CHRIS had gone out that morning without seeing either Miss Chesteror his wife. His first passionate bitterness and anger againstFeathers had passed, leaving him more wretched than he had everbeen in his life, as he remembered their long friendship.
He who had never known trouble hitherto was almost crushed to theearth by it now; and the hardest part of it all to bear was theknowledge that to a large extent he and his selfishness had been toblame.
He told himself that he had no wish to see Feathers any more, andyet it was with the sneaking hope that he would find him there thathe went to the club after having mooned about the West End all themorning.
He made a pretense of lunch, and drank three whiskies and sodas,which made him feel quarrelsome, and he had just decided that hewould hunt up Aston Knight and tell him what he thought of him,when one of the waiters came to him in the smoking-room.
"If you please, sir, you are wanted on the 'phone; very urgent, ifyou please."
Chris was up in a second. There was only one thing in the worldthat could be urgent to him, he knew, and that was if it concernedMarie.
It was Miss Chester's maid, Greyson, who answered his impatienthullo, and his heart seemed to stop beating as he could hear thedistress in her voice.
"Oh, sir, could you come home, please? I've been trying to find youall the morning. I rang up Mr. Daker's rooms, but you weren'tthere."
Chris struck in roughly:
"Well, I'm here now. What is it? Can't you speak up?"
"It's Miss Chester, sir! She was all right when I called her thismorning, but when I went up again . . ."
Chris caught his breath with a sob of relief. Only Aunt Madge!Thank God nothing was wrong with Marie.
"I'll come at once," he said, not waiting to hear any more. "Sendfor a doctor, and I'll come at once."
He hung up the receiver and sent for a taxi. He was home in lessthan ten minutes, to find the doctor's car at the gate. He ran upthe steps hastily and was met by Greyson, who was crying bitterly.
"Well, how is she?" he asked.
"She's dead, sir," she told him, sobbing. "She was dead when I'phoned you. I tried to tell you on the 'phone, but you wouldn'tlet me."
"Dead!" The news came as an awful shock to Chris. He stood quitestill, his heart slowing down sickeningly; then he went on and upthe stairs to Miss Chester's room.
He had expected to find Marie there, but only the doctor andhousekeeper stood by the bed.
Miss Chester was lying just as if she were asleep, her white hairparted smoothly on either side of her face, and a little smile onher lips, as if behind her closed lids she was looking into thefuture and could see something that pleased her well.
Chris stood silently looking down at her. He had been very fond ofher and she had always been very good to him. There was anuncomfortable tightness in his throat.
The housekeeper was sobbing quietly.
Chris looked at her. "Where's--my wife?" he asked in a whisper.
She shook her head.
"I don't know, sir; she went out almost directly after breakfast.Oh--the poor lamb, it will break her heart."
When Chris turned away, she followed him on to the Landing. She wascarrying a big white woolly shawl over her arm.
Chris touched it. "Was she still working?" he asked. He knew it wasthe shawl without which he had hardly ever seen Miss Chester.
The woman broke into fresh tears. She held the shawl up for hisinspection.
"It's finished, sir! She must have put the last stitch into it justbefore she died, because Greyson said she was sitting up working atit when she called her this morning. She was so anxious to get itmade--she always told me it was for Marie--for . . ."
"That will do," said Chris. He went downstairs and waited abouttill the doctor came down.
"There was nothing to be done," the doctor told him. "If I had beensitting beside her when it happened I could not have doneanything." He looked at Chris' pale face sympathetically. "It'sbeen a shock to you," he said. "And your wife--I am afraid she willfeel it very much."
"Yes--especially as she was out." Chris spoke constrainedly. Hedreaded having to break the news to Marie.
The afternoon went by, and she did not come. Greyson did not knowwhere she had gone.
"Nobody rang her up?" Chris asked, with sudden apprehension.
"No, sir; Mr. Dakers rang up twice before lunch, but he asked foryou."
Chris went to the 'phone and gave Feathers' number, but Feathershad gone out in the car, so they told him, and had left no word asto when he would return.
Greyson brought Chris some tea in the smoking-room, but he left ituntouched.
"There are some letters, sir," she said, as she came to take thetray away, but Chris did not even glance at them.
His heart was racked with anxiety for his wife. He wished he hadinsisted on seeing her that morning and he blamed himself bitterly.
Evening came, but no Marie.
"I don't want any dinner," Chris said, when the servants begged himto eat. He wandered in and out of the house restlessly. He had rungup everyone where he thought there was the slightest chance offinding Marie, but nobody had seen her. He had rung Feathers twentytimes without result.
It was approaching seven o'clock before his eyes fell on the littleheap of letters on the smoking-room table, and from sheerrestlessness he took them up and opened them one by one.
A bill--a note from a man asking him to play golf--a letter in MissChester's writing, sent back from Scotland, and a note without astamp.
He was about to throw the last listlessly aside as of no interest,when he recognized Feathers' writing.
