XXXV
The truth was out. Leslie stood rigidly behind her brother, looking down on him.
“I am penniless!” she repeated.
He had to wet his dry lips before he could speak.
“I’ve been trying to work up courage to tell you this for a long time,” he said. “I’m a coward—a cur! You have a few thousand pounds that I couldn’t handle, but every other penny of your fortune I have spent!” His voice was hoarse, scarcely recognizable. “You’ll have to know this sooner or later; you might as well know it now. I don’t know what you’ll think of me. I’d like to say that I didn’t care, but that wouldn’t be the truth. I’ve gambled away a quarter of a million, and I’m as near to bankruptcy and ruin as makes no difference.”
He pulled the lint bandage from his eye and got up and faced her. Save for the discolouration of his cheek, he was white as chalk.
“I’d no intention of telling you,” he said in a low voice, “but you piqued me into it, and I’m glad it’s over.”
Raising his eyes to hers, he did not see the look of condemnation he expected. There was neither contempt nor consternation in her face. The red lips were curved in a half-smile, and in her eyes was nothing but kindliness and pity.
“Thank God!” she said in a low voice, and he could not understand her.
“This means, of course, that Chelford will have to take you without a fortune,” he said.
She shook her head.
“I have already written to Harry, breaking off my engagement,” she answered him. And then her arm slipped into his. “Let us go in to breakfast,” she said. “This is one of the happiest days of my life.”
The letter came to Harry Alford, Earl of Chelford, with two or three other personal letters; his main correspondence was with London booksellers, for he was a restless collector of ancient tomes. He looked at the letter, recognizing the handwriting, frowned, and turned it over. Then, with some evidence of annoyance, he slit the flap.
Dear Harry:
I have thought for a long time that we have so little in common that a marriage between us could not possibly lead to happiness for either of us. I suppose the correct thing to do would be to send back my engagement ring, but fortunately or unfortunately, you forgot to present me with this token! I wish you every happiness, and I hope that we shall still be good friends.
Harry read the letter, rubbed his forehead in perplexity, then, rising from his chair, almost ran from the library. Dick was on the lawn, playing with his dog, when his brother burst into the little study.
“I say, look at this! What do you think of it?”
Dick read the letter with a troubled face.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Sorry!” said Harry shrilly. “It’s disgraceful! I shall look a perfect fool! Leslie’s treated me very badly indeed—but that reference to the engagement ring is in shocking bad taste.”
“I thought you’d given her one,” said the patient Dick. “Didn’t you?”
“It is a barbarous and stupid practice. I never dreamt of giving her a ring. Why should I? She had a ring, a beautiful one. You must have seen it—a diamond that she always wears. What is the sense of it? The reference is in very bad taste—shocking!”
And yet, in spite of his agitation and anger, Dick thought he detected relief in his brother’s voice. But his vanity had been hurt, and that is a sore place with many men of greater calibre than Lord Chelford.
“Without any warning.… She was here yesterday, but said not a word about it!”
“You hardly gave her a chance,” said Dick. “You scarcely spoke to her, and really, Harry, you took no trouble to entertain her. Be reasonable.”
Harry fondled his chin and glared through the thick lenses of his horn-rimmed spectacles.
“I suppose not,” he said, with sudden mildness. “But, really, I’m not a marrying man. I want no more than my books and my mission. But I’m going to look a fool over this business, Dick.” His anger was rising again. “Everybody in the county knows we’re engaged, and they’ll come prying around to discover what is wrong. We shall have those beastly newspaper men sitting on the front step, and that is more than I can endure!”
“Then let them come to me,” said Dick. “I’ll give them all the explanation they need, and they’ll be sorry they asked. As for newspaper men—I eat ’em alive!”
Still his brother was not wholly mollified.
“What made her do it? Do you think she’s found somebody else she likes better?” He peered at Dick in his short-sighted way. “That would make it even worse. I’m very annoyed with Arthur Gwyn. He threw this girl at me——”
“Don’t let us talk about it,” said Dick sharply. “It isn’t a very dignified attitude to take.”
His brother looked at the letter dubiously.
“What am I to do?”
“Write a charming letter, freeing her,” said Dick. “You can do no less.”
“But do you think she’s got another man in her eye?” demanded Harry.
“She has probably a dozen,” said the other brutally. “Do as I tell you, Harry.”
And Harry Chelford went grumbling back to the library.
So she had done it! Dick hardly knew whether to be elated or depressed. A week ago he would have been the happiest man in England; to-day… he shrugged his broad shoulders, pulled his pipe from his pocket, and savagely stuffed tobacco into the bowl. This would mean a break, for a time, at any rate, between the Gwyns and Harry, and there arose an alarming thought. Suppose Harry transferred his legal business to another firm? That would mean ruin for Arthur Gwyn. Dick had so far been able to cover up the defalcations of Leslie Gwyn’s brother, and in a few months he could have obliterated all trace without hurt to the estate. But at this stage, if Harry insisted——
“His lordship would like to see you, sir.” The second footman had come up unnoticed behind him.
