The Lunatic at Large

by J. Storer Clouston

  CHAPTER VI.

  "Two five-pound notes, half-a-sovereign, and seven and sixpence insilver," said Mr Beveridge to himself. "Ah, and a card."

  On the card was written, "From a friend, if you will accept it. A."

  He was standing under the wall, in the secluded walk, holding a littlelady's purse in his hand, and listening to two different footsteps. Onelittle pair of feet were hurrying away on the farther side of the highwall, another and larger were approaching him at a run.

  "Wot's he bin up to now, I wonder," Moggridge panted to himself--for thesecond pair of feet belonged to him. "Shamming nose-bleed and sending mein for an 'andkerchief, and then sneaking off here by 'isself!"

  "What a time you've been," said Mr Beveridge, slipping the purse with itscontents into his pocket. "I was so infernally cold I had to take a littlewalk. Got the handkerchief?"

  In silence and with a suspicious solemnity Moggridge handed him thehandkerchief, and they turned back for the house.

  "Now for a balloon," Mr Beveridge reflected.

  Certainly it was cold. The frost nipped sharp that night, and next morningthere were ice gardens on the windows, and the park lay white all throughthe winter sunshine.

  By evening the private lake was reported to be bearing, and the next dayit hummed under the first skaters. Hardly necessary to say Mr Beveridgewas among the earliest of them, or that he was at once the object ofgeneral admiration and envy. He traced "vines" and "Q's," and performedwonderful feats on one leg all morning. At lunch he was in the best ofspirits, and was off again at once to the ice.

  When he reached the lake in the afternoon the first person he spied wasLady Alicia, and five minutes afterwards they were sailing off togetherhand in hand.

  "I knew you would come to-day," he remarked.

  "How _could_ you have known? It was by the merest chance I happened tocome."

  "It has always been by the merest chance that any of them have ever come."

  "Who have ever come?" she inquired, with a vague feeling that he had saidsomething he ought not to have, and that she was doing the same.

  "Many things," he smiled, "including purses. Which reminds me that I ameternally your debtor."

  She blushed and said, "I hope you didn't mind."

  "Not much," he answered, candidly. "In my present circumstances afive-pound note is more acceptable than a caress."

  The Lady Alicia again remembered the maidenly proprieties, and tried tochange the subject.

  "What beautiful ice!" she said.

  "The question now is," he continued, paying no heed to this diversion,"what am I to do next?"

  "What do you mean?" she asked a little faintly, realising dimly that shewas being regarded as a fellow-conspirator in some unlawful project.

  "The wall is high, there is bottle-glass on the top, and I shall find ithard to bring away a fresh pair of trousers, and probably draughty if Idon't. The gates are always kept closed, and it isn't worth any one'swhile to open them for L10, 17s. 6d., less the price of a first-classticket up to town. What are we to do?"

  "We?" she gasped.

  "You and I," he explained.

  "But--but I can't _possibly_ do anything."

  " 'Can't possibly' is a phrase I have learned to misunderstand."

  "Really, Mr Beveridge, I mustn't do anything."

  "Mustn't is an invariable preface to a sin. Never use it; it's atemptation in itself."

  "It wouldn't be right," she said, with quite a show of firmness.

  He looked at her a little curiously. For a moment he almost seemedpuzzled. Then he pressed her hand and asked tenderly, "Why not?"

  And in a half-audible aside he added, "That's the correct move, I think."

  "What did you say?" she asked.

  "I said, 'Why not?' " he answered, with increasing tenderness.

  "But you said something else."

  "I added a brief prayer for pity."

  Lady Alicia sighed and repeated a little less firmly. "It wouldn't beright of me, Mr Beveridge."

  "But what would be wrong?"

  This was said with even more fervour.

  "My conscience--we are very particular, you know."

  "Who are 'we'?"

  "Papa is _very_ strict High Church."

  An idea seemed to strike Mr Beveridge, for he ruminated in silence.

