The Soul Stealer

by Guy Thorne

  CHAPTER VI

  "WILL YOU WALK INTO MY PARLOUR?"

  Mr. Eustace Charliewood's chambers were in Jermyn Street. But few of hismany friends had ever seen the interior of them. Such entertaining asthe man about town did--and he was always one of those who wereentertained, rather than one of those who offer hospitality--was done athis club.

  The man who looked after the place and valeted his master was thereforethe more surprised when Charliewood had called him up one morning afterbreakfast.

  "Look here, William," Charliewood had said, "I've got a gentleman comingto dinner. We've some business to talk over, so I shan't dine him at theclub. I suppose you can manage a little dinner here?"

  "Certainly, sir, if necessary," the man answered. "Of course you're notin the habit of dining at home, and you've not got your own things. Thatis if you mean a proper little dinner, sir."

  "I do, I do, William," his master answered hurriedly.

  "But, there, that needn't matter," the man answered, "we can haveeverything in if you like, sir."

  "That will be best," Charliewood answered. "I leave everything to you,William. Except," he added as an afterthought, "the menu. I want a smalldinner, William, but quite good. Shall we say a little _bisque_ for thesoup? Then perhaps a small Normandy sole. Afterwards a chicken cooked_en casserole_. As an _entree_ some white truffles stewed inSillery--you can get them in glass jars from Falkland & Masons--and thena morsel of Brie and some coffee. That will do, I think."

  "And about the wine, sir?" said William, astonished at theseunaccustomed preparations, and inwardly resolving that Mr. EustaceCharliewood had discovered a very brightly plumed pigeon to pluck.

  "Oh, about the wine! Well, I think I'll see to that myself. I'll have itsent up from the club. You've an ice-pail for the champagne, haven'tyou, William?"

  "Yes, sir, we certainly have _that_."

  "Very good then. We'll say at eight then."

  William bowed and withdrew.

  All that day the various members of this or that fast and exclusiveclub round about St. James's Street, noticed that Eustace Charliewoodwas out of form. His conversation and his greetings were not soimperturbably cheerful and suave as usual. He took no interest in theabsorbing question as to whether young Harry Rayke--the Earl of Spaydes'son--would after all propose to Lithia Varallette, the well-knownmusical comedy girl. The head waiter of the Baobab Club noticed Mr.Charliewood was off his food, and everybody with whom the man about towncame in contact said that "Richard was by no means himself."

  As the evening drew on, a dark, foggy evening, which promised as nightcame to be darker and foggier still, Charliewood's agitation increased,though just now there was no one to see it.

  He walked down St. James's Street, past Marlborough House, and brisklypromenaded the wide and splendid avenue which now exists in front ofBuckingham Palace. The fog made him cough, the raw air was mostunpleasant, and it was no hour for exercise. But, despite the cold andmisery of it all, Charliewood continued his tramp backwards andforwards.

  When he returned to his chambers in Jermyn Street, about seven o'clock,he found that his clothes were wet with perspiration, and only a hotbath before dressing for dinner and a couple of bromide tabloids in awine-glass full of milk seemed to bring him back to his ordinarycondition.

  When, however, he went into his little dining-room, to all outwardappearances he was the usual Eustace Charliewood of the pavements andclub-rooms of the West End.

  The room was comfortable. A bright fire glowed upon the hearth, shiningupon the high-class sporting prints, the subdued wall-paper, thecomfortable padded chairs, and the shelves loaded with bachelornick-nacks and sporting trophies of his youth.

  In one corner was a little round table set for two, gleaming with glassand silver and lit by electric lights covered with crimson shades.

  It was all very warm and inviting. He looked round it with satisfactionfor a moment.

  Then, suddenly, as he stood on the hearth-rug, he put his plump, whitehand with the heavy seal ring upon it, up to his throat. The apple movedup and down convulsively, and for a single moment the whole being of theman was filled with overmastering fear of the future and horror andloathing for himself.

