THE GOSPEL OF HATE
"And what," Wingrave asked his secretary as they sat at dinner thatnight, "did you think of Lady Ruth?"
"In plain words, I should not like to tell you," Aynesworth answered. "Ionly hope that you will not send me to see her again."
"Why not?"
"Lady Ruth," Aynesworth answered deliberately, "is a very beautifulwoman, with all the most dangerous gifts of Eve when she wanted her ownway. She did me the scanty honor of appraising me as an easy victim, andshe asked questions."
"For instance?"
"She wanted me to tell her if you still had in your possession certainletters of hers," Aynesworth said.
"Good! What did you say?"
"I told her, of course," Aynesworth continued, "that having been in yourservice for a few hours only, I was scarcely in a position to know. Iventured further to remind her that such questions, addressed from herto me, were, to say the least of it, improper."
Wingrave's lips parted in what should have been a smile, but the spiritof mirth was lacking.
"And then?"
"There was nothing else," Aynesworth answered. "She simply dismissedme."
"I can see," Wingrave remarked, "your grievance. You are annoyed becauseshe regarded you as too easy a victim."
"Perhaps," Aynesworth admitted.
"There was some excuse for her, after all," Wingrave continued coolly."She possesses powers which you yourself have already admitted, and you,I should say, are a fairly impressionable person, so far as her sexis concerned. Confess now, that she did not leave you altogetherindifferent."
"Perhaps not," Aynesworth admitted reluctantly. He did not care to saymore.
"In case you should feel any curiosity on the subject," Wingraveremarked, "I may tell you that I have those letters which she was soanxious to know about, and I shall keep them safe--even from you! Youcan amuse yourself with her if you like. You will never be able to tellher more than I care for her to know."
Aynesworth continued his dinner in silence. After all, he was beginningto fear that he had made a mistake. Lovell had somehow contrived toimpart a subtly tragic note to his story, but the outcome of it allseemed to assume a more sordid aspect. These two would meet, therewould be recriminations, a tragic appeal for forgiveness, possibly somemelodramatic attempt at vengeance. The glamour of the affair seemed tohim to be fading away, now that he had come into actual contact withit. It was not until he began to study his companion during a somewhatprolonged silence that he felt the reaction. It was then that he beganto see new things, that he felt the enthusiasm kindled by Lovell'sstrangely told story begin to revive. It was not the watching for eventsmore or less commonplace which would repay him for the step he hadtaken; it was the study of this man, placed in so strange a position,--aman come back to life, after years of absolute isolation. He had brokenaway from the chain which links together men of similar tastes andoccupations, and which goes to the creation of type. He was in a uniqueposition! He was in the world, but not of it. He was groping aboutamongst familiar scenes, over which time had thrown the pall ofunfamiliarity. What manner of place would he find--what manner ofplace did he desire to find? It was here that the real interest of thesituation culminated. At least, so Aynesworth thought then.
They were dining at a restaurant in the Strand, which Aynesworth hadselected as representing one, the more wealthy, type of Bohemian life.The dinner and wine had been of his choosing. Wingrave had stipulatedonly for the best. Wingrave himself had eaten very little, the bottleof wine stood half empty between them. The atmosphere of the place, theeffect of the wine, the delicate food, and the music, were visible to agreater or less degree, according to temperament, amongst all the otherlittle groups of men and women by whom they were surrounded. Wingravealone remained unaffected. He was carefully and correctly dressed inclothes borrowed from his new tailor, and he showed not the slightestsigns of strangeness or gaucherie amongst his unfamiliar surroundings.He looked about him always, with the cold, easy nonchalance of the manof the world. Of being recognized he had not the slightest fear. Hisframe and bearing, and the brightness of his deep, strong eyes, stillbelonged to early middle age, but his face itself, worn and hardened,was the face of an elderly man. The more Aynesworth watched him, themore puzzled he felt.
"I am afraid," he remarked, "that you are disappointed in this place."
"Not at all," Wingrave answered. "It is typical of a class, I suppose.It is the sort of place I wished to visit."
In a corner of the room Aynesworth had recognized a friend and fellowclubman, who was acting at a neighboring theater. He was dining withsome young ladies of his company, and beckoned to Aynesworth to comeover and join them. He pointed them out to Wingrave.
"Would you care to be introduced?" he asked. "Holiwell is a very goodfellow, and the girls might interest you. Two of them are Americans, andthey are very popular."
Wingrave shook his head.
"Thank you, no!" he said. "I should be glad to meet your friend sometime when he is alone."
It was the first intimation which Aynesworth had received of hiscompanion's sentiments as regards the other sex. Years afterwards,when his attitude towards them was often quoted as being one of theextraordinary features of an extraordinary personality, he rememberedhis perseverance on this occasion.
