CHAPTER XIII
RIGHT OF CONQUEST
What has been related of Mr. Saffron's life before he ascended thethrone on which he still sat in the Tower represented all that Beaumaroyknew of his old friend before they met--indeed he knew scarcely as much.He told the brief story to Doctor Mary in the parlour. She heard himlistlessly; all that was not much to the point on which her thoughtswere set, and did not answer the riddle which the scene in the Tower putto her. She was calm now--and ashamed that she had ever lost hercalmness.
"Well, there was the situation as I understood it when I took on thejob--or quite soon afterwards. He thought that he was being pursued; ina sense he was. If these Radbolts found out the truth, they certainlywould pursue him, try to shut him up, and prevent him from making awaywith his money or leaving it to anybody else. I didn't at all know atfirst what a tidy lot he had. He hated the Radbolts; even after heceased to know them as cousins, he remained very conscious of themalways; they were enemies, spies, secret service people on histrack--poor old boy! Well, why should they have him and his money? Ididn't see it. I don't see it to this day."
Mary was in Mr. Saffron's arm-chair. Beaumaroy stood before the fire.She looked up at him.
"They seem to have more right than anybody else. And you know--youknew--that he was mad."
"His being mad gives them no right! Oh, well, it's no use arguing. Inthe end I suppose they had rights--of a kind--a right by law, Isuppose--though I never knew the law and don't want to--to shut the oldman up, and make him damned miserable, and get the money for themselves.That sounds just the sort of right the law does give people over otherpeople--because Aunt Betsy married Uncle John fifty years ago, and wasprobably infernally sorry for it!"
Mary smiled. "A matter of principle with you, was it, Mr. Beaumaroy?
"No--instinct, I think. It's my instinct to be against the proper thing,the regular thing, the thing that deals hardly with an individual in thename of some highly nebulous general principle."
"Like discipline?" she put in, with a reminiscence of Major-GeneralPunnit.
He nodded. "Yes, that's one case of it. And, then, the situation amusedme. I think that had more to do with it than anything else at first. Itamused me to play up to his delusions. I suggested the shawl as usefulon our walks--and thereby got him to take wholesome exercise; that oughtto appeal to you, Doctor! I got him the combination knife-and-fork; thatmade him enjoy his meals--also good for him, Doctor! But I didn't dothese things because they were good for him, but because they amused me.They never amused Hooper, he's a dull, surly, and--I'm inclined tobelieve--treacherous dog."
"Who is he?"
"Sacked from the army--sent to quod. Just a gaol-bird whom I've keptloose. But the things did amuse me, and it was that at first. Butthen----" he paused.
Looking at him again, Mary saw a whimsical tenderness expressed in hiseyes and smile. "The poor old chap was so overwhelmingly grateful. Hethought me the one indubitably faithful adherent that he had. And so Iwas too--though not in the way he thought. And he trusted me absolutely.Well, was I to give him up--to the law, and the Radbolts, and thegaolers of an asylum--a man who trusted me like that?"
"But he was mad," objected Doctor Mary obstinately.
"A man has his feelings--or may have--even when he's mad. He trusted meand he loved me, Doctor Mary. Won't you allow that I've my case--sofar?" She made no sign of assent. "Well then, I loved him--does that goany better with you? If it doesn't, I'm in a bad way; because what I'mgiving you now is the strong part of my case."
"I don't see why you should put what you call your case to me at all,Mr. Beaumaroy."
He looked at her in a reproachful astonishment. "But you seemed touchedby--by what we saw in the Tower. I thought the old man's death--andfate--had appealed to you. It seems to me that people can't go through athing like that together without feeling--well, some sort ofcomradeship. But if you've no sort of feeling of that kind--well, Idon't want to put my case."
"Go on with your case," said Doctor Mary, after a moment's silence.
"Though it isn't really that I want to put a case for myself at all. ButI don't mind owning that I'd like you to understand about it--before Iclear out."
She looked at him questioningly, but put no spoken question. Beaumaroysat down on the stool opposite to her, and poked the fire.
"I can't get away from it, can I? There was something else you saw inthe Tower, wasn't there, and I dare say that you connect it with aconversation that we had together a little while ago? Well, I'll tellyou about that. Oh, well, of course I must, mustn't I?"
"I should like to hear." Her bitterness was gone; he had come now to theriddle.
"He was a king to himself," Beaumaroy resumed thoughtfully, "but in factI was king over him. I could do anything I liked with him. I had him. Ipossessed him--by right of conquest. The right of conquest seemed a bigthing to me; it was about the only sort of right that I'd seen anythingof for three years and more. Yes, it was--and is--a big thing, a realthing--the one right in the whole world that there's no doubt about.Other rights are theories, views, preachments! Right of conquest is afact. I had it. I could make him do what I liked, sign what I liked. Doyou begin to see where I found myself? I say found myself, becausereally it was a surprise to me. At first I thought he was in a prettysmall way--he only gave me a hundred a year besides my keep. True, healways talked of his money, but I set that down mainly to his delusion.But it was true that he had a lot--really a lot. A good bit besides whatyou saw in there; he must have speculated cleverly, I think, he can'thave made it all in his business. Doctor Mary, how much gold do youthink there is in the grave in there?