  The spasm passed as quickly as it came, the drug he had taken assertedits grip upon the twitching nerves, the man whose whole life wasdiscreet adventure, who was a soldier of social fortune, who dailyfaced perils, became once more himself.

  That is to say, to put it in two words, his better angel, who had heldpossession of him for a moment, fled sorrowfully away, while theespecial spirit deputed to look after the other side of him happened tochance that way, and remembering he had often found a hospitablereception from Mr. Eustace Charliewood, looked in, found his oldquarters duly swept and garnished, and settled down.

  Charliewood's rooms were on the ground floor. In a minute or two, it wasabout a quarter to eight, he heard someone upon the steps outside, inJermyn Street, and then the electric bell whirr down below in thekitchen.

  He rushed out into the hall. It generally took William some time tomount from the lower regions, which were deep in the bowels of theearth, and no doubt Mr. Charliewood kindly desired to spare the butlerthe trouble of opening the door.

  So, at least, William thought, as he mounted the kitchen stairs and cameout into the hall to find Mr. Charliewood already helping his guest offwith his coat and showing him into the dining-room. William did not knowthat there were any special reasons in Mr. Charliewood's mind for nothaving his guest's name announced and possibly remembered by theservant.

  "Well, my dear Rathbone, how are you?" Charliewood said, and no facecould have been kinder or more inviting and pleasant to see than theface of the host. "Awfully good of you to come and take me like this,but I thought we should be more comfortable here than at the Club. Thereare one or two things I want to talk over. I'll do you as well as I can,but I can't answer for anything. You must take pot luck!"

  Guy Rathbone looked round the charming room and laughed--a full-blooded,happy laugh.

  "I wish you could see my chambers in the Temple," he said. "But youfellows who live up this end do yourselves so jolly well!"

  "I suppose one does overdo it," Charliewood answered, "in the way oflittle comforts and things. It's a mistake, no doubt, but one gets usedto it and was brought up to it, and so just goes on, dependent uponthings that a sensible man could easily do without. Now, sit down andhave a sherry and bitters. Dinner will be up in a minute. And try one ofthese cigarettes. It's a bad plan to smoke before dinner, I know, as arule, but these little things just go with the sherry and bitters, andthey are special. I get them over from Rio. They're made of blackBrazilian tobacco, as you see; they're only half as long as your finger,and instead of being wrapped in filthy, poisonous rice paper, they'recovered with maize leaves."

  Rathbone sank into the luxurious chair which his host pointed out tohim, took the sherry, in its heavily cut glass, and lit one of thecigarettes. He stretched out his feet towards the fire and enjoyed amoment of intense physical ease. The flames and the shaded electriclights shone upon his fine and happy face, twinkled upon the stud in hisshirt front, and showed him for what he was at that moment--a younggentleman intensely enjoying everything that life had to give.

  In a moment or two more dinner was served.

  "You needn't wait, William," Charliewood said, as they sat down to the_hors d'oeuvre_. "Just put the soup on and I'll ring when we're ready."

  "So good of you to ask me," Rathbone said. "I should have gone to theOxford and Cambridge Club, had a beef-steak, looked at the eveningpapers, and then returned to chambers to write letters. Rather a dismalproceeding on a night like this!"

  "Hadn't you anything on to-night, then?" Charliewood asked carelessly.

  "Not a single thing," Rathbone answered. "I've been cutting all myengagements during the last week or two, telling people I was going outof town. I've got a special reason for working very hard just now."

  Charliewood
started, and a slight gleam came into his eyes.

  "Good idea, that!" he said, "telling people you're going out of townwhen you want to be quiet for a week or two!"

  "It is," Rathbone replied. "At most of the houses I'm in the habit ofgoing to just now every one thinks I'm away. I've been living the lifeof a recluse, as far as society goes."

  Charliewood slightly lifted a glass of Pol Roger.

  "Here's success to the work, my dear boy," he said jovially. "And Icongratulate myself on the odd accident which brought us together. Andof course I don't know you very well, Rathbone, and I am sure I shouldhate to be impertinent in any way. But still, as you know, I go abouteverywhere, and one can't help hearing things. And, besides, I'm in aspecial position in regard to a certain matter, too. Here's my best wishfor your happiness in the future, in another way!"

