CHAPTER I
It was in a sense a dinner of celebration at Ballaston Hall in whichthese four men were concerned, although, with the exception of oneguest, it was a family party. At the head of the table sat Sir Bertram;thin, long and hard-jawed, with brilliant dark eyes, almost black, lipsand mouth sometimes cruel, sometimes humorous, a famous spendthrift, anoccasional libertine, but without a doubt a great sportsman. On hisleft, Gregory, an almost startling reproduction of his father, but withuncertainties in his face and expression which time as yet had notmoulded. Next to him, his uncle, Henry Ballaston; a smaller man, stiff,cold, courtly and formal in speech and manner, with greater capacitiesfor kindliness but entirely devoid of that humorous twitch to the mouth.He wore old-fashioned side whiskers. His dress waistcoat showed lessthan the usual amount of shirt front, and his tie was almost a stock. Onthe opposite side of the table sat Mr. Borroughes, the agent to theestates; a mixture of sportsman, man of affairs and sycophant, neveraltogether at ease with his host and, in consequence, rather overdoingthe assumption of such a state. Below the little party was a vastexpanse of polished but empty mahogany, for dinner had been served inthe great banquetting hall where places had often been laid in the pastfor as many as sixty guests.
Rawson, the butler, ponderous yet light-footed, emerged from the shadowsof the apartment, carrying a second decanter of the port which they hadbeen drinking. He placed it reverently before Sir Bertram, who lifted itfirst to the light, poured a little into his glass, sipped it and thenpassed the decanter on to his son.
"Excellent!" he pronounced. "Almost as good a bottle as the first. Awonderful bin! Henry--my dear Henry!"
His brother handed the decanter across the table to Borroughes.
"You are aware, Bertram," he said, "that two glasses of wine afterdinner are all I care for."
His speech was rather like that of an old-fashioned lawyer--prim, alittle clipped, extraordinarily precise. Sir Bertram sighed.
"I wonder whether there is anything in the world," he murmured, "whichwould ever induce Henry to diverge from a habit?"
"It is less prejudice than a partiality," the latter pronounced. "Twoglasses I enjoy. More, so far as I am concerned, bring me no pleasure. Iagree with you, Bertram, that it is an excellent bin. I always enjoythis wine, and I have been happier than usual in drinking it thisevening, on account of our pleasure in welcoming Gregory home again."
"Tell me about our new tenants at the Great House," Gregory enquiredpresently, addressing Borroughes.
"Very desirable--very desirable indeed," the latter replied, delightedat the chance of entering into the conversation. "Mr. Endacott,curiously enough----"
"Endacott!" Gregory interrupted. "Did you say Endacott?"
Gregory, whose first enquiry had been a casual one, had set down theglass which he had been in the act of raising to his lips and wasstaring at Borroughes incredulously; staring at him and yet through him,convinced in his heart, suddenly realising what had happened.
"Yes, Ralph Endacott," Borroughes continued. "Curiously enough, hebelongs to an old Norfolk family, although he has lived all his life inChina. Madame de Fourgenet, whom every one round here calls 'Madame', ishis sister. He is a great Oriental scholar, I believe. A famous man atOxford, in his day. Then there's his niece--Miss Claire Endacott--verygood-looking girl. That's all the family. They have taken the place justas it stands, furniture and all, for three years."
"And paying the full rent, too, thank God!" Sir Bertram added. "I meantto have told you, Gregory, but we've scarcely had a minute together yet.You met the old chap in China, didn't you, and of course you travelledhome as far as Marseilles with the girl."
"Mr. Endacott was a partner in the great Eastern firm of Johnson andCompany, with branches at Alexandria, Tokio, and at several places inChina," Mr. Borroughes went on. "I made use of his banker's references,and was given to understand that he was a man of great wealth."
"He knew to whom the property belonged before he took the house, Isuppose?" Gregory enquired.
"Naturally," the agent replied. "It was his sister who wrote to himabout it."
"Quite a remarkable coincidence your having come across him in China,"Sir Bertram observed, moving the decanter once more towards his son. "Iwonder if he knows anything about your new possession, Gregory?"
"He knows more about it," was the somewhat grim response, "than anyother man breathing. His firm, as a matter of fact, bought the twinImage from one of the robbers who held up and looted the train fromPekin."
"A small world indeed," Sir Bertram murmured. "Tell us more about yourcoming into touch with these people Johnson and Company. I aminterested."
Gregory glanced into the shadows. Rawson was out of sight at a hugesideboard only dimly visible at the other end of the room, and thefootmen had already departed.