"I haven't the least idea. Thousands? Where did you get it?"
"Oh yes, thousands--and thousands. We got it mostly from the aliens inthe East End; they'd hoarded it, you know; but they were willing to sellat a premium. The premium rose up to last month; then it dropped alittle--not much, though, because we'd exhausted some of the mostobvious sources. I carried every sovereign of that money in the gravedown from London in my brown bag." He smiled reflectively. "Do you knowhow much a thousand sovereigns weigh, Doctor Mary?"
"I haven't the least idea," said Mary again. She was leaning forwardnow, listening intently, and watching Beaumaroy's face with absorbedinterest.
"Seventeen and three-quarter pounds avoirdupois--that's the correctweight. The first time or two we didn't get much--they were still shy ofus. But after that we made some heavy hauls. Twice we brought down closeon two thousand. Once there was three thousand, almost to a sovereign.Even men trained to the work--bullion porters, as they call them at theBank of England--reckon five bags of a thousand--canvas bags not muchshort of a foot long and six inches across, you know--they reckon fiveof them a full load--and wouldn't care to go far with them either. Theequivalent of three of them was quite enough for me to carry fromInkston station up to the cottage--trying to look as if I were carryingnothing of any account! One hasn't got to pretend to be carrying nothingin full marching kit--nor to carry it all in one hand. And he'd nevertrust himself in a cab--might be kidnapped, you see! I don't knowexactly, but from what he said I reckon we've brought down, on ourWednesday trips, about two-thirds of all he had. Now you've probablygathered what his idea was. He knew he was disguised as Saffron--andvery proud of the way he lived up to the character. As Saffron, herealized the money by driblets--turned his securities into notes, hisnotes into gold. But he'd lost all knowledge that the money was hisown--made by himself--himself Saffron. He thought it was saved out ofthe wreck of his Imperial fortune. It was to be dedicated to restoringthe Imperial cause. He himself could not attempt, at present, to get outof England, least of all carrying pots of gold coin. But he believedthat I could. I was to go to Morocco and so on, and raise the countryfor him, taking as much as I could--and coming back for more! He had nodoubt at all of my coming back! In fact it wouldn't have been mucheasier for me to get out of the country with the money than it wouldhave been for the authentic Kais
er himself. But, Doctor Mary, what wouldhave been possible was for me to go somewhere else--or even back to theplaces we knew of--for no questions were asked there--put that moneyback into notes, or securities in my own name, and tell him I hadcarried out the Morocco programme. He had no sense of time, he wouldhave suspected nothing."
"That would have been mere and sheer robbery," said Mary.
"Oh yes, it would," Beaumaroy agreed. "And, if I'd done it, and desertedhim, I should have deserved to be hanged. That was hardly my question.As long as he lived, I meant to stick by him; but he was turned seventy,frail, with heart disease, and, as I understand, quite likely to sinkinto general paralysis. Well, if I was to exercise my right of conquestand get the fruits of conquest, two ways seemed open. There could be awill; you'll remember my consulting you on that point and your reply?"
"Did he make a will?" asked Mary quickly.
"No. A will was open to serious objections. Even supposing yourevidence--which, of course, I wanted in case of need--had beensatisfactory, a fight with the Radbolts would have been unpleasant.Worse than that--as long as I lived I should have been blackmailed bySergeant Hooper, who knew Mr. Saffron's condition, though he didn't knowabout the money here. Even before you found out about my poor oldfriend, I had decided against a will--though, perhaps, I might havesquared the Radbolts by just taking this little place--and itscontents--and letting them take the rest. That too became impossibleafter your discovery. There remained, then, the money in the Tower. Icould make quite sure of that, wait for his death, and then enjoy it.And, upon my word, why shouldn't I? He'd have been much gratified by mygoing to Morocco; and he'd certainly much sooner that I had themoney--if it couldn't go to Morocco--than that the Radbolts should getit. That was the way the question presented itself to me; and I'm a poorman, with no obvious career before me. The right of conquest appealed tome strongly, Doctor Mary."
"I can see that you may have been greatly tempted," said Mary in a graveand troubled voice. "And the circumstances did enable you to makeexcuses for what you thought of doing."
"Excuses? You won't even go so far as to call it a doubtful case? Onethat a casuist could argue either way?" Beaumaroy was smiling again now.
"Even if I did, men of----"
"Yes, Doctor Mary--of sensitive honour!"
"Decide doubtful cases against themselves in money matters."
"Oh, I say, is that doctrine current in business circles? I've been inbusiness myself, and I doubt it."
"They do--men of real honour," Mary persisted.
"So that's how great fortunes are made? That's how individuals--to saynothing of nations--rise to wealth and power! And I never knew it,"Beaumaroy reflected in a gentle voice. His eye caught Mary's, and shegave a little laugh. "By deciding doubtful cases against themselves!Dear me, yes!"
"I didn't say they rose to greatness and power."
"Then the people who do rise to greatness and power--and thenations--don't they go by right of conquest, Doctor Mary? Don't theydecide cases in their own favour?"