  He looked straight into the young man's eyes as he said this, and as hedid so Rathbone, whose glass was lifted in response, began to colouruntil his whole face became crimson.

  "I haven't offended you?" Charliewood said quickly.

  "Oh--er--not a bit, of course," Rathbone answered with manifestuneasiness. "But I didn't know that anything had got about. I didn'tknow that you knew. Oh, confound it," he concluded, "I don't want totalk about my own affairs; I----Hang it all, Charliewood, tell mestraight out what you mean."

  "I repeat," Charliewood answered, "that I haven't known you very long,and therefore I am very chary of in any way infringing the naturalreticence that should be between men in our position. Still, you knowwho I am; everybody knows all about me, and I should like you to believethat I am really a friend."

  As he said this, though his face was full of frankness and kindlinessonce more, Charliewood felt that sick loathing of himself he hadexperienced just before his guest had arrived. There was a throbbing athis temples, his throat felt as if it were packed with warm flour. Hehurriedly gulped down some champagne and went on. "Everybody knows bythis time," he said in a quiet voice, "that--that--well, old chap, thatthere has been a sort of set to partners and a change in certainquarters."

  At that moment William appeared with the fish, Charliewood having rungfor him at the psychological moment, knowing that the little interludewould give his guest time to collect his thoughts.

  When the man had once more left the room, Rathbone, who had been bitinghis lips in perplexity and drumming upon the table with his fingers,bent towards his host.

  "I see you know all about it," he said; "and, upon my word, if you'd letme, I should like to talk things over with you from one point of view."

  "My dear Rathbone," Charliewood replied, "say nothing whatever to meunless you like, but understand that what you did say would be said inabsolute confidence, and that if the experience of a man older in sociallife, and accustomed to all its vagaries, can help you, I give it to youwith all my heart."

  "Now I call that very good of you, Charliewood," the young man answered."I'll tell you straight out, what you probably already know, and I'llask you for a hint as to what I ought to do. Miss Poole"--he mentionedthe name with obvious reluctance--"has found that she made an--er, well,a sort of mistake in her affections. I have no doubt it's all overLondon that she's written to Sir William Gouldesbrough telling him so."

  "Throwing him over, in fact," Charliewood said.

  "If you like to put it so," the other answered, "and of course that isjust what it amounts to."

  "Well then?" Charliewood said.

  "I feel in a sort of way that I've done an awfully caddish thing,"Rathbone went on. "Fortunately, I am not in Gouldesbrough's set. I don'tknow him at all. At the same time it's awfully bad form to make love toa girl who's engaged to any one else. And that, unconsciously, is justwhat I seem to have been doing for a very long time. But, believe me,"he concluded with a singular simplicity and boyishness, "I reallycouldn't help it."

  Charliewood laughed a little and then sighed to himself.

  "I quite understand," he said; "these things do and will happen, and itwasn't your fault at all. But I do think it's very wrong if a girl whofinds that she has made a mistake doesn't put it right before it becomesunavoidable."

  "Do you really?" Rathbone cried. "Well, do you know, that's just mypoint of view, and it relieves me to hear you say so."

  "And do you know," Charliewood replied, "that I'm probably the mostintimate friend William Gouldesbrough has in the world?"

  Rathbone started. "Good Lord!" he said. "Then--what--then--why? And youreally mean that you can be friends with me?"

  "That's just what I do mean," Charliewood answered; "and now we've gotto the point, I will tell you frankly that though our meeting was a pureaccident in the first place, I am awfully glad that we did meet and thatyou are here to-night. I have talked the whole matter over with poordear Sir William a good deal lately. He has done me the honour to makeme his confidant in the matter. Two or three days ago I mentioned that Iknew you."

  "What did he say?" Rathbone asked quickly.

  "I can't tell you his words," Charliewood answered, "but I can tell youtheir purpose. And it was a wonderful revelation to me of the strengthand beauty of my old friend's character. He's a fine fellow, Rathbone,and when you know him you'll say so too."

