by J. J. Bell
CHAPTER IV
In his home at Earl's Gate, Kensington, Mr. Lancaster had made anindifferent meal of an excellently cooked and temptingly servedbreakfast. He was feeling dejected, limp, and generally "seedy" after thetwo nights in the train. He and Bullard had occupied a double sleepingberth, and Bullard had persisted in discussing many things, andthereafter slumber had proved no match against a host of assaultingthoughts. Perhaps he might have made a better meal had he been left tohimself, but ever since the moment of his arrival--save in the briefseclusion of his bath--Mrs. Lancaster had harried his wearied mind withquestions.
Mrs. Lancaster had learned several important things since wealth beganto come to her husband, about ten years ago. She had learned to dresswell, no less so than expensively; she had acquired the art ofentertaining with an amount of display that just escaped vulgarity; andshe had even learned to hold her tongue in company. (Possibly that waswhy Mr. Lancaster got so much of it.) She was a big, handsome creature,with a clear, dusky complexion and brown eyes that either shone with ahard eagerness or smouldered sullenly. And it may be well to state atonce that she had no "past" worth mentioning, and no relatives, as faras one knows, to mention it. Lancaster had wooed her in aboarding-house in Durban, Natal. Always ambitious, though never sokeenly so as when money began to become more abundant, she had neveryet attained to the satisfaction of having as much money as shedesired, or imagined she needed. As for social prominence, she spentrecklessly on its purchase. But she was an unreasoning woman in otherways. She was proud of her daughter one day, jealous of her the next;it seemed as though she could not forgive Doris for growing up, and yetwhen Doris was barely eighteen she displayed the girl on all occasionsand strove hard to force her into the arms of a horrible littlemiddle-aged baronet. She still craved a title for Doris, no matter whatmoral and physical blemishes that title might decorate. More than onceshe had hinted to Bullard that he might purchase a "handle." Andglancing sidelong at Doris, Bullard had more than once reflected thatshe would be worth the money--if only he had it to spare. For Bullard'swealth was not quite so unlimited as many supposed.
Mrs. Lancaster's eyes were now smouldering.
"Once more," she was saying, "you seem to have made a pretty mess of it."
With a slight gesture of weariness her husband replied: "Bullard was incharge, and I suppose he did his best."
"I am beginning to lose faith in Mr. Bullard. You and he had a greatopportunity yesterday of learning definitely Christopher Craig'sintentions regarding his diamonds, and now you come home with a ramblingstory about a crazy clock that's going to stop goodness knows when."
"Get Bullard to explain it to you, Carlotta. I'm dead beat. Two nightsrunning in the train--"
Cutting him short, she continued--"You tell me that old Christopher is ina weak state physically and, you suspect, mentally. In thesecircumstances you ought surely to have been able to do twothings--convince him of his nephew's death and--"
"He is wholly convinced that Alan will yet turn up. I can't understand--"
"Alan Craig will never turn up! Can't you take Mr. Bullard's wordfor that?"
"Bullard was not with the Expedition--"
She made a movement of impatience. "Well you ought to have gainedChristopher's confidence as to the other matter. Why on earth didn't youfind out what your share is going to be?"
"As I have already told you, Carlotta, he mentioned that the diamondswould be divided into three portions."
"Equal?"
"I assumed so. And he said Bullard and I would not be forgotten--'Reward'was the word he used."
"He may leave you a diamond to make a pin of! Aren't you sure ofanything, Robert?"
"I felt sure at the time, but during the journey I began to have doubts.So had Bullard. I tell you I simply could not tackle the dying man abouthis affairs."
"He may live for a long time yet." She drew a breath of exasperation."But the moment he dies you and Mr. Bullard must act on Alan's will. Itsimplifies matters, I should imagine, that the old man made a gift ofthat property instead of willing it. Unfortunately it may mean onlyL25,000 for us."
Lancaster sat up stiffly and looked at his wife.
"It means not a penny for us. That debt to the Syndicate must be paidwith the first large sum I can lay hold of. You must clearly understandthat, Carlotta. I have said the same thing before."
"You have! May I ask whether the Syndicate has asked you to paythe debt?"
He looked away, then downwards. "The Syndicate," he said slowly, "has notasked me to pay the debt, for the simple reason that the Syndicate doesnot know of it--yet." His breath caught, and he added huskily, "I havewanted to tell you this for some time, Carlotta."
"You mean--?" But she knew what he meant, had suspected it for months.Also, she knew why he had borrowed, or made free, with the money. Simplyto give her what she asked for in cars, furs, and jewels. The thing hadbeen done at a time when a certain mine was promising brilliantly. Themine was still promising, but not so brilliantly.