"Did you really mean to--to take the money?"
"I'll tell you as near as I can. I meant to do my best for my old man. Imeant him to live as long as he could--and to live free, unpersecuted,as happy as he could be made. I meant that, because I loved him--and heloved me. Well, I've lost him; I'm alone in the world." The last wordswere no appeal to Mary; for the moment he seemed to have forgotten her;he was speaking out of his own heart to himself. Yet the words therebytouched her to a livelier pity; you are very lonely when there is nobodyto whom you have affection's right to complain of loneliness.
"But after that--if I saw him to his end in peace--if I brought thatoff, well, then I rather think that I should have stuck to the money.Yes, I rather think so."
"You've managed to mix things up so!" Mary complained. "Your devotion toMr. Saffron--for that I could forgive you keeping his secret, andfooling me, and all of us. But then you mix that up with the money!"
"It was mixed up with it. I didn't do the mixing."
"What are you going to do now?" she asked with a sudden curiosity.
"Oh, now? Now the thing's all different. You've seen, you know--and evenI can't offer you a partnership in the cash, can I? If I weren't aninfernally poor conspirator, I should have covered up the Captain'sgrave, and made everything neat and tidy before I came to fetchyou--because I knew he might go back to the Tower. On his bad nights healways made me open the grave, and spread out the money--make a show ofit, you know. Then it had to be put back in bags--the money-bags livedin the brown leather bag--and the grave had to be fastened down.Altogether it was a good bit of work. I'd just got it open, and themoney spread out, when he turned bad--a sort of collapse like the oneyou saw--and I was so busy getting him to bed that I forgot the cursedgrave and the money--just as I forgot to put away the knife-and-forkbefore you called the first time--and you saw through me!"
"If you're not a good conspirator, it's another reason for notconspiring, Mr. Beaumaroy. I know you conspired for him first of all,but----"
"Well, he's safe, he's at peace. It can all come out now--and it must.You know--and you must tell the truth. I don't know whether they can putme in prison; I should hardly think they'd bother, if they get the moneyall right. In any case I don't care much. Lord, what a lot of people'llsay, 'I told you so--bad egg, that Beaumaroy!' No, I don't care. My oldman's safe; I've won my big game after all, Doctor Mary!"
"I don't believe you cared about the money really!" she cried. "Thatreally was a game to you, I think--a trick you liked to play on usrespectables!"
He smiled at her confidentially. "I do like beating the respectables,"he admitted. Then he looked at his watch. "I must do what has to be donefor the old man. But it's late--hard on one o'clock. You must betired--and it's a sad job."
"No, I'll help you. I--I've been in hospitals, you know. Only do gofirst, and cover up that horrible place, and hide that wretched moneybefore I go in the Tower. Will you?" She gave a shiver, as herimagination renewed the scene which the Tower held.
"You needn't come into the Tower at all. He's as light as a feather.I've lifted him into bed often. I can lift him now. If you really wishto help, will you go up to his room and--and get things ready?" As hespoke, he crossed to the sideboard, took up a bedroom candlestick, andlit it from one that stood on the table. "And you'll see about the bodybeing taken to the mortuary, won't you? I shall communicate with theRadbolts--fully; they'll take charge of the funeral, I suppose. Well, hewon't know anything about that now, thank God!" There was the slightesttremor in his voice as he spoke.
Mary did not take the candle. "I've said some hard things to you, Mr.Beaumaroy. I dare say I've sounded very self-righteous." He raised hishand in protest, but she went on: "So I should like to say one differentthing to you--since we're to part after to-night. You've shown yourselfa good friend--good and true as a man could have."
"I loved my old man," said Beaumaroy.
It was his only plea. To Mary it seemed a good one. He had loved hispoor old madman; and he had served him faithfully. "Yes, the old manfound a good friend in you; I hope you will find good friends too. Oh, Ido hope it! Because that's what you want."
"I should be very glad if I could think that, in spite of everything, Ihad found one here in this place--even although she can be a friend onlyin memory."
Mary paused for a moment, then gave him her hand. "I know you muchbetter after to-night. My memory of you will be a kind one. Now to ourwork!"
"Yes--and thank you. I thank you more deeply than you imagine."
He gave her the candle and followed her to the passage.
"You know where the room is. I shall put the--the place--straight, andthen bring him up. I shan't be many minutes--ten, perhaps. The cover'srather hard to fit."
Mary nodded from the top of the stairs. Strained by the events of thenight, and by the talk to Beaumaroy, she was again near tears; her eyeswere bright in the light of the candle, and told of nervous excitement.Beaumaroy went ba
ck into the parlour, on his way to the Tower. Suddenlyhe stopped and stood dead still, listening intently.
Mary busied herself upstairs, making her preparations with practisedskill and readiness. Her agitation did not interfere with herwork--there her training told--but of her inner mind it had fullpossession. She was afraid to be alone--there in that cottage. Shelonged for another clasp of that friendly hand. Well, he would comesoon; but he must bring his burden with him. When she had finished whatshe had to do, she sat down and waited.
Beaumaroy waited too, outside the door leading to the Tower.