  "I asked Mr Candles--our curate, you know," Lady Alicia continued, with aheroic effort to make her position clear.

  "You told him!" he exclaimed.

  "Oh, I didn't say who it was--I mean what it was I thought of doing--I meanthe temptation--that is, the possibility. And he said it was very kind ofme to think of it; but I mustn't do anything, and he advised me to read abook he gave me, and--and I mustn't think of it, really, Mr Beveridge."

  To himself Mr Beveridge repeated under his breath, "Archbishops, bishops,deacons, curates, fast in Lent, and an anthem after the Creed. I think Iremember enough to pass."

  Then he assumed a very serious face, and said aloud, "Your scruples doyour heart credit. They have given me an insight into your deep and sweetcharacter, which emboldens me to make a confession."

  He stopped skating, folded his arms, and continued unblushingly, "I waseducated for the Church, but the prejudices of my parents, the immaturescepticism of youth, and some uncertainty about obtaining myarchbishopric, induced me in an unfortunate moment, which I never ceasedto bitterly regret, to quit my orders."

  "You are in orders?" she exclaimed.

  "I was in several. I cancelled them, and entered the Navy instead."

  "The Navy?" she asked, excusably bewildered by these rapid changes ofoccupation.

  "For five years I was never ashore."

  "But," she hesitated--"but you said you were in the Army."

  Mr Beveridge gave her a look full of benignant compassion that made her,she did not quite know why, feel terribly abashed.

  "My regiment was quartered at sea," he condescended to explain. "But intime my conscience awoke. I announced my intention of resuming my charge.My uncle was furious. My enemies were many. I was seized, thrown into thisprison-house, and now my only friend fails me."

  They were both silent. She ventured once to glance up at his face, and itseemed to her that his eyes were moist--though perhaps it was that her ownwere a little dim.

  "Let us skate on," he said abruptly, with a fine air of resignation.

  "By the way," he suddenly added, "I was extremely High Church, in factalmost freezingly high."

  For five minutes they skated in silence, then Lady Alicia began softly,"Supposing you--you went away----"

  "What is the use of talking of it?" he exclaimed, melodramatically. "Letme forget my short-lived hopes!"

  "You _have_ a friend," she said, slowly.

  "A friend who tantalises me by 'supposings'!"

  "But supposing you did, Mr Beveridge, would you go back to your--did yousay you had a parish?"

  "I had: a large, populous, and happy parish. It is my one dream to sitonce more on its council and direct my curate."

  "Of course that makes a difference. Mr Candles didn't know all this."

  They had come by this time to the corner of a little island that lay notfar from the shore; in the channel ahead a board labelled "Danger" markeda hidden spring; behind them the shining ice was almost bare of skaters,for all but Dr Escott seemed to be leaving; on the bank they could seeMoggridge prowling about in the gathering dusk, a vigilant reminder ofcaptivity. Mr Beveridge took the whole scene in with, it is to be feared,a militant rather than an episcopal eye. Then he suddenly asked, "Are youalone?"

  "Yes."

  "You drive back?"

  "Ye--es."

  He took out his watch and made a brief calculation.

  "Go now, call at Clankwood or do anything else you like, and pass down thedrive again at a quarter to five."

  This sudden pinning of her irresolution almost took Lady Alicia's breathaway.

  "But I never sa
id----" she began.

  "My dear friend," he interrupted, "in the hour of action only a fool eversays. Come on."

  And while she still hesitated they were off again.

  "But----" she tried to expostulate.

  "My dearest friend," he whispered, "and my dear old vicarage!"

  He gave her no time to protest. Her skates were off, she was on her way toher carriage, and he was striking out again for the middle of the lakebefore she had time to collect her wits.

  He took out his watch and looked at the time. It was nearly a quarter-pastfour. Then he came up to Escott, who by this time was the only other soulon the ice.

  "About time we were going in," said Escott.

  "Give me half-an-hour more. I'll show you how to do that vine youadmired."

  "All right," assented the doctor.

