CHAPTER XXIX
THE MAN WITH THE THUMB AGAIN
Chris gave Henson one swift searching glance before her eyes droppeddemurely to the ground. Lord Littimer appeared to be taking no heed ofanything but his own annoyance. But quick as Chris had been, Henson wasquicker. He was smiling the slow, sad smile of the man who turns theother cheek because it is his duty to do so.
"And when does Dr. Bell arrive?" he asked.
"He won't arrive at all," Littimer said, irritably. "Do you suppose Iam going to allow that scoundrel under my roof again? The amazingimpudence of the fellow is beyond everything. He will probably reachMoreton Station by the ten o'clock train. The drive will take him anhour, if I choose to permit the drive, which I don't. I'll send a groomto meet the train with a letter. When Bell has read that letter he willnot come here."
"I don't think I should do that," Henson said, respectfully.
"Indeed! You are really a clever fellow. And what would you do?"
"I should suffer Bell to come. As a Christian I should deem it my duty todo so. It pains me to say so, but I am afraid that I cannot contravertyour suggestion that Bell is a scoundrel. It grieves me to prove any manthat. And in the present instance the proofs were overpowering. But thereis always a chance--a chance that we have misjudged a man on falseevidence."
"False evidence! Why, the Rembrandt was actually found in Bell'sportmanteau."
"Dear friend, I know it," Henson said, with the same slow, forgivingsmile. "But there have been cases of black treachery, dark conspiraciesthat one abhors. And Bell might have made some stupendous discoveryregarding his character. I should see him, my lord; oh, yes, I shouldmost undoubtedly see him."
"And so should I," Chris put in, swiftly.
Littimer smiled, with all traces of his ill-temper gone. He seemed tobe contemplating Henson with his head on one side, as if to fathomthat gentleman's intentions. There was just the suspicion of contemptin his glance.
"In the presence of so much goodness and beauty I feel quite lost," hesaid. "Very well, Henson, I'll see Bell. I may find the interviewdiverting."
Henson strolled away with a sigh of gentle pleasure. Once out of sight heflew to the library, where he scribbled a couple of telegrams. They werecarefully worded and related to some apocryphal parcel required withoutdelay, and calculated to convey nothing to the lay mind. A servant wasdespatched to the village with them. Henson would have been pleased hadhe known that the fascinating little American had waylaid his messengerand read his telegrams under the plea of verifying one of the addresses.A moment or two later and those addresses were carefully noted down in apocket-book. It was past five before Chris found herself with a littletime on her hands again. Littimer had kept her pretty busy all theafternoon, partly because there was so much to do, but partly from thepleasure that he derived from his secretary's society. He was more freewith her than he had been with any of her sex for years. It wassatisfactory, too, to learn that Littimer regarded Henson as a smug andoily hypocrite, and that the latter was only going to be left LittimerCastle to spite the owner's other relations.
"Now you run into the garden and get a blow." Littimer said at length. "Iam telling you a lot too much. I am afraid you are a most insinuatingyoung person."
Chris ran out into the garden gaily. Despite the crushing burden on hershoulders she felt an elation and a flow of spirits she had not beenconscious of for years. The invigorating air of the place seemed to havegot into her veins, the cruel depression of the House of the SilentSorrow was passing away. Again, she had hope and youth on her side, andeverything was falling out beautifully. It was a pleasanter world thanChris had anticipated.
She went along more quietly after a time. There was a tiny arbour on aterrace overlooking the sea to which Chris had taken a particular fancy.She picked her way daintily along the grass paths between the roses untilshe suddenly emerged upon the terrace. She had popped out of the rosesswiftly as a squirrel peeps from a tree.
Somebody was in the arbour, two people talking earnestly. One manstood up with his back to Chris, one hand gripping the outside raggedbark of the arbour frame with a peculiarly nervous, restless force.Chris could see the hand turned back distinctly. A piece of bark wasbeing crumbled under a strong thumb. Such a thumb! Chris had seennothing like it before.
It was as if at some time it had been smashed flat with a hammer, abroad, strong, cruel-looking thumb, flat and sinister-looking as the headof a snake. In the centre, like a pink pearl dropped in a filthy gutter,was one tiny, perfectly-formed nail.
The owner of the thumb stepped back the better to give way to a fit ofhoarse laughter. He turned slightly aside and his eyes met those ofChris. They were small eyes set in a coarse, brutal face, the face of acriminal, Chris thought, if she were a judge of such matters. It camequite as a shock to see that the stranger was in clerical garb.
"I--I beg your pardon," Chris stammered. "But I--"
Henson emerged from the arbour. For once in a way he appeared confused,there was a flush on his face that told of annoyance ill suppressed.
"Please don't go away," he said. "Mr. Merritt will think that he hasalarmed you. Miss Lee, this is my very good friend and co-worker in thefield, the Reverend James Merritt."
