CHAPTER XV
"Well, my dear--any more news?" But even as Mrs. Tropenell, looking upfrom her breakfast-table, asked the question, she knew what the answerwould be.
It was the following Monday morning. The post had just come in, and atonce, knowing that the postman called first at The Chase, Oliver hadhurried off to the telephone. He had been there a long time--perhaps aslong as ten minutes--and when he came back into the dining-room hismother was struck afresh by the look of almost intolerable strain andanxiety in his face and eyes.
They had spent a great part of Sunday with Laura, and during that long,trying day Mrs. Tropenell had felt very much more concerned about herson than she did about Godfrey Pavely.
Godfrey, so she told herself, with a touch of unreason not usual withher, would almost certainly turn up all right--even if, as she wasinclined to believe possible, he had met with some kind of accident. ButOliver, her beloved, the only human being in the world that reallymattered to her--what was wrong with him? Long after she had gone to bedeach evening she had heard him, during the last three nights, wanderingrestlessly about the house.
After the first almost painful rush of joy which had come over her whenhe had suddenly walked into her presence last Thursday night, she hadregretted, with unceasing bitter regret, his return home. It was sohorribly apparent to her, his mother, that Laura, _belle dame sansmerci_, held him in thrall.
"If you don't mind, mother, I think I shall go up to town to-day and seethe Scotland Yard people. I think--don't you?--it would-be a comfort toLaura." There was a harassed, questioning note in his voice whichsurprised Mrs. Tropenell. As a rule Oliver always knew exactly what hemeant to do.
She answered slowly, reluctantly (she hated so much his being mixed upin this odd, mysterious matter of Godfrey's temporary disappearance!):"Perhaps it would be. Still, I think Laura ought to communicate withGodfrey's cousins. Of course I know he didn't care for them. Still,after all, those people are his only near relations."
"That old Mr. Privet, Pavely's confidential clerk, is going up to townto-day," observed Oliver inconsequently. "I thought he and I mighttravel together, and that while he goes to the hotel, I can go toScotland Yard."
And then Mrs. Tropenell roused herself to try and give what help shecould.
"Lord St. Amant knows the new Commissioner of Police very well," shesaid. "They met in India. Ask him to give you a note of introduction,Oliver. He's in town just now, you would certainly find him, either athis rooms or at his club."
There came a faint flush over her face. By her plate there lay Lord St.Amant's daily letter. On Mondays London letters always arrived by thesecond post, but yesterday her old friend had had a late-fee stamp puton his letter, so that she might get it the first thing this morning.He had suggested that Sir Angus Kinross--that was the name of the newCommissioner--should be approached. He had even offered--and it was goodof him, for he hated taking trouble and he had always disliked GodfreyPavely--to go to Scotland Yard himself.
Oliver was still standing, though his breakfast was only half eaten, andhe was looking at his mother with that rather impatient, strained lookon his face to which she had by now become accustomed. "That's a goodidea," he said. And she felt glad that any idea proposed by her shouldseem to be good. Yesterday her son, who was always so kindly, sorespectful in his manner to her, had--yes, snubbed her--when she hadproposed something which it had seemed to her would be of use.
"I think I'll go over to The Chase now, mother. It's impossible to sayall that one wants to say over the telephone."
She said nervously, "Won't you finish your breakfast?" and to hersurprise he obeyed her. To her surprise also, when at last he did get uphe seemed in no great hurry to go.
"Shall I come with you, my darling?" she said.
He shook his head. "No, mother. I'd rather discuss the matter with heralone, but I'll make her come over as early as I can. You know she saidshe would bring Alice to lunch to-day." And then, looking straight downinto her troubled face, he asked: "Mother? What do _you_ think hashappened to Godfrey Pavely?"
It was the first time he had asked her the direct question.
"I don't know what to think! But I suppose the most probable thingis--that he's had an accident. After all, people do meet with badaccidents, especially in wintry, foggy weather, in the London streets.If so, he may be lying unconscious in one of the big hospitals. I can'tthink why the London police shouldn't have been told of hisdisappearance on Friday--that, as I told Laura yesterday, is the firstthing I should have done myself."