Dick steeled himself for the interview and went in. His brother was sitting at his desk, his head in his hands, his hair rumpled, and an angry frown puckering the white skin of his forehead.
“Dick, I’m going to cut out these Gwyns,” he said. “I want you to ask your lawyers to take over from Arthur, and tell them to be deuced careful and check every item. That fellow handles my mother’s estate, and roughly I think he must have nearly fifty thousand pounds in securities. If there’s a penny missing, Dick, I’ll jail the fellow—I will, by God! He’s made a fool of me before all the county, and if I get half a chance I’m going to get back on him.”
Dick’s heart sank.
“What lawyers do you suggest?”
“Sampson & Howard. They’re good people and they’re not too friendly with Arthur. Will you take that in hand, Dick?”
Dick Alford nodded. As soon as he could escape from his brother’s presence, he went round to the garage and, taking out his car, drove to Willow House. Arthur was still on the lawn, walking up and down, and from his attitude of depression Dick gathered that something unusual had happened. Possibly he had been told about the breaking off of the engagement. But here he attributed the wrong cause.
“I want to see you, Gwyn.”
Arthur Gwyn started and turned at the sound of the voice.
“Hullo!” he said awkwardly. “Does Harry know?”
Dick nodded.
“And he’s very angry, I suppose?”
“He is rather furious. That’s what I’ve come to see you about. Where is Leslie?”
“She’s in the house. Do you want her?”
“No,” said Dick quietly. “I want to talk with you. Come for a walk with me.”
They strolled out of all possibility of earshot from the house, and then:
“Harry has decided to take the legal management of the estate out of your hands, Gwyn,” he said. “He spoke to me this morning of some funds that you’re handling—about fifty thousand pounds’ worth of stock from the late Lady Chelford’s estate. Is that money intact?”
Arthur did not answer.
“Is that money intact?” asked Dick again.
“No,” said the other huskily; “not a penny of it.”
Dick stared at the man in horror.
“You mean the money is lost?”
Arthur nodded.
“Yes, I was persuaded to put it into an oil-field in Texas. The shares are not worth two cents a thousand.”
Dick groaned.
“Oh, you fool, you cussed fool!” he muttered. “Don’t you realize what this means? I can’t cover you up now, not even for Leslie’s sake. You madman!”
Arthur Gwyn passed his hand wearily over his eyes.
“What is the use of ragging me?” he asked plaintively. “I’ve been expecting this trouble, and have lived under the shadow of it for years. I’ll have to take my medicine.”
“And Leslie?” asked Dick sternly. “What of her? Has she to take your medicine, too?”
The man’s pallid face was distorted painfully.
“Don’t talk about Leslie, for God’s sake!” he said. “That’s the worst of it. I’m not scared of Dartmoor or bankruptcy or anything. Leslie’s the only fear I have.”
“Can you raise the money?”
Arthur gave a harsh little laugh.
“Raise it? How do you think I can raise fifty thousand?”
“You have no friends?”
The lawyer’s lips curled.
“Not fifty thousand pounds’ worth,” he said curtly. “No, I’m afraid, Alford, I’ve got to go through with it. I’ve been a blackguard, a vain, stupid fool—I’ve asked for all that is coming to me and I shall not squeal.”
Dick was silent, going over the problem that this horrible situation presented. Arthur could go to prison and stay there for the rest of his life, for all he cared… but Leslie: this would break her heart.
“There is one thing I want you to promise me——” he began, as he foresaw one possible solution which might present itself to Arthur’s mind.
The lawyer smiled and nodded.
“You can trust me,” he said. “I’ve got some sort of religion tucked away inside my system. Self-destruction is not my idea of a gentleman’s solution. I tell you I’ll stand up to anything that comes, and I’m not going to blow my brains out and leave a coroner’s jury of yokels and carpenters to discuss my private affairs and probe into my iniquities. When will the transfer take place?”
“We’ve got a week yet,” said Dick. “I can hold it up for that long; but once the papers are in the hands of the other lawyers, nothing can save you.”
A week! Arthur Gwyn pinched his lower lip in meditation. Seven days. So far as he was concerned, if he had seven years to make reparation he could not see daylight.
“And get out of your mind that you’re going to find the Chelford treasure,” said Dick, and the shock made the man jump.
“Why, how do you know——” he stammered.
“I know all about that. I tell you that you can cut it out. That isn’t a solution. It’s only robbing Peter to pay Peter; for if there is any gold—and heaven knows I doubt it—it belongs to Harry and must go to Harry. What about Leslie’s fortune? Of course that is non-existent. Does she know?”
“I told her this morning,” said the man, and now Dick understood his depression. “She took it like a brick; in fact, she seemed almost happy about it. And why, I can’t for the life of me understand. Women are queer things.”
“I know one woman who is the most wonderful thing in the world,” said Dick softly.
He did not wait to see Leslie, but left as hurriedly as he came, and the man who had been lying at full length beneath the laurel bushes waited till the two men had disappeared, and then crawled painfully and carefully back to the road, mounted the wall, and stepped out for the nearest telegraph office to send his news.