The Bars of Iron

by Ethel M. Dell

  CHAPTER X

  SANCTUARY

  "Hullo, sonny! You!"

  Edmund Crowther turned from his littered writing-table, and rose to greethis visitor with a ready smile of welcome.

  "Hullo!" said Piers. "How are you getting on? I was in town and thoughtI'd look you up. By Jove, though, you're busy! I'd better not stay."

  "Sit down!" said Crowther.

  He took him by the shoulders with kindly force and made him sit in hiseasy-chair. "I'm never too busy to be pleased to see you, Piers," hesaid.

  "Very decent of you," said Piers.

  He spoke with a short laugh, but his dark eyes roved round restlessly.There was no pleasure in his look.

  The light from Crowther's unshaded lamp flared full upon him. In hisfaultless evening dress he looked every inch an aristocrat. That air ofthe old-Roman patrician was very strong upon him that night. But therewas something behind it that Crowther was quick to note, something thatreminded him vividly of an evening months before when he had fought handto hand with the Evesham devil and had with difficulty prevailed.

  He pushed his work to one side and foraged in his cupboard for drinks.

  Piers watched him with an odd, half-scoffing smile about his lips. "Doyou never drink when you are by yourself?" he asked.

  "Not when I'm working," said Crowther.

  "I see! Work is sacred, what?"

  Crowther looked at him. The mockery of the tone had been scarcely veiled;but there was no consciousness of the fact in Crowther's quiet reply."Yes; just that, sonny."

  Piers laughed again, a bitter, gibing laugh. "I suppose it's more to youthan your own soul--or anyone else's," he said.

  Crowther paused in the act of pouring out. "Now what do you mean?" hesaid.

  His eyes, direct and level, looked full at Piers. They held no anger, noindignation, only calm enquiry.

  Piers faced the look with open mockery. "I mean, my good friend," hesaid, "that if I asked you to chuck it all and go round the world withme--you'd see me damned first."

  Crowther's eyes dropped gravely to the job in hand. "Say when!" he said.

  Piers made a restless movement. "Oh, that's enough! Strong drink is notmy weakness. Why don't you answer my question?"

  "I didn't know you asked one," said Crowther.

  He set the tumbler in front of Piers and began to help himself.

  Piers watched him for a couple of seconds longer, then leapt impulsivelyto his feet. "Oh, I'm going!" he said. "I was a fool to come!"

  Crowther set down the decanter and straightened himself. He did not seemto move quickly, but he was at the door before Piers reached it.

  He stood massively before him, blocking the way. "You've behavedfoolishly a good many times in your life, my lad," he said. "But Ishouldn't call you a fool. Why do you want me to go round the world withyou? Tell me that!"

  His tone was mild, but there was a certain grimness about himnotwithstanding. He looked at Piers with a faint smile in his eyes thathad in it a quality of resolution that made itself felt. Piers stoodstill before him, half-chafing, half-subdued.

  "Tell me!" Crowther said again.

  "Oh, what's the good?" With a defiance that was oddly boyish Piers flungthe question. "I see I've applied in the wrong quarter. Let me go!"

  "I will not," Crowther said. Deliberately he raised a hand and pointed tothe chair from which Piers had just sprung. "Sit down again, sonny, andwe'll talk."

  Piers swung round with an impatient gesture and went to the window. Hethrew it wide, and the distant roar of traffic filled the quiet room likethe breaking of the sea.

  After a distinct pause Crowther followed him. They stood together gazingout over the dim wilderness of many roofs and chimneys to where the crudeglare of an advertisement lit up the night sky.

  Piers was absolutely motionless, but there was a species of violence inhis very stillness, as of a trapped animal preparing to make a wild rushfor freedom. His attitude was feverishly tense.

  Suddenly and very quietly Crowther's hand came forth and linked itself inhis arm. "What is it, lad?" he said.

  Piers made a jerky movement as if to avoid the touch, but the hand closedslowly and steadily upon him. He turned abruptly and met Crowther's eyes.

  "Crowther," he said, "I've behaved like a cur. I--broke that promise Imade to you."

  He ground out the words savagely, between clenched teeth. Yet his lookwas defiant still. He held himself as a man defying shame.

  Crowther's eyes never varied. They looked straight back with a widekindliness greater than compassion, wholly devoid of reproach.

  "All right, Piers," he said simply.

  Piers stared at him for a moment as one in blank amazement, then verystrangely his face altered. The hardness went from it like a masksuddenly rent away. He made an inarticulate sound and turned from theopen window.

  A second later he was sunk in Crowther's chair with his head in hishands, sobbing convulsively, painfully, uncontrollably, in an agony thattore like a living thing at the very foundations of his being.

  A smaller man than Crowther might have been at a loss to deal with suchdistress, but Crowther was ready. He had seen men in extremities ofsuffering before. He knew how to ease a crushing burden. He sat down onthe arm of the chair and thrust a strong hand over Piers' shoulder,saying no word.

  Minutes passed ere by sheer violence that bitter anguish wore itself outat last. There came a long, piteous silence, then Piers' hand feelingblindly upwards. Crowther's grip encompassed it like a band of iron, butstill for a space no word was spoken.

  Then haltingly Piers found his voice. "I'm sorry--beastly sorry--to havemade such an ass of myself. You're jolly decent to me, Crowther."

  To which Crowther made reply with a tenderness as simple as his own soul."You're just a son to me, lad."