The incident, along with Lancaster's mental suffering and futile effortsto right himself, would make a story by itself.
"You are shocked, Carlotta?" he murmured shamefacedly, appealingly.
"Naturally!" But anger was the emotion she strove to suppress.
"I have paid bitterly in worry," he said, and there was a pause.
"You can hold on yet awhile?" she asked at last.
"Oh, yes, I think so. The danger is always there, but I'm not greatlypressed for money otherwise." Not "greatly" pressed, poor soul! "It's acase of conscience, you know," he stammered. "The thought of discovery isalways with me, too."
"No thought, I presume, of your wife and daughter!"
"Carlotta!"
"Oh, Robert, what a blind fool you are! Why not have asked Christopherfor the money, even if it had involved a confession? He would not see usruined--Doris, at all events."
"No; I don't think he would. He sent his love to Doris. But Bullard wasthere yesterday, all the time, and I would not have _him_ guess--"
"You may be sure Mr. Bullard has guessed long ago."
"My God! do you think so?"
"Well, it doesn't much matter, does it? But I am certain if you hadtold Christopher and made the debt a hundred thousand you would have gotthe money."
"I don't know," he sighed, shaking his head. "Christopher was differentyesterday, kind enough but different from the man I used to know--"
"Of course he was different. He's dying, isn't he?"
"Don't be so heartless."
"Don't be silly, my dear man!" Mrs. Lancaster said sharply. "Now, lookhere, Robert," she went on, "there is only one thing to be done. Saynothing to Mr. Bullard, but take the Scotch express to-night and go andsee Christopher privately. I don't care what you tell him, but a publicscandal--public disgrace--I will not have! Get the horrid thing settled,and let us go on as if nothing had happened until some of your shares goup and put you safely on your feet again."
He sat up as if trying to shake off the horror. "Carlotta," he said,"can't we contrive to--to live on less?" It was no new question.
"No, we can't," she answered in a tone of finality. "You will goto-night? Fortunately the people coming to dinner are a set of crocks. Nobridge, and leave early. You can easily catch the midnight train."
"I will go," he said at last, "for your sake and Doris's."
"Good man!" she returned with sudden good humour, her eyes bright."It will all come right--you'll see! Tell old Christopher that hislittle sweetheart of the old days--Doris, I mean; he never loved_me!_--is in danger of the workhouse and so forth, and ask for fiftythousand at least."
"It will end any chance we have of a share in the di--"
"'Sh!"
Doris came in. She was a tall girl with something of her mother'sdarkness, but she had the blue-grey eyes of her father and his finely-cutfeatures. Of late a sadness foreign to youth had dwelt in her eyes, andher smile had seemed dutiful rather than voluntary. Otherwise she h
ad notbetrayed her sorry heart and uneasy mind. She carried herself splendidly,and she had good right to be called lovely.
"Mother," she exclaimed, and kissed her father, "why didn't you tell mehe was to be home for breakfast?"
"Because I did not know, my dear"--which was untrue--"and, besides, youwere very late last night. Better to have your rest out." Mrs. Lancasterrose. "Persuade your father to have a fresh cup of coffee while you takeyour own breakfast, I must 'phone Wilders about the flowers forto-night." She left the room.
Doris poured the coffee and milk and placed the cup at his hand, saying--
"You must be tired, dear, after two nights in the train."
"A little, Doris," he answered, endeavouring to make his voicesound cheerful.
"And worried, I'm afraid," she added tenderly.
"A little that way, too, perhaps. But one must hope that there's a goodtime coming, my dear."
The girl hesitated before she returned: "I want to say something, andit's difficult. I've wanted to say it for a long time." She paused.
"Say on," he said. "A horrid bill--eh?" He knew it was not. Doris hadnever asked him for money beyond her big allowance.
"Don't! It's just this: Is there anything in the world I could do,father, just to make it a little easier for you?"
It was unexpected, and yet it was like Doris. Tears came into his eyes.
"Forgive me," she went on quickly, "but sometimes I can't bear to see yousuffering. I'd give up anything--"
Mrs. Lancaster entered quickly.
"Robert, Mr. Bullard is in the library--"
"Bullard!--now?"
"He must see you at once. He has been to the office, and there was awire--"
Lancaster, who had risen, caught at the back of his chair. "AlanCraig--safe?" he said in a husky whisper.
Neither noticed the girl's sudden pallor, the light in her eyes.
"Nonsense!" the woman rapped out. "Christopher Craig--died last night!"