"Well, I've told you, haven't I, the story of my rescue on the river byWu Ling?" Gregory proceeded. "It seems this fellow is one of the firmand does all the native trading for Johnson and Company. Naturally Icalled upon him before I sailed and found him in their warehouse--themost astonishing place! I told him of what had happened to poor Hammondeand that only one of the Images had turned up. He listened to my storywithout a smile or a single word. Then he took me into a sort of holy ofholies the firm had--a secret treasure house at the back of thewarehouse, filled with a marvellous collection of curios--turned on theelectric light--what an amazing anachronism it seemed!--and there,smiling at me, was the other Image we looted from the temple, and whichhad been stolen from the train--the one they called the Soul."
"My ethical sense," Sir Bertram observed, "in the question of 'meum andtuum', has always been a little elastic, but did you possibly suggestthat he was a buyer of stolen goods?"
"My previous acquaintance with Wu Ling saved me from wasting my breath,"Gregory replied drily. "From what he said, however, I gathered that hedid not immediately, at any rate, intend to dispose of the Image."
"Mr. Endacott mentioned in the course of conversation," Borroughes putin, "that the business, although it had been immensely prosperous, wasbeing wound up. The Image that you are speaking of, therefore, iscertain some time or other to come upon the market."
Sir Bertram rose to his feet.
"We will have our coffee served in the library," he suggested. "Then wecan pass into Henry's sanctum and examine our new possession. Youhaven't seen it yet, Borroughes, have you?"
"Not yet, Sir Bertram."
They left the room, crossed a fine tapestry-hung hall, and entered thegreat library with its arched roof and famous stained-glass window; aroom of magnificent proportions. There were bookshelves reaching to theceiling, and opposite the fireplace a wonderfully carved Jacobeansideboard on which coffee and liqueurs were already arranged. Theylingered here for a few minutes. Then, with a brief word of invitation,Sir Bertram led the way to an inner door.
"You don't mind our invading your sanctum for a minute or two, Henry?"he asked, looking round towards his brother.
"By no means," was the slightly formal reply. "I was expecting yourvisit."
They passed through into a much smaller apartment, furnished with themost complete and unexpected severity. There was a touch even ofmonasticism in the bare, white stone walls, the high oriel windows andthe furniture of austere shape and design. Here, again, were bookcases,containing, however, works of a different order from the calf-boundvolumes in the library. There were books on heraldry, on china, onsilver, on ancient furniture, books on all the various forms of art,starting from the Renaissance, to the most modern period, and one entireshelf was taken up by manuscript records, each stamped on the outsidewith the arms of Ballaston. On a pedestal of black oak, standing in thefarther corner of the apartment, was the Image of the Body. Henry held alamp above his head and the four men looked at this new familypossession in silence.
"As a specimen of allegorical carving," Sir Bertram mused, "it is amarvellous piece of work. One could conceive that this might
be thecountenance of a man, even of a god, from whom every element ofspirituality was entirely absent."
"A piece of work of great constructive merit, I have no doubt," HenryBallaston observed. "As a subject for daily contemplation, I find itdispleasing."
"Most people would, I think, agree with you, Henry," his brotherconceded. "All the same we must not forget, the family fortunes beingwhat they are, that, although the expert whom we have had down ratherscoffs at the idea of there being jewels concealed inside, he expressedhis opinion that the Image as it stands, with as much of its history asone would like to make known, is probably exceedingly valuable."
"A specimen of your purchases in China, Mr. Gregory?" Borroughesenquired.
"I didn't buy it; I stole it," was the young man's cool reply. "One doesthat sort of thing over there. I stole two of them. My friend andaccomplice had his throat cut, however, and only one of the Images gotthrough to the coast--the wrong one, I am afraid."
The agent looked doubtfully at his young host. It was a continual sourceof discomfiture to him that he never knew when a Ballaston was inearnest.
"I give you all warning," Gregory continued, "that this Image whenseparated from its companion is a pretty dangerous possession. Accordingto the legend it is supposed to have a debasing and malevolent effectupon its owners."
"Well, there's only Henry in this house to be corrupted," Sir Bertramobserved, stirring his coffee thoughtfully. "Nothing could make myreputation in the County worse than it is, could it, Borroughes?"
The agent looked uncomfortable. He was a person who laughed a great dealbut who was utterly devoid of a sense of humour. Henry Ballaston frownedin troubled fashion.
"Your life is not a careful one, Bertram," he said, "and you are notexactly a pattern to your neighbours. Actual wrong-doing, however, is adifferent thing. No man yet has ever found opportunity to say a wordagainst the honour of a Ballaston."
"That may come," his brother predicted, stretching out his hand towardsthe cigarette box. "We can't go on much longer without money, can we,Borroughes?"
"It is a difficult proposition, Sir Bertram," the agent replied gravely.
"Swindling to a city millionaire is second nature," Sir Bertram sighed;"financial acumen, I believe it is called. A county squire, however,finds few opportunities.--Off already, Borroughes?" he added, as thelatter approached with outstretched hand.
"If you will excuse me, Sir Bertram. It's a darkish ride home and I havea sale in Norwich to-morrow and some accounts to look through to-night.Glad to see you back again, Mr. Gregory. Good night, Mr. Ballaston."