  "A precious poor specimen!" muttered Piers.

  He remained bowed for a while longer, then lifted at length a face ofawful whiteness and leaned back upon Crowther's arm, still fast holdingto his hand.

  "You know, you're such an awfully good chap," he said, "that one getsinto the way of taking you for granted. But I won't encroach on yourgoodness much longer. You're busy, what?" He smiled a quivering smile,and glanced momentarily towards the littered table.

  "It will keep," said Crowther quietly.

  "No, it won't. Life isn't long enough. On my soul, do you know it's likecoming into sanctuary to enter a place like this? I feel as if I'd shutmy own particular devil on the other side of the door. But he'll wait forme all right. We shan't lose each other on that account."

  He uttered a laugh that testified more to the utter weariness of his soulthan its bitterness.

  "Where are you staying?" said Crowther.

  "At Marchmont's. At least I've got a room there. I haven't any definiteplans at present."

  "Unless you go round the world with me," said Crowther.

  Piers' eyes travelled upwards sharply. "No, old chap. I didn't mean it. Iwouldn't have you if you'd come. It was only a try-on, that."

  "Some try-ons fit," said Crowther gravely. He turned towards the table,and reached for the drink he had prepared for Piers. "Look here, sonny!Have a drink!"

  Piers drank in silence, Crowther steadily watching.

  "You would have to be back by March," he said presently.

  "What?" said Piers.

  It was like a protest, the involuntary startled outcry of the patientunder the probe. Crowther's hand grasped his more closely. "I'll go withyou on that understanding, Piers," he said. "You'll be wanted then."

  Piers groaned. "If it hadn't been for--that," he said, "I'd have endedthe whole business with a bullet before now."

  "No, you wouldn't," said Crowther quietly. "You don't know yourself, boy,when you talk like that. You've given up Parliament for the present?"

  "For good," said Piers. He paused, as if bracing himself for a greateffort. "I went to Colonel Rose yesterday and told him I must withdraw.He had heard the rumours of course,
but he advised me to hold on. I toldhim--I told him--" Piers stopped and swallowed hard, then forced himselfon,--"I told him there was truth in it, and then--he let me go."

  There fell a painful silence, broken by Crowther. "How did this rumourget about?"

  "Oh, that was at Ina Rose's wedding." Piers' words came more freely now,as if the obstruction were passed. "A cousin of Guyes', the bridegroom,was there. He came from Queensland, had been present that night when Ifought and killed Denys, and he recognized me. Then--he got tight andtold everybody who would listen. It was rotten luck, but it had tohappen." He paused momentarily; then: "I wasn't enjoying myself,Crowther, before it happened," he said.

  "I saw that, sonny." Crowther's arm pressed his shoulder in sympathy.It was characteristic of the man to display understanding rather thanpity. He stood ever on the same level with his friends, however lowthat level might be.

  Again Piers looked at him as if puzzled by his attitude. "You've doneme a lot of good," he said abruptly. "You've made me see myself as youdon't see me, dear old fellow, and never would. Well, I'm going.Thanks awfully!"

  He made as if he would rise, but Crowther restrained him. "No, lad. I'mnot parting with you for to-night. We'll send round for your traps. I'llput you up."

  "What? No, no, you can't! I shall be all right. Don't worry about me!"

  Piers began to make impulsive resistance, but Crowther's hold onlytightened.

  "I'm not parting with you to-night," he reiterated firmly. "And lookhere, boy! You've come to me for help, and, to the best of my ability,I'll help you. But first,--are you sure you are justified in leavinghome? Are you sure you are not wanted?"

  "Wanted! I!" Piers looked at him from under eye-lids that quivered alittle. "Yes," he said, after a moment, with a deliberation that soundedtragically final. "I am quite sure of that, Crowther."

  Crowther asked no more. He patted Piers' shoulder gently and rose.

  "Very well," he said. "I'll take that six months' trip round the worldwith you."

  "But you can't!" protested Piers. "I never seriously thought you could! Ionly came to you because--" he halted, and a slow, deep flush mounted tohis forehead--"because you've saved me before," he said. "And I wasso--so horribly near--the edge of the pit this time."

  He spoke with an odd boyishness, and Crowther's lips relaxed in a smilethat had in it something of a maternal quality. "So long as I can helpyou, you can count on me," he said.

  "You're the only man in the world who can help me," Piers saidimpulsively. "At least--" he smiled himself--"I couldn't take it fromanyone else. But I'm not taking this from you, Crowther. You've got yourown pet job on hand, and I'm not going to hinder it."

  Crowther was setting his writing-table in order. He did not speak fora few seconds. Then: "I am a man under authority, sonny," he said. "Myown pet job, as you call it, doesn't count if it isn't what's wantedof me. It has waited twenty-five years; it'll keep--easy--for anothersix months."

  Piers got up. "I'm a selfish brute if I let you," he said, irresolutely.

  "You can't help yourself, my son." Crowther turned calm eyes upon him."And now just sit down here and write a line home to say what you aregoing to do!"

  He had cleared a space upon the table; he pulled forward a chair.

  "Oh, I can't! I can't!" said Piers quickly.

  But Crowther's hand was on his shoulder. He pressed him down. "Do it,lad! It's got to be done," he said.

  And with a docility that sat curiously upon him, Piers submitted. Heleaned his head on his hand, and wrote.