"You have not spoken to a woman for so many years," he persisted. "Whynot renew the experience? Nothing so humanizing, you know--not evencigarettes."
Wingrave's face fell, if possible into sterner lines. His tone was coldand hard.
"My scheme of life," he said, "may be reconstructed more than oncebefore I am satisfied. But I can assure you of this! There will be noserious place in it for women!"
Aynesworth shrugged his shoulders. He never doubted but that in a monthof two his vis-a-vis would talk differently.
"Your scheme of life," he repeated thoughtfully. "That soundsinteresting! Have you any objection, I wonder, to telling me what mannerof life you propose to lead?"
It was several moments before Wingrave answered him. He was smoking acigar in a mechanical sort of way, but he obviously derived no pleasurefrom it. Yet Aynesworth noticed that some instinct had led him to choosethe finest brand.
"Perhaps," he said, letting his eyes rest coldly upon his questioner,"if I told you all that was in my mind you would waive your month'ssalary and get back to your journalism!"
Aynesworth shrugged his shoulders.
"Why should you suppose that?" he asked. "I am not a moralist myself,nor am I the keeper of your conscience. I don't think that you couldfrighten me off just yet."
"Nevertheless," Wingrave admitted, "there are times when I fear thatwe shall not get on together. I begin to suspect that you have aconscience."
"You are the first," Aynesworth assured him, "who has ever flattered meto that extent."
"It may be elastic, of course," Wingrave continued, "but I suspect itsexistence. I warn you that association with me will try it hard."
"I accept the challenge," Aynesworth answered lightly.
"You are rasher than you imagine," Wingrave declared. "For instance,I have admitted to you, have I not, that I am interested in my fellowcreatures, that I want to mix with them and watch them at their dailylives. Let me assure you that that interest is not a benevolent one."
"I never fancied that you were a budding philanthropist," Aynesworthremarked, lighting a fresh cigarette.
"I find myself," Wingrave continued thoughtfully, "in a somewhat uniqueposition. I am one of the ordinary human beings with whom the worldis peopled, but I am not conscious of any of the usual weaknesses ofsentiment or morality. For instance, if that gentleman with the redface, who has obviously eaten and drunk too much, were to have anapoplectic fit at the moment, and die in his chair, it would not shockor distress me in the least. On the contrary, I should be disposed towelcome his removal from a world which he obviously does nothing toadorn."
Aynesworth glanced at the person in question. He was a theatr
ical agentand financier of stock companies, whom he knew very well by sight.
"I suppose," Wingrave continued, "that I was born with the usualmoral sentiments, and the usual feelings of kinship towards my fellowcreatures. Circumstances, however, have wholly destroyed them. To me,men have become the puppets and women the dancing dolls of life. Myinterest in them, if it exists at all, is malevolent. I should like tosee them all suffer exactly as I have suffered. It would interest meexceedingly."
Still Aynesworth remained silent. He was anxious to hear all that was inthe other's mind, and he feared lest any interruption might divert him.
"There are men in the world," Wingrave continued, "calledphilanthropists, amiable, obese creatures as a rule, whose professed aimin life it is to do as much good as possible. I take my stand upon theother pole. It is my desire to encourage and to work as much evil aspossible. I wish to bring all the suffering I can upon those who comewithin the sphere of my influence."
"You are likely," Aynesworth remarked, "to achieve popularity."
Wingrave regarded him steadfastly.
"Your speech," he said, "is flippant, but you yourself do not realizehow near it comes to the truth. Human beings are like dogs--they arealways ready to lick the hand that flogs them. I mean to use the scourgewhenever I can seize the opportunity, but you will find the jackals atmy heels, nevertheless, whenever I choose to whistle."
Aynesworth helped himself to a liqueur. He felt that he needed it.
"One weakness alone distresses me," Wingrave continued. "In all ordinarymatters of sentiment I am simply a negation. There is one antipathy,however, which I find it hard to overcome. The very sight of a woman, orthe sound of her voice, distresses me. This is the more unfortunate," hecontinued, "because it is upon the shoulders of her sex that the greaterportion of my debt to my fellow creatures rests. However, time may helpme!"
Aynesworth leaned back in his chair, and contemplated his companion forthe next few moments in thoughtful silence. It was hard, he felt, totake a man who talked like this seriously. His manner was convincing,his speech deliberate and assured. There was not the slightest doubt butthat he meant what he said, yet it seemed to Aynesworth equally certainthat the time would come, and come quickly, when the unnatural hardnessof the man would yield to the genial influence of friendship, ofpleasure, of the subtle joys of freedom. Those past days of hideousmonotony, of profitless, debasing toil, the long, sleepless nights, thevery nightmare of life to a man of Wingrave's culture and habits, mightwell have poisoned his soul, have filled him with ideas such as these.But everything was different now! The history of the world could showno epoch when pleasures so many and various were there for the man whocarries the golden key. Today he was a looker-on, and the ice of hisyears of bitterness had not melted. Tomorrow, at any moment, he mightcatch a whiff of the fragrance of life, and the blood in his veins wouldmove to a different tune. This was how it seemed to Aynesworth, as hestudied his companion through the faint blue mist of tobacco smoke.
