In Friendship's Guise

by William Murray Graydon

  CHAPTER XXV.

  A FRUITLESS ERRAND.

  The merest trifles often have far-reaching results, and Jack's carelessdecision, prompted by a hungry stomach, made him the puppet of fate. Thecrossing at Blackfriars station is the most dangerous in London, and hedid not reach the other side without much delay and several narrowescapes. It was a shoulder-and-elbow fight to the mouth of the dingylittle court in which is the noted hostelry he sought, and thencompensation and a haven of rest--the dining-room of the "CheshireCheese!" Here there was no trace of the fog, and the rumble of wheelswas hushed to a soothing murmur. An old-world air pervaded the place,with its low ceiling and sawdust-sprinkled floor, its well-worn benchesand tables and paneling. The engravings on the walls added to the charm,and the head waiter might have stepped from a page of Dickens. Savorysmells abounded, and the kettle rested on the hob over the bigfireplace, to the right of which Doctor Johnson's favorite seat spokeeloquently of the great lexicographer, who in time past was wont toforegather here with his friends.

  Jack was too hungry to be sentimental. He sat down in one of thehigh-backed compartments, and, glancing indifferently at a man sittingopposite to him, he recognized the editor of the _Illustrated Universe_.

  "By Jove!" Hunston cried, in surprise, "you're the very chap I want tosee. Where have you been hiding yourself, Vernon? I searched for youhigh and low."

  "I've not been out of town," said Jack. "I intended to look you up, orto send my address, but one thing and another interfered--"

  "Yes, I understand," Hunston interrupted. "London is fresh to a man whohas just come back from India. I hope you've had your fling, and areready to do some work."

  "As soon as you like," Jack replied.

  "I'm glad to hear it--I was afraid you had given me the slip altogether.I want some of your sketches enlarged to double-page drawings, and I amthinking of issuing a photographic album of the snap-shots you took onthe frontier."

  "That's not a bad idea. I'll come in to-morrow."

  "I'll expect you, then. You haven't a studio at present?"

  "No."

  "Well, I can give you a room on the premises to work in. By the bye,there is a letter for you at the office. It came this morning."

  "I'll get it to-morrow. I don't suppose it's important."

  "It is in a woman's handwriting," said Hunston, with a smile.

  "A woman?" exclaimed Jack. "Where does it come from--England or abroad?"

  "London postmark," was the reply.

  Jack changed color, and a lump seemed to rise in his throat.

  "It must be from Madge," he thought. "But why would she write to me?"

  "If you would like the letter to-night--" Hunston went on.

  "If it's no trouble," Jack replied, eagerly.

  "None whatever. I must go back to the office, anyway."

  Jack was impatient to start, and he no longer felt hungry. He ordereda light supper, however, and ate it hurriedly. He finished at the sametime as Hunston, and they left the "Cheese" and plunged into the outerfog and crowds. A short walk brought them to the _Universe_ building,which was just closing its doors to the public. Hunston turned up thegas in his office.

  "Here you are," he said, taking a letter from a pigeon-hole over thedesk.

  Jack looked at it sharply, and disappointment banished hope. He scowledsavagely, and an half-audible oath slipped from his lips. He hadrecognized Diane's peculiar penmanship. She was in London, contraryto promise, and had dared to write to him.

  "Sit down," said Hunston. "Have a cigar?"

  "No; I'm off," Jack answered dully, as he thrust the letter into hispocket unopened.

  Hunston regarded him anxiously.

  "Ill see you to-morrow?" he asked. "You know it's rather important, andI'll want one of the double pages by next Wednesday."

  "I'll turn up," Jack promised, in an absent tone.

  With that he hastened away, and as he trod the Strand his brain was in aconfused whirl, and he was oblivious of the frothing life about him. Hegroped across Waterloo Bridge in the fog, and looked wistfully towardthe black river. He did not care to read the letter yet. It was enoughfor the present to know that his wife had broken her word and returnedto London, doubtless with the intention of demanding more money. Hevowed that she should not have a penny. Fierce anger and resentment rosein his heart as he remembered, with anguish as keen as it had ever been,the blow Diane had dealt him.

  "I will show her no mercy," he resolved.

  In the privacy of his room, when he had locked the door and lighted thegas, he took out the letter. His face was dark and scowling as he toreit open, and read the few lines that it contained:

  "DEAR JACK:--You will fly into a passion when you find that I am inLondon, but you won't blame me when you learn the reasons that havebrought me back. I knew that you had returned from India, and I wantto see you. Not having your address, I am sending the letter to the_Universe_ office, and I hope it will be delivered to you promptly. Willyou come to 324 Beak street, at half-past eight to-morrow night? Thestreet door will be open. Go to the top of the stairs, and knock at thefirst door on the left. Do not fear that I shall ask for money, or makeother demands. I have much to tell you, of the greatest importance toyour future happiness. If you do not come you will regret it all yourlife. I will expect you. DIANE."

  With a bitter laugh Jack flung the letter on a table. It was not writtenin French, for Diane was herself of English birth, though of her historybefore she came to Paris her husband was ignorant; she had never spokento him of her earlier years, nor had he questioned her about them.