  "Know him?" Rathbone said. "My dear Charliewood, surely you see thatit's impossible that I should meet a man to whom I have unconsciouslydone such a great injury."

  "Ah," Charliewood answered, "you don't know William. It is just thepossibility which makes his character so fine. Practically, what he saidto me was this. 'You know this young fellow, Eustace. Is he a decentsort of man? A gentleman in ideas, as well as in position, clean livingand all that?' 'As far as I know,' I answered, 'he's just so in everyway.'"

  Once more Rathbone coloured up to the eyes.

  Charliewood went on.

  "Then William unburdened himself to me fully. 'I only want MarjoriePoole to be happy,' he said, 'and when the proper time arrives I shalljust write and tell her so. I was fond of her, deeply fond of her; whatman would not be? I thought if she cared for me that she would be aworthy mistress of my house, and an ideal partner to share my fortuneand the position I have won. But I am much older than she is. I amimmersed, as you know, in grave, scientific pursuits, and I quiterealize that I could not give her what as a young girl she has a rightto expect. I don't say that I relinquish my claim upon her without apang, but I have other interests, and my wife and love could in any caseonly be a part of my life. Do you know what I should like to do morethan anything else, Eustace?' 'What?' I said. 'Why,' he continued, 'tomeet this young Mr. Rathbone. To tell him all that I am telling you,perfectly frankly, to shake him by the hand, and, by Jove, to be thebest man at his wedding, if he'd let me. Then I shall get back to myinventions with a quiet mind, knowing that the only girl who has evertouched me in the least degree is safe and happy.'"

  Rathbone pushed back his chair and jumped up.

  "Why, heavens," he said, "what a noble fellow! There's a _man_, if youlike. I can quite see it all, Charliewood, and you've relieved my mindof a tremendous weight. I can see it all quite distinctly. One of themost distinguished and charming men of the day sees a beautiful andintellectual girl and thinks the time has come when he must marry. Ofcourse, he can't really know what _love_ is, like a younger man or a manwho has not made his mark in the world. He can't feel what I feel, forinstance. And so he bows to the inevitable, and in the kindest and mostchivalrous way wants to make every one happy. Charliewood! It's justlike a story-book!"

  "I don't read 'em myself much, the papers do for me. But, 'pon my soul,since you put it in that way, so it is."

  Mr. Charliewood quite forgot to add what sort of story-book. Even themost popular novels of to-day don't always have the traditional happyending.

  "Sit down, old fellow," Charliewood said with great kindness. "Youmustn't miss this chicken, it is a rather special dish, and I'm going toring for William."

  "Oh, hang chicken!" Rathbone answered, his face glowing.

  "Neve
r abuse your dinner," Charliewood answered. "Only people who arenot able to dine do that. You never know when you may dine again."

  As he said this the wicked exhilaration at having successfully playedwith sure and dexterous fingers upon this young and impressionablenature flowed over the older man. An evil joy in his own powers came tohim--a devilish satisfaction in his knowledge of the horrid future. Fora moment the Tenant who had lately taken up his abode within Mr. EustaceCharliewood was looking out of his host's eye.

  Rathbone laughed carelessly. Then, after the waiter had once moreentered and left the room, he bent over the table and began to speakmore earnestly.

  "I suspect," he said, "that I owe you a great deal in this matter,Charliewood, more than you would care to confess. Now tell me, don't I?"

  Charliewood waved his hand.

  "Oh, we won't go into that part of the question," he said. "But there'sjust one thing I would like to say. Your feeling in the matter has beenquite splendid, Rathbone. I admire you for the way you have felt andspoken since you have been telling me about your engagement, from firstto last. Such a lot of men would have congratulated themselves uponwinning the girl away from the other fellow without a thought of whatthe other fellow would feel. Now look here, I do think you owe Williamthis much reparation----"

  "Anything in the world I can do----" Rathbone was beginning.

