The Red Thumb Mark

by R. Austin Freeman

  CHAPTER XVII

  AT LAST

  "We had better let the people clear off," said Thorndyke, when the firstgreetings were over and we stood around Reuben in the fast-emptyingcourt. "We don't want a demonstration as we go out."

  "No; anything but that, just now," replied Reuben. He still held Mrs.Hornby's hand, and one arm was passed through that of his uncle, whowiped his eyes at intervals, though his face glowed with delight.

  "I should like you to come and have a little quiet luncheon with me atmy chambers--all of us friends together," continued Thorndyke.

  "I should be delighted," said Reuben, "if the programme would include asatisfactory wash."

  "You will come, Anstey?" asked Thorndyke.

  "What have you got for lunch?" demanded Anstey, who was now disrobed andin his right mind--that is to say, in his usual whimsical,pseudo-frivolous character.

  "That question savours of gluttony," answered Thorndyke. "Come and see."

  "I will come and eat, which is better," answered Anstey, "and I must runoff now, as I have to look in at my chambers."

  "How shall we go?" asked Thorndyke, as his colleague vanished throughthe doorway. "Polton has gone for a four-wheeler, but it won't hold usall."

  "It will hold four of us," said Reuben, "and Dr. Jervis will bringJuliet; won't you, Jervis?"

  The request rather took me aback, considering the circumstances, but Iwas conscious, nevertheless, of an unreasonable thrill of pleasure andanswered with alacrity: "If Miss Gibson will allow me, I shall be verydelighted." My delight was, apparently, not shared by Juliet, to judgeby the uncomfortable blush that spread over her face. She made noobjection, however, but merely replied rather coldly: "Well, as we can'tsit on the roof of the cab, we had better go by ourselves."

  The crowd having by this time presumably cleared off, we all took ourway downstairs. The cab was waiting at the kerb, surrounded by a groupof spectators, who cheered Reuben as he appeared at the doorway, and wesaw our friends enter and drive away. Then we turned and walked quicklydown the Old Bailey towards Ludgate Hill. "Shall we take a hansom?" Iasked.

  "No; let us walk," replied Juliet; "a little fresh air will do us goodafter that musty, horrible court. It all seems like a dream, and yetwhat a relief--oh! what a relief it is."

  "It is rather like the awakening from a nightmare to find the morningsun shining," I rejoined.

  "Yes; that is just what it is like," she agreed; "but I still feel dazedand shaken."

  We turned presently down New Bridge Street, towards the Embankment,walking side by side without speaking, and I could not help comparing,with some bitterness, our present stiff and distant relations with theintimacy and comradeship that had existed before the miserable incidentof our last meeting.

  "You don't look so jubilant over your success as I should haveexpected," she said at length, with a critical glance at me; "but Iexpect you are really very proud and delighted, aren't you?"

  "Delighted, yes; not proud. Why should I be proud? I have only playedjackal, and even that I have done very badly."

  "That is hardly a fair statement of the facts," she rejoined, withanother quick, inquisitive look at me; "but you are in low spiritsto-day--which is not at all like you. Is it not so?"

  "I am afraid I am a selfish, egotistical brute," was my gloomy reply. "Iought to be as gay and joyful as everyone else to-day, whereas the factis that I am chafing over my own petty troubles. You see, now that thiscase is finished, my engagement with Dr. Thorndyke terminatesautomatically, and I relapse into my old life--a dreary repetition ofjourneying amongst strangers--and the prospect is not inspiriting. Thishas been a time of bitter trial to you, but to me it has been a greenoasis in the desert of a colourless, monotonous life. I have enjoyed thecompanionship of a most lovable man, whom I admire and respect above allother men, and with him have moved in scenes full of colour andinterest. And I have made one other friend whom I am loth to see fadeout of my life, as she seems likely to do."

  "If you mean me," said Juliet, "I may say that it will be your own faultif I fade out of your life. I can never forget all that you have donefor us, your loyalty to Reuben, your enthusiasm in his cause, to saynothing of your many kindnesses to me. And, as to your having done yourwork badly, you wrong yourself grievously. I recognised in the evidenceby which Reuben was cleared to-day how much you had done, in filling inthe details, towards making the case complete and convincing. I shallalways feel that we owe you a debt of the deepest gratitude, and so willReuben, and so, perhaps, more than either of us, will someone else."

  "And who is that?" I asked, though with no great interest. The gratitudeof the family was a matter of little consequence to me.

  "Well, it is no secret now," replied Juliet. "I mean the girl whomReuben is going to marry. What is the matter, Dr. Jervis?" she added, ina tone of surprise.

  We were passing through the gate that leads from the Embankment toMiddle Temple Lane, and I had stopped dead under the archway, laying adetaining hand upon her arm and gazing at her in utter amazement.

  "The girl that Reuben is going to marry!" I repeated. "Why, I had alwaystaken it for granted that he was going to marry you."

  "But I told you, most explicitly, that was not so!" she exclaimed withsome impatience.

  "I know you did," I admitted ruefully; "but I thought--well, I imaginedthat things had, perhaps, not gone quite smoothly and--"

  "Did you suppose that if I had cared for a man, and that man had beenunder a cloud, I should have denied the relation or pretended that wewere merely friends?" she demanded indignantly.