  A minute or two later Mr Beveridge, as if struck by a sudden reflection,exclaimed, "By Jove, there's that poor devil Moggridge freezing to deathon shore. Can't you manage to look after so dangerous a lunatic yourself?It is his tea-time, too."

  "Hallo, so he is," replied Escott; "I'll send him up."

  And so there were only left the two men on the ice.

  For a little the lesson went on, and presently, leaving the doctor topractise, Mr Beveridge skated away by himself. He first paused opposite aseat on the bank over which hung Dr Escott's great fur coat. Thisspectacle appeared to afford him peculiar pleasure. Then he looked at hiswatch. It was half-past four. He shut the watch with a click, threw aglance at his pupil, and struck out for the island. If the doctor had beenlooking, he might have seen him round it in the gloaming.

  Dr Escott, leaning far on his outside edge, met him as he returned.

  "What's that under your coat?" he asked.

  "A picture I intend to ask your opinion on presently," replied MrBeveridge; and he added, with his most charming air, "But now, before wego in, let me give you a ride on one of these chairs, doctor."

  They started off, the pace growing faster and faster, and presently DrEscott saw that they were going behind the island.

  "Look out for the spring!" he cried.

  "It must be bearing now," replied Mr Beveridge, striking out harder thanever; "they have taken away the board."

  "All right," said the doctor, "on you go."

  As he spoke he felt a violent push, and the chair, slewing round as itwent, flew on its course unguided. Mr Beveridge's skates rasped on the icewith a spray of white powder as he stopped himself suddenly. Ahead of himthere was a rending crack, and Dr Escott and his chair disappeared. MrBeveridge laughed cheerfully, and taking from under his coat a board withthe legend "Danger" printed in large characters across its face, he placedit beside the jagged hole.

  "Here is the picture, doctor," he said, as a dripping, gasping head cameup for the second time. "I must ask a thousand pardons for this--shall Isay, liberty? But, as you know, I'm off my head. Good night. Let merecommend a hot drink when you come out. There are only five feet ofwater, so you won't drown." And with that he skated rapidly away.

  Escott had a glimpse of him vanishing round the corner of the island, andthen the ice broke again, and down he went. Four, five, six times he madea desperate effort to get out, and every time the thin ice tore under hishands, and he slipped back again. By the seventh attempt he had broken hisway to the thicker sheet; he got one leg up, slipped, got it up again, andat last, half numbed and wholly breathless, he was crawling circumspectlyaway. When at last he ventured to rise to his feet, he skated with all thespeed he could make to the seat where he had left his coat. A pair ofskates lay there instead, but the coat had vanished. Dr Escott'sphilosophical estimate of Mr Beveridge became considerably modified.

  "Thank the Lord, he can't get out of the grounds," he said to himself;"what a dangerous devil he is! But he'll be sorry for this performance, orI'm mistaken."

  When he arrived at the house his first inquiries were for his tutor in theart of vine-cutting, and he was rather surprised to hear that he had notyet returned, for he only imagined himself the victim of a peculiarlyill-timed practical joke.

  Men with lanterns were sent out to search the park; and still there was nosign of Mr Beveridge. Inquiries were made at the lodge, but the gatekeepercould swear that only a single carriage had passed through. Dr Congletonrefused at first to believe that he could possibly have got out.

  "Our arrangements are perfect,--the thing's absurd," he said, peremptorily.

  "That there man, sir," replied Moggridge, who had been summoned, "is theslipperiest customer as ever I seed. 'E's hout, sir, I believe."

  "We might at least try the stations," suggested Escott, who had by thistime changed, and indulged in the hot drink recommended.

  The doctor began to be a little shaken.

  "Well, well," said he, "I'll send a man to each of the three stationswithin walking distance; and whether he's out or in, we'll have him byto-morrow morning. I've always taken care that he had no money in hispockets."

  But what is a doctor's care against a woman's heart? For many to-morrowsClankwood had to lament the loss of the gifted Francis Beveridge.