  "Well, there's one thing you can do," Charliewood answered, "you cansatisfy him that you're the sort of man to whom he would care tosurrender Miss Poole. He is willing and anxious to make friends withyou. In fact, I know he is most anxious to meet you. I admit that it maybe rather an awkward meeting for you, but I think that you owe it tohim, considering the way in which he regards the whole affair."

  "Of course I will meet him," Rathbone answered. "I shall be proud tomeet a man like that. Any time you like."

  "Well, I don't want to press things, Rathbone; but, personally, I shouldsay there was no time like the present. We are sure to findGouldesbrough in to-night after dinner. Suppose we walk up to Regent'sPark and call on him. I know you will be received in the kindest way, ina way you never suspected before we talked the matter over."

  "We'll do it," Rathbone answered, "and I shall leave his house to-nightfeeling a great burden has been removed from me."

  Charliewood made no answer to this last remark but merely pushed thechampagne-bottle over to his guest.

  * * * * *

  An hour afterwards the two men, both with the astrachan coats whichbrought them so curiously together turned up about their ears, werewalking briskly towards Oxford Street. The fog was very heavy and fewpeople were about, though Charliewood said he knew exactly how to findthe way.

  "You needn't worry," he said, "we'll go up Portland Place, and I canfind Sir William's house without the least trouble. In fact, I think itwould be a mistake to take a hansom on a night like this. The roads arehorribly greasy. You can't see the lights of any vehicle a few yardsahead, and we're just as likely to be run into as not. Of course, ifyou'd rather ride----"

  "Not a bit," Rathbone answered, "exercise will do me good, and I shallfeel calmer and more prepared for the interview. I'm not a sybarite likeyou are, and after a dinner like you've given me I should not be nearlyin such good form unless I did have a walk."

  "Right oh!" Charliewood replied; "then come along. We will walk fast tokeep warm."

  They went on, neither talking much, because of the thick fog that stungthe nostrils and the eyes and poured down the throat when the mouth wasopened.

  In about three-quarters of an hour they had passed up Portland Place,turned to the left and were drawing near the house they sought.

  "It's not very far now," Charliewood said.

  He shook as he said so, and his voice had a very muffled sound.

  "Don't you talk, old fellow," Rathbone answered. "I can see you're cold,and this fog plays the deuce with the lungs. Do keep quiet; there's noneed to say anything. I'll follow where you lead."

  They stood at last before the little door in the high wall of SirWilliam Gouldesbrough's house.

  In the distance the faint rumble of London came to their ears, but therewas not a soul about. Nobody saw them as Charliewood opened the doorwith a pass-key, explaining to Rathbone that Sir William had given himthe key in order to save the servants coming through the garden.

  "I'm always in and out of the house," he explained, still with the coldand fog in his voice.

  They opened the door, and it clicked behind them.

  Rathbone brushed against some laurel bushes.

  "I say," he said, "how dark it is here! You must conduct me,Charliewood, up this path. Let me take your arm."

  He took his friend's arm, noticing with wonder how the cold seemed tohave penetrated the bones of his host; for the big man's whole body wastrembling.

  The gravel crunched beneath their feet as they walked for thirty yardsor so. Then Rathbone saw a dim light above his head. It was the lampwhich hung in the porch. His feet knocked against the step.

  "Here we are," Charliewood said; "six steps, and then the front door."

  Once more Charliewood produced a key, opened the massive door of thehall, and entered with his friend.

  "Take off your coat," he said, as Rathbone looked round wonderingly atthe big, gloomy and dimly-lit place. "This is rather miserable, butGouldesbrough has got a little snuggery down the passage, where we shallbe quite comfortable. Are you ready? Very well, then, come along."

  The house seemed absolutely still, save for Charliewood's echoingfootsteps as he led the way towards the door on the right-hand side ofthe wide staircase.

  Rathbone followed him. As he did so the sombre emptiness of the placebegan to steal over his nerves and influence them, coupled, no doubt,with the expectation of the coming interview.

  He shuddered a little, and wished that he was back again in the cosylittle room in Jermyn Street.

  Then a green baize door opened, they passed through, and it swung backnoiselessly behind them.