, you were never more mistaken in yourlife. Be off with you, you cheeky young hound! Don't let me see you againtill you're fit to be seen!"

  Piers departed without a backward look. His lips were slightly compressedas he went up the stairs, but before he reached his own room they weresoftly whistling.

  Victor, the valet, who was busily employed in laying out his eveningclothes, received him with hands upraised in horror.

  _"Ah, mais, Monsieur Pierre_, how you are wet!"

  "Yes, I want a bath," said Piers. "Get it quick! I must be down again inten minutes. So scurry, Victor, my lad!"

  Victor was a cheery little rotundity of five-and-fifty. He had had thecare of Piers ever since the first fortnight of that young man'sexistence, and he worshipped him with a whole-hearted devotion that wasin its way sublime. In his eyes Piers could do no wrong. He was in factdearer to him than his own flesh and blood.

  He prepared the bath with deft celerity, and hastened back to assist inremoving his young master's boots. He exclaimed dramatically upon theirsoaked condition, but Piers was in too great a hurry to give any detailsregarding the cause of his plight. He whirled into the bathroom atexpress speed, and was out again almost before Victor had had time tocollect his drenched garments.

  Ten minutes after his departure he returned to the hall, the gaywhistle still on his lips, and trod a careless measure to its tune ashe advanced.

  Sir Beverley got up stiffly from his knees on the hearth-rug and turned ascowling face. "Well, are you decent now?"

  "Quite," said Piers. He smiled as he said it, a boyish disarming smile."Have you had your tea, sir? Oh, I say what a brick you are! I didn'texpect that."

  His eyes, travelling downwards, had caught sight of a cup pushed close tothe blaze, and a plate of crumpets beside it.

  "Or deserve it," said Sir Beverley grimly.

  Piers turned impulsively and took him by the shoulders. "You're a dearold chap!" he said. "Thanks awfully!"

  Against its will the hard old mouth relaxed. "There, boy, there! What aninfant you are! Sit down and have it for goodness' sake! It'll bedinner-time before you've done."

  "You've had yours?" said Piers.

  "Oh, yes--yes!" Irritation made itself heard again in Sir Beverley'svoice; he freed himself from his grandson's hold, though not urgently."I'm not so keen on your precious tea," he said, seating himself again."It's only young milksops like you that have made it fashionable. When Iwas young--"

  "Hullo!" broke in Piers. He had picked up the cup of tea and was sniffingit suspiciously. "You've been doctoring this!" he said.

  "You drink it!" ordered Sir Beverley peremptorily. "I'm not going tohave you laid up with rheumatic fever if I know it. Drink it, Piers! Doyou hear?"

  Piers looked for a moment as if he were on the verge of rebellion, thenabruptly he raised the cup to his lips and drained it. He set it downwith a shudder of distaste.

  "You might have let me have it separately," he remarked. "Tea and brandydon't blend well. I shall sleep like a hog after this. Besides, Ishouldn't have had rheumatic fever. It's not my way. Anything in thepaper to-night?"

  "Yes," said Sir Beverley disgustedly. "There's that prize-fightbusiness."

  "What's that?" Piers looked up with quick interest.

  "Surely you saw it!" returned Sir Beverley. "That fellowAdderley--killed his man in a wrestling-match. A good many people saidit was done by a foul."

  "Adderley!" repeated Piers. "I know him. He gave me some quite usefultips once. What happened? It's the first I've heard of it."

  "Well, he's a murderer," said Sir Beverley. "And he deserves to behanged. He killed his man,--whether by a foul or not I can't say; butanyway he meant to kill him. It's obvious on the face of it. But theychose to bring it in manslaughter, and he's only got five years; whilesome brainless fool must needs write an article a column and a half longto protest against the disgraceful practice of permitting wrestling orboxing matches, which are a survival of the Dark Ages and a perpetualmenace to our civilization! A survival of your grandmother! A nice set ofnincompoops the race will develop into if such fools as that get theirway! We're soft enough as it is, Heaven knows. Why couldn't they hang thescoundrel as he deserved? That's the surest way of putting an end tosavagery. But to stop the sport altogether! It would be tomfoolery!"

  Piers picked up the paper from the floor and smoothed it out. Heproceeded to study it with drawn br
ows, and Sir Beverley sat andwatched him with that in his stone-grey eyes which no one was everallowed to see.

  "Eat your crumpets, boy!" he said at last.

  "What?" Piers glanced up momentarily. "Oh, all right, sir, in a minute.This is rather an interesting case, what? You see, Adderley was afriend of mine."

  "When did you meet him?" demanded Sir Beverley.

  "I knew him in my school-days. He spent a whole term in theneighbourhood. It was just before I left for my year of travel. I got toknow him rather well. He gave me several hints on wrestling."

