XVII
He did not attempt to rise from his chair when Dick entered, closing the door behind him.
“Sit down, will you, Alford? Leslie tells me you want to see me.”
“Leslie need not have given you that message. I’d already told you this afternoon that I would come to you for an explanation.”
“Of what?”
“Of the unpleasant happening at Gilder’s flat. This man proposed to your sister—you know that?”
“Leslie told me,” said the other, after a moment’s silence.
“And you were annoyed, one supposes? You will dismiss this clerk of yours to-morrow?”
The other leaned back in his chair.
“I don’t see why I should,” he said coolly. “After all, it’s no crime for any man to propose to a pretty girl. Of course, he’s not the sort of fellow I should choose for a brother-in-law, but if brothers had to choose husbands for their sisters, you know, Alford, there would be some very queer marriages!”
“What is his pull?” asked Dick quietly.
“I don’t——”
“What is his hold on you?”
“What the devil do you mean?”
“Just what I say. You would never tolerate a man like Gilder paying attentions to your sister, apart from the insult he offered to a prospective Countess of Chelford, unless he had such a grip on you that all your natural indignation was crushed by the fear of some consequence he held over your head.”
Arthur Gwyn found it difficult to control his voice.
“My dear fellow, how very melodramatic!” he scoffed. “Hold over me! You must have been studying the latest Drury Lane play! Naturally, I would rather see Leslie married to your brother, but I certainly would put no obstacle in her way if her heart was set elsewhere.”
“On Gilder, in fact?”
“On Gilder,” nodded Arthur gravely, as though the matter had been the subject of deep thought and much self-communion.
And then Dick Alford asked a question that brought the man to his feet, white and shaking.
“Is it the question of the bills?”
“The—the what?” faltered the lawyer.
“The four bills which were supposed to be backed by my brother—the signatures being forgeries. I thought you knew that I had seen them. They were shown to me at the bank, and fortunately I did not disclaim them—fortunately for you, I mean. When I went to see them again they were taken up. I presume Mr. Fabrian Gilder redeemed them. That would have cost him a little over five thousand pounds, and I presume he did not do that out of sheer altruism.”
Arthur Gwyn’s mouth was dry; he could scarcely articulate.
“I didn’t know until to-day,” he muttered. “Harry was ill at the time. The money was due to me for—for—legal costs. I went down to the bank to take them up and found they had been honoured.”
“Was that the pull?”
He did not meet the steady gaze that was fixed on him.
“Yes, that was the pull, if you want to know. You don’t suppose I’d allow Leslie to marry a swine like Gilder unless—unless he had something on me, do you? Can’t you understand my position, Alford? I’m ruined! That fellow could send me to jail—he still can.”
Dick shook his head.
“Fire him to-morrow,” he said. “If he produces the bills I will undertake that Harry will acknowledge the signatures.”
The pink came back to the colourless face of the lawyer.
“You’ll do this?” he said eagerly. “My God! you don’t know what a weight you’ve lifted off my mind. You’re a brick, by jove! I’ll fire him to-morrow.”
He held out an eager hand and Dick took it with some hesitation. At the best of times Arthur Gwyn did not impress him; at this moment, almost incoherent with relief, he seemed a pitiful coward.
“I will pay Harry every penny. I have something on the stocks now that will bring me in a fortune, that will wipe out all my debts and put me on my feet again.”
There was humour in the situation; for the thing which was to rehabilitate his fortunes was no less than the barefaced robbery of Harry Chelford’s inheritance! But Arthur was not conscious of the irony of the position. He would deal with Gilder in the morning. Thank God he had not gone still deeper into the mire! The knowledge that in his pocketbook was another bill as yet unuttered, did not cool the glow of virtue he was experiencing. Henceforth he would walk the straight way.
“There’s one thing you could do for me, Alford—hurry along that marriage. Fix it for next month if you can. Leslie is just a foolish girl, she is trying to put off the inevitable, but that’s natural, isn’t it? Can’t you buck up Harry——”
Dick Alford looked at him steadily.
“The matter must be left entirely to Leslie,” he said, and there was something very definite and final in those words.
They came out of the library together; Leslie waiting, a little fearful, saw the smile on her brother’s face and breathed a sigh of thankfulness.
“You’re not going?” Dick was reaching for his cap.
“I have to get back to the house,” he said, and, seeing her look of disappointment, he stood irresolutely.
“Come along in and play mah-jongg. I am in a mah-jongg mood,” said Arthur, almost jovially.
If there was one thing that Dick could not endure that night it was to sit vis-à-vis with Arthur Gwyn. He would have liked to stay with the girl, but for the moment her brother seemed an inevitable third. And he was terribly informative. Arthur was in his most expansive mood.
“Here is something that will interest you!”
He pointed to the wall. Hanging against a dark wooden shield was an iron dagger—black and sinister, the handle worn smooth, the long blade notched and jagged. Dick had seen it before.
“That should be at your place, Alford. The veritable dagger of the veritable Black Abbot’s slayer—Hubert of Redruth! Look at his arms on the hilt.…”
“I have seen it,” said Dick shortly. “Put on your coat and come for a walk, Leslie,” he suggested, and the obliging Arthur, who would have been agreeable to any scheme he propounded, seconded the suggestion.