"This expression of your sentiments," he remarked at last, "isinteresting so far as it goes. I am, however, a practical person, andmy connection with you is of a practical order. You don't propose, Ipresume, to promenade the streets with a cat-o-nine-tails?"
"Your curiosity," Wingrave remarked, "is reasonable. Tomorrow I maygratify some portion of it after my interview with Lady Ruth. In themeantime, I might remark that to the observant person who has wits andmoney, the opportunities for doing evil present themselves, I think,with reasonable frequency. I do not propose, however, to leave thingsaltogether to chance."
"A definite scheme of ill-doing," Aynesworth ventured to suggest, "wouldbe more satisfactory?"
"Exactly," he admitted.
He called for the bill, and his eyes wandered once more around the roomas the waiter counted out the change. The band were playing the "ValseAmoureuse"; the air was grown heavy with the odor of tobacco and themingled perfumes of flowers and scents. A refrain of soft laughterfollowed the music. An after-dinner air pervaded the place. Wingrave'slip curled.
"My lack of kinship with my fellows," he remarked, "is exceedingly welldefined just now. I agree with the one philosopher who declared that'eating and drinking are functions which are better performed inprivate.'"
The two men went on to a theater. The play was a society trifle--athing of the moment. Wingrave listened gravely, without a smile or anyparticular sign of interest. At the end of the second act, he turnedtowards his companion.
"The lady in the box opposite," he remarked, "desires to attract yourattention."
Aynesworth looked up and recognized Lady Ruth. She was fanning herselflanguidly, but her eyes were fixed upon the two men. She leaned a littleforward, and her gesture was unmistakable.
Aynesworth rose to his feet a little doubtfully.
"You had better go," Wingrave said. "Present my compliments and excuses.I feel that a meeting now would amount to an anti-climax."
Aynesworth made his way upstairs. Lady Ruth was alone, and he noticedthat she had withdrawn to a chair where she was invisible to the house.Even Aynesworth himself could not see her face clearly at first, for shehad chosen the darkest corner of the box. He gathered an impression ofa gleaming white neck and bosom rising and falling rather more quicklythan was natural, eyes which shone softly through the gloom, and theperfume of white roses, a great cluster of which lay upon the box ledge.Her voice was scarcely raised above a whisper.
"That is--Sir Wingrave with you?"
"Yes!" Aynesworth answered. "It was he who saw you first!"
She seemed to catch her breath. Her voice was still tremulous.
"He is changed," she said. "I should not have recognized him."
"They were the best ten years of his life," Aynesworth answered. "Thinkof how and in what surroundings he has been compelled to live. No wonderthat he has had the humanity hammered out of him."
She shivered a little.
"Is he always like this?" she asked. "I have watched him. He neversmiles. He looks as hard as fate itself."
"I have known him only a few hours," Aynesworth reminded her.
"I dare not come tomorrow," she whispered; "I am afraid of him."
"Do you wish me to tell him so?" he asked.
"I don't know," she answered. "You are very unfeeling, Mr. Aynesworth."
"I hope not," he answered, and looked away towards the orchestra. He didnot wish to meet her eyes.
"You are!" she murmured. "I have no one to whom I dare speak--of this.I dare not mention his name to my husband. It was my evidence whichconvicted him, and I can see, I know, that he is vindictive. And he hasthose letters! Oh! If I could only get them back?"
Her voice trembled with an appeal whispered but passionate. It waswonderful how musical and yet how softly spoken her words were. Theywere like live things, and the few feet of darkened space through whichthey had passed seemed charged with magnetic influence.
"Mr. Aynesworth!"
He turned and faced her.
"Can't you help me?"
"I cannot, Lady Ruth."
The electric bell rang softly from outside, and the orchestra commencedto play. Lady Ruth rose and looked at herself in the mirror. Then sheturned and smiled at her visitor. The pallor of her face was no longerunnatural. She was a wonderful woman.
"I shall come tomorrow," she said. "Shall I see you?"
"That," he answered, "depends upon Sir Wingrave."
She made a little grimace as she dismissed him. Wingrave did not speakto his companion for some time after he had resumed his seat. Then heinclined his head towards him.
"Have you come to terms with her ladyship?" he asked drily.
"Not yet!" Aynesworth answered.
"You can name your own price," he continued. "She will pay! Don't beafraid of making her bid up. She has a good deal at stake!"
Aynesworth made no reply. He was thinking how easy it would be to hatethis man!
The Malefactor Page 5