The Soul Stealer

by Guy Thorne

  CHAPTER XV

  HAIL TO THE LOVERS!

  When he had left Donald Megbie, Sir William Gouldesbrough went back tothe room in which he had last seen Marjorie Poole.

  He found her the centre of a circle of friends and acquaintances. LadyPoole was sitting by her daughter's side, and was in a high good humour.

  Gouldesbrough saw at once that while he had been talking with DonaldMegbie in the conservatory, Lord Malvin had done as Gouldesbrough hadasked him. Every one knew, with more or less accuracy, of what the newinvention consisted.

  If the excitement and stir of expectation had been noticeable at thebeginning of the evening, it was now doubly apparent. The rooms hummedlike a hive with excited talk, and it was obvious that societyconsidered it had received a remarkable sensation. Sir William knew thatthings were moving in the direction he wished, when he saw MarjoriePoole holding a little court in this manner. She was always a verypopular girl and knew everybody. But to-night was not ordinary. It wasplain that both Marjorie and Lady Poole were being courted because oftheir relationship to Sir William Gouldesbrough. Of course everybodyknew the past history of the engagement. But now it seemed almostcertain that it would be renewed. Gouldesbrough realized all this in amoment, and with intense satisfaction. The assumption that he andMarjorie were once more engaged, or on the verge of being so, could notbut contribute towards the fact.

  Yes, it was a propitious hour. Everything was in his favour; this washis grand night, and he meant that it should be crowned by the renewalof the promise of the girl he loved.

  As he went up to the group he seemed wonderfully strong and dominant.Marjorie's eyes fell upon him and brightened as they did so. Certainlythere was no one else like this man!

  Gouldesbrough wanted to carry Marjorie away to the supper-room at once,but he was not to escape so easily. He was surrounded at once, andcongratulations were fired at him from every side.

  The old Duchess of Marble Arch, an ancient dame painted to resemble adairy-maid of one and twenty, laid a tremulous claw-like hand, blazingwith rings, upon Gouldesbrough's arm. She was a scandal-monger who hadruined homes, a woman who had never done an unselfish action or ever hada thought that was not sordid, malevolent or foul. Yet she was a greatlady, a Princess in Vanity Fair, and even Sir William could notdisregard her, so great and important was this venerable hag.

  "Well," she began in her high impertinent voice, "so you have outdoneAladdin, I hear, Sir William. Really I congratulate you on yourthought-trap or whatever it is. I suppose we shall have you in the UpperHouse soon! I wish you could manage to catch some thoughts for me on theStock Exchange. Couldn't you have your machine taken down to CapelCourt? I should very much like to know what some of the gentlemen whodeal in South Africans are thinking just now. The market is really inthe most abominable state. And do please bring the machine to one of myAt Homes. It would give me intense pleasure to know what is going on inthe minds of some of my friends. We could install it in one of thesmaller drawing-rooms, behind a screen. No one would know, and we couldcatch thoughts all the evening--though I expect the machine would wantdisinfecting after the first half-hour. I will see that there is someCondy's fluid ready."

  She moved away chattering shrilly. Young Lord Landsend succeeded her.

  That nobleman showed very evident traces of living as hard as his purseand his doctor would let him, and his pale countenance was stamped witha congratulatory grin. "'Pon my soul, Sir William," he said, "this thingyou've made is really awfully jolly, you know. Topping idea really. Hopeyou wont go fishin' round for my thoughts!"

  There was a general laugh at this, and some one was heard to remark thatthey didn't think that Sir William Gouldesbrough would make any very bighauls in that quarter!

  "But how splendid of you, Sir William!" said Mrs. Hoskin-Heath, a prettydark-haired woman with beautiful eyes. "It is really marvellous. Nowthere will be a real meaning in the saying 'a penny for your thoughts!'Shall you have penny-in-the-slot machines on all the stations of theTwopenny Tube? So nice while one is waiting for a train. Just imaginehow nice it will be to let your _cher ami_ know how much you like himwithout having to say any actual compromising words! You are a publicbenefactor, Sir William."

  Another voice broke in upon Gouldesbrough's impatient ear.

  "How do you do, Sir William? It is a great pleasure to meet you on suchan occasion as this, an occasion which, if I may say so, is reallyhistoric! You may not remember me, but I had the privilege of meetingyou at Brighton not long ago. My name is Charliewood, Sir MilesCharliewood; we met on the melancholy occasion of my poor secondson's--er--death. You were very kind and helpful."

  Gouldesbrough shook hands with the old baronet. A shadow passed over hisface as he did so, and he would have given much to have avoided thesight of him--not to have known at all that Sir Miles was in PortlandPlace on this night of triumph.

  Gouldesbrough was one of those men who had solved the chief problem oflife. Like Napoleon, he was master of his own mind. His mind did notdominate him, as the minds of most of us do. He controlled it absolutelyand never allowed thoughts of one part of his life to intrude upon thoseof another.

  And now, with the frightful egotism of supreme self-will, he actuallyfelt aggrieved at this sudden meeting. It was, he thought, hard at thisradiant, happy moment! He did not want to be reminded of the past or ofthe terrible and criminal secret of the present. Why should the paleghost of Eustace Charliewood come to trouble him now? His partner in anunspeakable infamy, the tool he had used for the satisfaction of hisdevilish desires was dead. Dead, gone away, no longer in existence. Thathe, Gouldesbrough, was morally the murderer of the distracted man whomhe had forced into crime troubled him not at all. It never had troubledhim--he had learned to be "Lord of Himself." And now, in this moment ofunprecedented triumph, the wraith of the dead man rose up swiftly andwithout warning to be a spectre at the feast. It was hard!