  "Did he teach you how to break your opponent's neck?" asked SirBeverley drily.

  Piers made a slight, scarcely perceptible movement of one hand. Itclenched upon the paper he held. "They were--worth knowing," he said,with his eyes upon the sheet. "But I should have thought he was too old ahand himself to get into trouble."

  Sir Beverley grunted. Piers read on. At the end of a lengthy pause helaid the paper aside. "I'm beastly rude," he remarked. "Have a crumpet!"

  "Eat 'em yourself!" said Sir Beverley. "I hate 'em!"

  Piers picked up the plate and began to eat. He stared at the blaze as hedid so, obviously lost in thought.

  "Don't dream!" said Sir Beverley sharply.

  He turned his eyes upon his grandfather's face--those soft Italian eyesof his so suggestive of hidden fire. "I wasn't--dreaming," he saidslowly. "I wonder why you think Adderley ought to be hanged."

  "Because he's a murderer," snapped Sir Beverley.

  "Yes; but--" said Piers, and became silent as though he were followingout some train of thought.

  "Go on, boy! Finish!" commanded Sir Beverley. "I detest a sentence leftin the middle."

  "I was only thinking," said Piers deliberately, "that hanging in myopinion is much the easier sentence of the two. I should ask to be hangedif I were Adderley."

  "Would you indeed?" Sir Beverley sounded supremely contemptuous.

  But Piers did not seem to notice. "Besides, there are so manymurderers in the world," he said, "though it's only the few who getpunished. I'm sorry for the few myself. Its damned bad luck, humannature being what it is."

  "You don't know what you're talking about," said Sir Beverley.

  "All right; let's talk about something else," said Piers. "Caesar had aglorious mill with that Irish terrier brute at the Vicarage thisafternoon. I couldn't separate 'em, so I just joined in. We'd have beenat it now if we had been left to our own devices." He broke into hissudden boyish laugh. "But a kind lady came out of the Vicarage garden andflung the contents of a bedroom jug over the three of us. Rather pluckyof her, what? I'm afraid I wasn't over-complimentary at the moment, butI've had time since to appreciate her tact and presence of mind. I'mgoing over to thank her to-morrow."

  "Who was it?" growled Sir Beverley suspiciously. "Not that little whiteowl, Mrs. Lorimer?"

  "Mrs. Lorimer! Great Scott, no! She'd have squealed and run to theReverend Stephen for protection. No, this was a woman, not an owl. Hername is Denys--Mrs. Denys she was careful to inform me. They've started amother's help at the Vicarage. None too soon I should say. Who wouldn'tbe a mother's help in that establishment?"

  Sir Beverley uttered a dry laugh. "Daresay she knows how to feather herown nest. Most of 'em do."

  "She knows how to keep her head in an emergency, anyhow," remarked Piers.

  "Feline instinct," jeered Sir Beverley.

  Piers looked across with a laugh in his dark eyes. "And feline pluck,sir," he maintained.

  Sir Beverley scowled at him. He could never brook an argument. "Oh, getaway, Piers!" he said. "You talk like a fool."

  Piers turned his whole attention to devouring crumpets, and there fell alengthy silence. He rose finally to set down his empty plate and helphimself to some more tea.

  "That stuff is poisonous by now," said Sir Beverley.

  "It won't poison me," said Piers.

  He drank it, and returned to the hearth-rug. "I suppose I may smoke?" hesaid, with a touch of restraint.

  Sir Beverley was lying back in his chair, gazing straight up at him.Suddenly he reached out a trembling hand.

  "You're a good boy, Piers," he said. "You may do any damn thing youlike."

  Piers' eyes kindled in swift response. He gripped the extendedhand. "You're a brick, sir!" he said. "Look here! Come along tothe billiard-room and have a hundred up! It'll give you anappetite for dinner."

  He hoisted the old man out of his chair before he could begin to protest.They stood together before the great fire, and Sir Beverley straightenedhis stiff limbs. He was half a head taller than his grandson.

  "What a fellow it is!" he said half laughing. "Why can't you sit stilland be quiet? Don't you want to read the paper? I've done with it."

  "So have I," said Piers. He swept it up with one hand as he spoke andtossed it recklessly on to the blaze. "Come along, sir! We haven'tmuch time."

  "Now what did you do that for?" demanded Sir Beverley, pausing. "Do youwant to set the house on fire? What did you do it for, Piers?"

  "Because I was a fool," said Piers with sudden, curious vehemence. "Adamn fool sir, if you want to know. But it's done now. Let it burn!"

  The paper flared fiercely and crumbled to ashes. Sir Beverley sufferedhimself to be drawn away.

  "You're a queer fellow, Piers," he said. "But, taking 'em altogether, Ishould say there are a good many bigger fools in the world than you."

  "Thank you, sir," said Piers.