"Is Mr. Merritt a friend of Lord Littimer's?" Chris asked, demurely.
"Littimer hates the cloth," Henson replied "Indeed, he has no sympathywhatever with my work. I met my good friend quite by accident in thevillage just now, and I brought him here for a chat. Mr. Merritt istaking a well-earned holiday."
Chris replied graciously that she didn't doubt it. She did not deem itnecessary to add that she knew that one of Mr. Henson's mystic telegramshad been addressed to one James Merritt at an address in Moreton Wells, atown some fifteen miles away. That the scoundrel was up to no good sheknew perfectly well.
"Your work must be very interesting," she said. "Have you been in theChurch long, Mr. Merritt?"
Merritt said hoarsely that he had not been in the Church very long. Hisdreadful grin and fog voice suggested that he was a brand plucked fromthe burning, and that he had only recently come over to the side of theangels. The whole time he spoke he never met Chris's glance once. Thechaplain of a convict prison would have turned from him in disgust.Henson was obviously ill at ease. In his suave, diplomatic way hecontrived to manoeuvre Merritt off the ground at length.
"An excellent fellow," he said, with exaggerated enthusiasm. "It was agreat day for us when we won over James Merritt. He can reach a classwhich hitherto we have not touched."
"He looks as if he had been in gaol," Chris said.
"Oh, he has," Henson admitted, candidly. "Many a time."
Chris deemed it just possible that the unpleasant experience might beendured again, but she only smiled and expressed herself to be deeplyinterested. The uneasiness in Henson's manner gradually disappeared.
Evidently the girl suspected nothing. She would have liked to have askeda question or two about Mr. Merritt's thumb, but she deemed it prudentnot to do so.
Dinner came at length, dinner served in the great hall in honour of therecently arrived guest, and set up in all the panoply and splendour thatLittimer affected at times. The best plate was laid out on the longtable. There were banks and coppices of flowers at either corner, a hugepalm nodded over silver and glass and priceless china. The softly shadedelectric lights made pools of amber flame on fruit and flowers andgleaming crystal. Half-a-dozen big footmen went about their work withnoiseless tread.
Henson shook his head playfully at all this show and splendour. His goodhumour was of the elephantine order, and belied the drawn anxiety of hiseyes. Luxurious and peaceful as the scene was, there seemed to Chris tobe a touch of electricity in the air, the suggestion of something aboutto happen. Littimer glanced at her admiringly. She was dressed in whitesatin, and she had in her hair a single diamond star of price.
"Of course Henson pretends to condemn all this kind of thing," Littimersaid. "He would have you believe that when he
comes into his own theplate and wine will be sold for the benefit of the poor, and the seats ofthe mighty filled with decayed governesses and antiquated shop-walkers."
"I hope that time may long be deferred," Henson murmured.
"And so do I," Littimer said, drily, "which is one of the disadvantagesof being conservative. By the way, who was that truculent-lookingscoundrel I saw with you this afternoon?"
Henson hastened to explain. Littimer was emphatically of opinion thatsuch visitors were better kept at a distance for the present. When allthe rare plate and treasures of Littimer Castle had been disposed of forphilanthropic purposes it would not matter.
"There was a time when the enterprising burglar got his knowledge of thedomestic and physical geography of a house from the servants. Now hereforms, with the great advantage that he can lay his plan of campaignfrom personal observation. It is a much more admirable method, and tendsto avert suspicion from the actual criminal."
"You would not speak thus if you knew Merritt," said Henson.
"All the same, I don't want the privilege," Littimer smiled. "A man witha face like that couldn't reform; nature would resent such an enormity.And yet you can never tell. Physically speaking, my quondam friendHatherly Bell has a perfect face."
"I confess I am anxious to see him," Chris said. "I--I heard him lecturein America. He had the most interesting theory about dogs. Mr. Hensonhates dogs."
"Yes," Henson said, shortly, "I do, and they hate me, but that does notprevent my being interested in the coming of Dr. Bell. And nobody hopesmore sincerely than myself that he will succeed in clearly vindicatinghis character."
Littimer smiled sarcastically as he trifled with his claret glass. In hiscynical way he was looking forward to the interview with a certain senseof amusement. And there was a time when he had enjoyed Bell's societyimmensely.
"Well, you will not have long to wait now," he said. "It is long pastten, and Bell is due at any moment after eleven. Coffee in thebalcony, please."
It was a gloriously warm night, with just a faint suspicion of a breezeon the air. Down below the sea beat with a gentle sway against thecliffs; on the grassy slopes a belated lamb was bleating for its dam.Chris strolled quietly down the garden with her mind at peace for a time.She had almost forgotten her mission for the moment. A figure slippedgently past her on the grass, but she utterly failed to notice it.
"An exceedingly nice girl, that," Littimer was saying, "and distinctlyamusing. Excuse me if I leave you here--a tendency to ague and Englishnight air don't blend together."
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