"Both Mrs. Winslow and Laura seemed to think he would dislike that sovery much," said Oliver slowly.
There was a defensive note in his voice, for he had made no effort toback up his mother when she had strongly counselled Laura to communicatewith Scotland Yard.
"Has it ever occurred to you," he said suddenly, "that Pavely may bedead, mother?"
"No, Oliver. That I confess has not occurred to me. In fact, I regard itas extremely unlikely."
"Why that?" he asked in a hard voice. "People are often killed in streetaccidents." Then, after a minute's pause: "Do you think Laura would mindmuch?"
"I think it would give her a great shock!" She added, hesitatingly."They have been getting on rather better than usual--at least so it hasseemed to me."
"Have they indeed?"
His words cut like a whip, and she got up and went and stood by him. "Myson," she said very solemnly. "Oh, my darling, don't allow yourself towish--to hope--for Godfrey Pavely's death!"
Looking straight into her face, he exclaimed, "I can't help it, mother!I do hope, I do wish, for Godfrey Pavely's death--with all the strength,with all the power that is in me. Why should I be hypocritical--withyou? Am I the first man that has committed murder," he waited amoment--"in his heart?"
"If that be really so--then don't let it ever be suspected, Oliver! ForGod's sake, try and look differently from what you have looked the lastfew days! If your wish is to be granted, your hope satisfied, then don'tlet any one suspect that the hope or the wish was ever there!"
She spoke with an intensity of feeling and passion equal to his own.
"You're right, mother," he said in a low voice. "I know you're right!And I promise you that I'll try and follow your advice. No man ever hada wiser and a better mother than I!"
He turned round quickly and left the room.
Mrs. Tropenell did not see her son again till late that night, and thennot alone, for Laura spent the evening at Freshley, and after he hadtaken their guest home to The Chase, he did not come in again for hours.
Old Mr. Privet, Godfrey Pavely's confidential clerk, had been rathertaken aback when he had learnt over the telephone, from Mrs. Pavely,that he was to have Mr. Oliver Tropenell as his travelling companion toLondon. But very soon, being a truly religious man, he came to see howwell and wisely everything had been ordered. To begin with, Mr.Tropenell called for him at the Bank, thus saving him a very cold,easterly-wind kind of walk to Pewsbury station, which was some way fromthe town. And once there, Mr. Tropenell had taken two first-classreturn tickets--that again being the action of a true gentleman, for he,Mr. Privet, would have been quite content to go by himself third-class.Also, as it turned out, during the long journey to London they had somevery pleasant and instructive conversation together.
Quite at first, in answer to a query as to what he thought of thisextraordinary business of Mr. Pavely's disappearance, Mr. OliverTropenell had been perhaps a little short. He had replied that no onecould possibly venture an opinion as to what had happened. But then hadfollowed between them, in spite of the fact that the noise of the trainwas very trying, a most agreeable chat over old times--over those dayswhen Mr. Godfrey Pavely's father, a fine type of the old country-townbanker, was still alive.
Mr. Privet, as a younger man, had had a good deal to do with the finalsale and purchase of The Chase, and Mr. Tropenell, as was very naturalin one whose own ancestors had lived there for hundreds of years, hadshown the great
est interest in that old story. Mr. Tropenell had notbeen in the least over-curious or indiscreet, but Mr. Privet had beenled on to talk of his companion's grandfather, a gentleman who, ifrather wild, and certainly extravagant and headstrong, had been such agrand sportsman--quite a hero among the young men of Pewsbury! What hadbrought about the poor gentleman's undoing had been his taking over thehounds, when Lord St. Amant's great-uncle had given them up.