  But he turned to Sir Miles Charliewood and was as courteous and charmingas ever. His marked powers of fascination did not desert him. Thatstrange magnetism that was able to draw people to him, to make them hisservants and slaves, surrounded him now like the fabled "aura" of theTheosophists.

  He bent over the pompous little man with a smile of singular sweetness.

  "Forget?" he said. "My dear sir, how could I forget? It is charming tosee you again. I hadn't an idea you knew Lord Malvin or were interestedin scientific affairs. Your congratulations are very welcome to me,though you have said far more than I deserve. I hope we shall meet againsoon. I am generally at home in Regent's Park in the afternoons. Itwould have made me very happy if poor Eustace could have been with usto-night. He was one of my most intimate friends, as you know. And Imay tell you that he took a great interest in the experiments which havenow culminated so satisfactorily for me. Poor dear fellow! It is a greatsorrow to me that he is not with us. Well, well! I suppose that thesethings are arranged for us by a Power over which we have no control, aForce beyond our poor power of measuring or understanding. Good-night,Good-night, Sir Miles. Do come and see me soon."

  He bowed and smiled, with Marjorie upon his arm, and then turned awaytowards the supper-room. And he left Sir Miles Charliewood--who had notcared twopence for his son during his lifetime--full of a pleasingmelancholy and regret for the dead man.

  Such is the power of success to awake dormant emotions in flinty hearts.

  Such is the aroma and influence which "doth hedge a king" in any sphereof modern life!

  Sir William walked away with the beautiful girl by his side. He felt thelight touch of her fingers upon his arm, and his blood raced and leaptwith joy. He felt a boy again, a happy conquering boy. Yes, all wasindeed well upon this night of nights!

  As they entered the supper-room and found a table, Lord Landsend sawthem. He was with Mrs. Pat Argyle, the society actress, and his cousinsthe young Duke and Duchess of Perth.

  Landsend was a fast young man of no particular intellect. But he waskind, popular, and not without a certai
n personal charm. He could dothings that more responsible and important people couldn't do.

  As he saw the hero of the occasion and the night come in with MarjoriePoole, an inspiration came to the rackety young fellow.

  He jumped up from his chair and began to clap loudly.

  There was a moment's dead silence. Everybody stopped talking, the clinkand clatter of the meal was still.

  Then the little Duchess of Perth--she was Miss Mamie Q. Oildervan, ofNew York--took Landsend up. She began to clap too. As she had threehundred thousand a year, was young, cheeky and delightful, she was aleader of society at this moment.

  Every one followed suit. There was a full-handed thunder of applause.

  Lord Landsend lifted a glass of champagne high in the air.

  "Here's to the wizard of the day!" he shouted merrily. "Here's to theconqueror of thought!"

  There was another second of silence. During it, the Duke of Perth, a boyfresh from Oxford, caught the infection of the moment. He raised hisglass also--"And to Miss Poole too!" he said.

  People who had spent years in London society said that they had neverexperienced anything like it. A scene of wild excitement began. Staidand ordinary people forgot convention and restraint. There was a highand jocund chorus of congratulation and applause. The painted roof ofthe supper-room rang with it.

  Society had let itself go for once, and there was a madness ofenthusiasm in the air.

  Sir William Gouldesbrough stood there smiling. He entered into thespirit of the whole thing and bowed to the ovation, laughing withpleasure, radiant with boyish enjoyment.

  He felt Marjorie's hand upon his arm quiver with excitement, and he feltthat she was his at last!

  She stood by his side, her face a deep crimson, and it was as thoughthey were a king and queen returning home to the seat and city of theirrule.

  It was so public an avowal, chance had been so kind, fortune soopportune, that Sir William knew that Marjorie would never retrace hersteps now. It was an announcement of betrothal for all the world to see!It was just that.

  Lady Poole, who was supping with Sir Michael Leeds, the greatmillionaire who was the prop and mainstay of the English Church, presseda lace handkerchief to her eyes.

  The bewildering enthusiasm of the moment caught her too. She rose fromher seat--only a yard or two away from the triumphant pair--and went upto them with an impulsive gesture.

  "God bless you, my dears!" she said in a broken voice.

  Marjorie bowed her head. She drooped like a lovely flower. Fate, itseemed to her, had taken everything out of her hands. She was thecreature of the moment, the toy of a wild and exhilarating environment.

  She gave one quick, shy glance at Sir William.

  He read in it the fulfilment of all his hopes.

  Then old Lord Malvin came down the room, ancient, stately and bland.

  "My dears," he said simply, "this must be a very happy night for you."

  Sir William turned to the girl suddenly. His voice was confident andstrong.

  "My dear Marjorie," he said, "how kind they all are to us!"

  A little group of four people sat down to the table beneath thecrimson-shaded light.

  Lord Malvin, the most famous scientist and most courtly gentleman of histime. Sir William Gouldesbrough, the hero of this famousparty--to-morrow, when Donald Megbie had done his work, to be the heroof the civilized world.

  Lady Poole. Sweet Marjorie Poole, in the grip of circumstances that werebeyond her thinking.

  And no one of the four--not even Sir William Gouldesbrough, F.R.S.--gavea thought to the man in the living tomb--to Guy Rathbone who was, evenat that moment, tied up in india-rubber and aluminium bonds for theamusement of Mr. Guest, the pink, hairless man of Regent's Park. Mr.Guest was drunk of whisky, and sat happy, mocking his prisoner far downin the cellars of Sir William's house.

  Other folk were drunk of success and applause in Portland Place.

  But Donald Megbie was awake in the Inner Temple, and his thoughts werecurious and strange.

  Donald Megbie had left the party too early in the evening. He was drunkof nothing at all!