  "I am sure you wouldn't," I replied hastily. "I was a fool, an idiot--byJove, what an idiot I have been!"

  "It was certainly very silly of you," she admitted; but there was agentleness in her tone that took away all bitterness from the reproach.

  "The reason of the secrecy was this," she continued; "they becameengaged the very night before Reuben was arrested, and, when he heard ofthe charge against him, he insisted that no one should be told unless,and until, he was fully acquitted. I was the only person who was intheir confidence, and as I was sworn to secrecy, of course I couldn'ttell you; nor did I suppose that the matter would interest you. Whyshould it?"

  "Imbecile that I am," I murmured. "If I had only known!"

  "Well, if you _had_ known," said she; "what difference could it havemade to you?"

  This question she asked without looking at me, but I noted that hercheek had grown a shade paler.

  "Only this," I answered. "That I should have been spared many a day andnight of needless self-reproach and misery."

  "But why?" she asked, still keeping her face averted. "What had you toreproach yourself with?"

  "A great deal," I answered, "if you consider my supposed position. Ifyou think of me as the trusted agent of a man, helpless and deeplywronged--a man whose undeserved misfortunes made every demand uponchivalry and generosity; if you think of me as being called upon toprotect and carry comfort to the woman whom I regarded as, virtually,that man's betrothed wife; and then if you think of me as proceedingstraightway, before I had known her twenty-four hours, to fallhopelessly in love with her myself, you will admit that I had somethingto reproach myself with."

  She was still silent, rather pale and very thoughtful, and she seemed tobreathe more quickly than usual.

  "Of course," I continued, "you may say that it was my own look-out, thatI had only to keep my own counsel, and no one would be any the worse.But there's the mischief of it. How can a man who is thinking of a womanmorning, noon and night; whose heart leaps at the sound of her coming,whose existence is a blank when she is away from him--a blank which hetries to fill by recalling, again and again, all that she has said andthe tones of her voice, and the look that was in her eyes when shespoke--how can he help letting her see, sooner or later, that he caresfor her? And if he does, when he has no right to, there is an end ofduty and chivalry and even common honesty."

  "Yes, I understand now," said Juliet sof
tly. "Is this the way?" Shetripped up the steps leading to Fountain Court and I followedcheerfully. Of course it was not the way, and we both knew it, but theplace was silent and peaceful, and the plane-trees cast a pleasant shadeon the gravelled court. I glanced at her as we walked slowly towards thefountain. The roses were mantling in her cheeks now and her eyes werecast down, but when she lifted them to me for an instant, I saw thatthey were shining and moist.

  "Did you never guess?" I asked.

  "Yes," she replied in a low voice, "I guessed; but--but then," sheadded shyly, "I thought I had guessed wrong."

  We walked on for some little time without speaking again until we cameto the further side of the fountain, where we stood listening to thequiet trickle of the water, and watching the sparrows as they took theirbath on the rim of the basin. A little way off another group of sparrowshad gathered with greedy joy around some fragments of bread that hadbeen scattered abroad by the benevolent Templars, and hard by a moresentimentally-minded pigeon, unmindful of the crumbs and the maraudingsparrows, puffed out his breast and strutted and curtsied before hismate with endearing gurgles.

  Juliet had rested her hand on one of the little posts that support thechain by which the fountain is enclosed and I had laid my hand on hers.Presently she turned her hand over so that mine lay in its palm; and sowe were standing hand-in-hand when an elderly gentleman, of dry andlegal aspect, came up the steps and passed by the fountain. He looked atthe pigeons and then he looked at us, and went his way smiling andshaking his head.

  "Juliet," said I.

  She looked up quickly with sparkling eyes and a frank smile that was yeta little shy, too.

  "Yes."

  "Why did he smile--that old gentleman--when he looked at us?"

  "I can't imagine," she replied mendaciously.

  "It was an approving smile," I said. "I think he was remembering his ownspring-time and giving us his blessing."

  "Perhaps he was," she agreed. "He looked a nice old thing." She gazedfondly at the retreating figure and then turned again to me. Her cheekshad grown pink enough by now, and in one of them a dimple displayeditself to great advantage in its rosy setting.

  "Can you forgive me, dear, for my unutterable folly?" I asked presently,as she glanced up at me again.

  "I am not sure," she answered. "It was dreadfully silly of you."

  "But remember, Juliet, that I loved you with my whole heart--as I loveyou now and shall love you always."

  "I can forgive you anything when you say that," she answered softly.

  Here the voice of the distant Temple clock was heard uttering a politeprotest. With infinite reluctance we turned away from the fountain,which sprinkled us with a parting benediction, and slowly retraced oursteps to Middle Temple Lane and thence into Pump Court.

  "You haven't said it, Juliet," I whispered, as we came through thearchway into the silent, deserted court.

  "Haven't I, dear?" she answered; "but you know it, don't you? You know Ido."

  "Yes, I know," I said; "and that knowledge is all my heart's desire."

  She laid her hand in mine for a moment with a gentle pressure and thendrew it away; and so we passed through into the cloisters.

  THE END