So pleasant had been that conversation in the first-class carriageshared by them, that for the first time since Thursday Mr. Privet hadalmost forgotten the business on which they two were going to London!But he had soon remembered it again--for at the station Mr. OliverTropenell had suggested that, instead of going to the Hungerford Hotel,he, Mr. Privet, should accompany him to Lord St. Amant's club, in orderto get a letter of introduction from that nobleman to the Commissionerof Police.
Not long ago Mr. Privet had read an interesting book called _In LondonClub Land_. But he had little thought, when he was reading that book,that he would ever see the famous old political club to which a wholechapter had been devoted, and to which so many of his own specialpolitical heroes had belonged in their time!
And then, after Lord St. Amant, who also had treated Mr. Privet withrather exceptional civility, not to say courtesy, had written theletter, Mr. Tropenell suggested that they should go straight on toScotland Yard--pointing out, what was true enough, that Mr. Privet knewfar more of Mr. Godfrey Pavely's business and habits than any one else.
And so, together, they had driven off in a taxi--also a new, agreeableexperience to Mr. Privet--to the famous Bastille-like building on theThames Embankment.
But when there, the interview with the pleasant-spoken, genial gentlemanwho wielded such immense powers had been disappointing.
Sir Angus Kinross had listened very carefully to all that he, Mr.Privet, had had to say, and he had asked a number of acute, cleverquestions of both his visitors. But very soon he had observed that hefeared much valuable time had been lost.
Later on, Mr. Privet, when he thought the interview over, could almosthear the voice of Sir Angus repeating slowly, inexorably: "Thursday? Andit's now Monday afternoon! What a misfortune it is that Mrs.--ah,yes--Mrs. Pavely, did not communicate with us at once. If she hadtelephoned, here, when she first began to realise that there wassomething strange in her husband's prolonged absence, she would almostcertainly have had some sort of news by now."
And then he, Mr. Privet, had answered quickly, "But we didn't begin tofeel anxious till the Friday, sir."
"I quite understand that! But if you, Mr.--ah yes--Mr. Privet--hadwritten then, we could have begun our inquiries on the Saturday morning.Did it not occur to you to let the London police know of Mr. Pavely'snon-appearance?"
For a moment Mr. Privet had felt vaguely uncomfortable, for hisquestioner had given him such a very odd, keen look, as he asked thatsimple question. But he had answered, honestly enough, for after all'Tho' truth may be blamed, it can never be shamed': "Mr. Pavely, sir,did not like to be interfered with when he was away on business, and wethought it would annoy him if we were to make too great a fuss. Once,many years ago now--Mr. Pavely went over to Paris for some days, andomitted to leave his address at the Bank. I couldn't help rememberinglast week that Mr. Pavely, on that former occasion, had seemed somewhatput out with me for expressing what I thought at the time a very naturalanxiety, sir."
They hadn't been very long at Scotland Yard, a little under half an hourin all, and during the last ten minutes a shorthand writer had made somenotes of the conversation, which, indeed, had been almost entirelycarried on between him, Mr. Privet, and the Commissioner of Police. Mr.Oliver Tropenell, as was bound to be the case, had had very little tosay, seeing that he was there merely as Mrs. Pavely's representative,she having her only brother in Mexico.
After leaving Scotland Yard they had gone on to the Hungerford Hotel,and there a lot of information had been afforded them. But it hadn'tamounted to very much--when all was said and done! They already knewthat all trace of Mr. Pavely had disappeared after eleven o'clock on theThursday morning. His room was even now exactly as he had left it; neat,for he was always a most particular gentleman, but with nothing putaway. In fact the only news of him after that morning had been thattelephone message to The Chase--a message given by some one, the butlerby now wasn't even sure if it was a man or a woman, who was evidently ina great hurry.
One thing the manager of the hotel had done which had rather surprisedand shocked both Mr. Privet and his companion. He had consulted adetective about the affair, and, at Mr. Tropenell's request, thedetective was sent for.
Mr. Privet had thought this secret inquiry agent (as he called himself)a queer kind of chap--in fact he had seemed much more anxious toascertain if a reward was going to be offered, than to offer any usefuladvice as to this perplexing matter of Mr. Pavely's disappearance.