With his heart racing, he broke open the flap and for a momenteverything swam before his eyes, so that he could not read a word.
Dear Chris,--I rang you this morning, but they said you were out,so I am writing and sending the note by hand, as I want you to getit as soon as you come in. You will know by the time you receivethis that your wife has left the house. If you had not come to myrooms last night and told me what you did, God only knows in what atragedy we might have found ourselves. This morning I did my bestto set things right, but I was too late, so am writing this note toyou. You know the Yellow Sheaf on the Oxford road near SomertonLock? If you will be there this evening at half-past seven you willfind Mrs. Lawless. I know this is the end of our friendship, andthrough my fault My only excuse is that I thought I was a strongman, but perhaps we are all weak when it comes to the test--Feathers.
Half-past seven! It was nearly seven now, and Somerton Lock wasforty miles away.
Chris never knew what happened during the next hour. He only cameto himself again as he was driving like a madman through thedarkening night, the cool breeze stinging his face.
She had gone--and with Feathers! His best friend had failed him,had lied to him and dishonored him! There was murder in Chris'heart as he stared ahead into the darkness and tried to control histhoughts.
Twice he took the wrong road, and had to turn back, cursing andpraying, and almost sobbing in his fear.
The darkness seemed to deepen in order to hamper him. As he nearedthe river a slight dip in the road plunged him into a thick mistthat was almost a fog.
He had to slow down--could hardly see a yard ahead of him.
Once he stopped, and with the aid of a lamp from the car found asignpost.
Somerton Lock--one mile . . .
Almost there! He tried to believe it was not too late, tried toremember that for all these years Feathers had been his loyalfriend. Once the car swerved under his shaking hand, and he had tostop dead with grinding brakes, thinking he was off the road.
It was then that he heard steps running up the road towards him,and a man's voice calling through the mist and darkness.
He started the car again impatiently, but as he did so a man'sfigure came out of the gloom into the uncertain light of his lamps.
"There's a car in the river . . . For God's sake, sir, come. It's amile from the lock and
not a soul nearer! Lost the road in thismist they must have done." He read the refusal in Chris' face, andhe broke out again passionately, "Oh, for God's sake, sir! There'sa woman in it!"
As if in corroboration of his statement, a frantic cry came faintlyto them through the mist.
Chris hesitated no longer. He caught up a strap which lay at thebottom of the car and, dragging a lamp from its hook, ran backalong the road with the man.
"Are you sure?" he asked breathlessly as they ran. "How can a carhave got into the river?"
They were at the water's edge now and holding the lamp low down,they could see the wheel tracks through the damp, short grass onthe bank and the broken rushes where the car had taken its plunge.
The river was deep there, but if it had been half the depth thedanger would have been almost as great, for Chris knew that the carwould in all probability have turned over had it been going even ata moderate speed. He flung off his coat and, making a cup of hishands, shouted into the darkness:
"Hullo! Hullo!" And the same terrified voice cried in answer, onlyweaker now, and choking, as if already the silent flowing water hadbegun to take its toll.
Chris caught up the strap. He fastened one end round his wrist andgave the other to the man, who stood shaking and helpless besidehim:
"Here! Take this, and don't let it go! I'm going in!"
He took the plunge through the darkness blindly. The water was icycold as it closed over his head, and he could feel the rushes andweeds clutching at him as he struggled up to the surface.
He shouted again breathlessly, and the faint cry came again closebeside him this time, it seemed.
He struck out desperately, every nerve strained, and then suddenlyhis hand came into contact with something which at first he thoughtwas a man's arm, but it seemed to slip beneath the water before hecould grip it.
He groped round desperately, cursing the darkness, and his fingerscaught in the soft silkiness of a woman's hair.
There was no mistaking it this time. Twisting it anyhow about hiswrist and arm so she could not slip from him, he turned for thebank again, guided by the strap which still held.
He was hampered by his clothes and the weight of the woman, thoughfrom what he could tell she seemed small and light enough, and hewas almost exhausted by the time he reached the bank.
There were several figures there now, and a lantern flashed abright light into his face as willing hands dragged him ashore withhis burden.
He fell heavily as soon as he reached the bank and lay prone for amoment, panting and exhausted.
Someone came to his help, but he waved him away.
"I'm all right--there's another out there--a man, I think."
Presently he struggled to his feet. The mist seemed to have risen alittle, and above it a pale moon gleamed faintly down on to thesilent river.
A small boat had been pushed off from the bank, and Chris couldhear the splash of sculls through the mist.
A group of men were bending over the figure of a girl lying on thebank--the girl he had pulled from the water, Chris supposed. Hedrew a little nearer, and looked down at her as she lay there, thelight of the lantern falling on her upturned face. Then he gave agreat cry of agony and fell on his knees beside her, clutching herlimp body with desperate hands for the girl was his own wife--MarieCeleste.
CHAPTER XXIV
"World if you know what is right, Take me in his stead, Bury me deep out of sight, I am the one that's dead."
A Bachelor Husband Page 25