  "Does she think I am a fool, to be taken in so easily?" he said tohimself. "It is a lie--a trick! Money is her game, of course. She wantsto decoy me to her lodgings, and hopes to make me yield by threats ofexposure. And yet she writes with a ring of sincerity--something likeher old self in the first days of our marriage. Bah! it is only hercunning."

  He read the letter again, and pondered it.

  "It was written yesterday," he muttered. "The appointment is forto-night. What could she possibly have to tell me that concerns myfuture happiness? Nothing! And yet, if she should really beremorseful--By Jove! I _will_ go! It can do no harm. But if I find thatshe has deceived me, and is playing the old game, by heavens! I'll--"

  Passion choked his utterance, and he concluded the sentence with amental threat. He suddenly remembered that he had promised to meet SirLucius Chesney at eight o'clock that night.

  "I can't do it," he thought. "I'm not fit to talk to any man in thismood. And he would probably detain me more than half an hour. No, I'llwrite a short note to Sir Lucius, putting off the engagement, and leaveit at Morley's."

  Whether his decision was a wise one or not, was a question that Jack didnot attempt to analyze. He proceeded to carry his plans into effect. Itwas then seven o'clock, and it took him twenty minutes to write the noteto Sir Lucius and exchange his borrowed clothes for a dark suit of hisown. He put Diane's letter into a side pocket, so that he might be sureof the address, and then left the house. He did not take a cab,preferring to walk.

  He handed the note in at Morley's Hotel, and steered across Trafalgarsquare. At the top of the Haymarket, to his chagrin, he encounteredJimmie Drexell, who urged him to have a drink at Scott's; he could notwell refuse, as it was nearly a fortnight since they had met.

  A quarter of an hour slipped by. Jimmie asked a great many questions,but Jack was preoccupied and uneasy, and scarcely answered them. Hefinally tore himself away on the plea of an urgent engagement, andpromised to call at the Albany the next day; he was reluctant to confidein his friend. A distant clock was striking eight-thirty as he turned upthe Quadrant.

  Regent street was noisy and crowded, but Beak street was gloomy andmisty, depressing and lonely, in contrast. Jack found the right number,and as he hesitated before the house--the door of which was partlyopen--a man came abruptly out. He was tall and slim, dressed in darkclothes, and with a soft hat that concealed all of his features exceptan
aquiline nose and a black beard and mustache. He stared hard at Jackfor an instant, then strode rapidly off to the eastward and was lost inthe fog.

  "A foreigner, from his actions," thought Jack.

  He pushed the door open, and mounted a steep and narrow staircase.Reaching the first landing, he saw a door on his left. At the bottoma faint streak of light was visible, but his low rapping brought noresponse. He rapped again--three times, and each louder--but with thesame result.

  "No use to keep this up," he concluded, vexatiously. "I am a few minuteslate, and she has gone out, thinking that I would not come. There is nomistake about the room. I won't wait--I'll write to her to-morrow, andgive her twenty-four hours to get out of London."

  He went slowly down the dark stairs, and as he stepped into the streethe brushed against a stout, elderly woman. With a muttered apology, hemoved aside. The woman turned and looked after him sharply for aninstant, then entered the house and closed the door.

  Jack thought nothing of the incident. How to put in the evening wasthe question that concerned him. He was walking undecidedly down theQuadrant when he saw approaching an artist friend whom he did not careto meet. On the impulse of the moment he darted across the street,narrowly missing the wheels of a hansom, and in front of the Cafe Royalhe ran into the arms of Victor Nevill.

  "Hello, old chap; you _are_ in a hurry!" cried Nevill. "What's up now?Seen my uncle?"

  Jack was flushed and breathless.

  "No; I couldn't manage it," he panted. "I left a note at Morley's forhim. I had to make a call--party wasn't at home."

  "Where are you bound for? Morley's?"

  "No; it's too late. Shall we have some refreshment?"

  "Sorry, but I can't," replied Nevill. "I'm going to a reception. Willyou come to my rooms at eleven?"

  "Yes, if I'm not too far away. But don't count on me. Good-night, incase I don't see you again."

  "Good-night," echoed Nevill.

  As he looked after Jack, the latter pulled out his handkerchief,and a white object fluttered from it to the pavement. He walked on,unconscious of its loss. Nevill hurried to the spot, and picked upa letter.

  "A woman's!" he muttered, as he thrust it quickly into his pocket. "Andthe writing seems familiar. I'll examine this when I get a chance.Everything is fair in the game I am playing."

  Jack wandered irresolutely to Piccadilly Circus, seeking distraction.In the American bar at the St. James' he met a man named Ingram, whosuggested that they should go to see a mutual friend--an artist--wholived in Bedford Park. Jack agreed, and they drove in a cab. They founda lot of other men they knew at the studio, and whisky and tobacco madethe hours fly. They left at two o'clock in the morning--a convivialparty of five--and they had to walk to Hammersmith before they picked upa hansom. They dropped off one by one, and Jack was the only occupantwhen he reached Sloane street. It was long past four when the cab puthim down at his lodgings on the Surrey side.