He had, however, seemed to think that the Thursday evening telephonecall was very important, and he had asked permission to come down to TheChase to cross-examine the servant who had taken the message. Butthat--so Mr. Tropenell had very properly said--was impossible, now thatthe matter had been placed in the hands of Scotland Yard. In answer toMr. Privet's natural curiosity as to why the detective thought thattelephone call so important, the man had answered, rather crossly: "Yousee, there's no record kept of telephone calls! There's a record kept oftelegrams, so one can always recover the original of a telegram."
Mr. Tropenell had been quite surprised on hearing this.
"I should have thought telephone calls quite as important as telegrams?"he had exclaimed.
"So they are, with regard to _my_ kind of work," the man had replied."But even with regard to trunk-calls you've only got to go into a PostOffice and plank down your money and wait till you're through! Still,the young woman at your country Exchange would probably have rememberedthe call if she had been asked sooner. But it's all such a long timeago."
A long time ago? What nonsense! He, Mr. Privet, felt quite put out withthis detective, and he began to see why Mr. Tropenell thought the manought not to have been brought into the business at all. It wascertainly rather cool of the hotel manager to have gone and broughtsuch a person into the affair, without asking Mr. Pavely's friends if hewas at liberty to do so.
They had managed to catch the six o'clock express back to Pewsbury, andthen Mr. Tropenell very kindly insisted on driving Mr. Privet home. Mr.and Mrs. Privet owned a pretty, old-fashioned house on the other side ofthe town. When Mr. Privet had married--a matter of forty years agonow--he had made up his mind that it would do him good to be obliged totake a good walk to and from the Bank every day.
On their arrival at the house--which, funnily enough, was calledSouthbank--Mr. Tropenell, at the request of Mr. Privet, had come in fora few minutes to make the acquaintance of Mrs. Privet. He had said howmuch he liked their house, how much prettier it was, how much moredignified--that had been his curious word--than the red brick villaswhich had sprung up all over the outskirts of their beautiful old town.And Mr. Privet had been secretly rather pleased, for lately "Mother"--ashe called Mrs. Privet--had become somewhat restless, being impressed bycertain improvements those gimcrack villas possessed, which their houselacked, and that though he had put in a nice bathroom a matter of twentyyears ago.
Yes, of the several people who, that day, had been engaged in trying toprobe the mystery of Godfrey Pavely's disappearance, the only one whofound a great deal of natural pleasure and simple enjoyment out of itall was Mr. Privet; and he, alone of them all, really cared for themissing man, and, perhaps, alone of them all, had a genuine longing tosee him again.
Mr. Privet thought it was particularly kind of Mr. Oliver Tropenell tobe taking all this trouble for poor Mrs. Pavely; though of course he,Mr. Privet, was well aware that Mrs. Pavely's brother was partner to Mr.Tropenell in Mexico. He knew the sad truth--the sad truth, that is, asto the disgraceful circumstances under which Gilbert Baynton had had toleave England. No one else in the
Bank had known--at least he and Mr.Pavely hoped not. It had been very, very fortunate that the forgedsignature had been on one of their own cheques. But for that fact,nothing could have saved that good-for-nothing scoundrel--so Mr. Privetalways called Gillie Baynton in his own mind--from a prosecution.
Do any of us ever think, reader, of the way in which our most secretbusiness is known, nay, must be known, to a certain number of people ofwhose existence we ourselves are scarcely aware?
Laura, when she came and talked, as she sometimes did talk, kindly, if alittle indifferently, to her husband's confidential clerk, would havebeen disagreeably surprised had she been able to see into Mr. Privet'sheart and mind. As for Godfrey Pavely, nothing would have made himcredit, high as was his opinion of Mr. Privet's business acumen, thefact that his clerk had a very shrewd suspicion where those threehundred pounds in notes, lately drawn out by his employer for his ownpersonal use, had made their way....
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