"I will accompany you to the door," Henry Ballaston announced, rising tohis feet. "I may possibly not return," he added, turning to his brother."You will naturally have a great deal to say to Gregory."
The two men left the room together. Gregory took an easy-chair with hisback to the Image. His father refilled his glass with liqueur brandy,drew a box of cigarettes to his side and seated himself opposite hisson. These were almost their first few minutes alone.
"Well, Gregory, old man, you couldn't quite bring it off then?" heobserved.
"Not quite, sir," his son acknowledged. "We did our best."
"No doubt about that. You had a narrow shave of it, as it was."
"And all for nothing, I am afraid."
Sir Bertram rose to his feet.
"I'm not so sure about that," he rejoined. "The man they sent down fromChristie's spent over an hour examining that Image. I've never seen afellow so interested in my life. He had to give it up in the end, but hewasn't any more satisfied than I am."
Sir Bertram had wandered off into the other room, lifted the Image fromits pedestal and, bringing it back, placed it upon his knee. Thelamplight flashed upon its black, polished surface. To Gregory, itsexpression seemed, if possible, even more vicious than ever.
"Gregory," his father continued thoughtfully, "you know who told me thestory. He was a man absolutely incapable of falsehood, and he knew whathe was talking about. He was the greatest man in China in those days. Iam as certain as I sit here that either this Image or the other onecontains the whole of the treasure of the temple."
"Why not have this one broken up?" Gregory suggested.
"And risk getting blown to pieces?"
The young man shook his head.
"A bit too thick, that," he protested. "I have a wonderful amount offaith in the story, but I should think any explosive that was ever putinside there would be a little mouldy by this time."
"I'm not so sure," Sir Bertram reflected. "Those priests were alwaysdevils at protecting themselves against marauders. Besides, in any case,the thing as it stands is worth something."
"Let's sell it then?" Gregory proposed eagerly.
His father's eyebrows were slightly uplifted.
"Has the old gentleman been exercising his malevolent influence uponyou?" he enquired, with a faintly sardonic smile. "Is that why you sentit me home in such a hurry?"
Gregory frowned gloomily.
"I simply know that I detest it," he declared vigorously.
Sir Bertram's expression, cynical only at first, suddenly developedhumorous qualities.
"One might almost imagine you terrified by the superstition, my ingenuson," he murmured, turning the Image around and gazing into itsfeatures. "Gad, you're ugly, though! Different style, of course. Ourvices are, after all, the vices of gentle people. Here we have aneloquent personification of brutality and bestiality. In real life Idoubt whether this fellow would even be able to conduct an orgy withdistinction."
"Put the damned thing down, Father," Gregory begged suddenly. "I livedwith it for three weeks and I hate it like hell."
Sir Bertram strolled into the inner room and replaced the Image upon thepedestal. Then he came back to his son and laid his hand for a momentupon his shoulder.
"Gregory," he said, "you're not going to tell me in cold blood that youactually believe in the superstition."
"Of course I don't believe, but listen. I wanted the other Image.Johnson and Company wanted mine. I wouldn't sell--not likely, after allwe'd been through. It was no good their naming a price for theirs,because we had no money. Do you know what Wu Ling, the Chinaman whorescued me and who apparently is one of the principals in the firm,suggested?"
"Well?"
"He offered to gamble with me--the winner to have both statues."
"How like a Chinaman," Sir Bertram murmured. "It was a good sportingoffer, anyway."
"He got a pack of cards," Gregory continued. "Well--he won! I was tosend this Image back from the steamer. I swear that when I left thewarehouse I meant to do so. I had lost fairly, I suppose, and it seemedto me from the first like a debt of honour. I returned on board theship. Then I looked at the Image and looked at it, and somehow the thingdidn't seem so clear to me, and--damn it, I sent the coolies away andkept it!"
"Anything else?" Sir Bertram asked, after a moment's pause.
"Yes. You know that this man Endacott's niece was on board on her wayback to England--Madame's niece, too, I suppose, by-the-by. Lord, what amess-up!--Dad, we talk about most things pretty nakedly to one another,but we don't often talk about women."
"One doesn't," his father murmured.
"Listen then," Gregory went on. "She is young, entirely innocent,entirely adorable. I like her better than any girl I have ever comeacross in my life. We became great friends. Then we danced at night. Youknow what that means when you get near the Red Sea, and the Canal, andall the rest of it. Of course you do. We danced every evening, and allthe time, down in my stateroom, that Image was leering at me. I began tofeel that I was losing control of myself. I tried to keep away from her.She wouldn't have it. I made an ass of myself once and she forgave me.She thought that she herself had perhaps misunderstood. I was so ashamedof myself that, fortune or no fortune, I tried to throw the damned thingoverboard."
"And what happened?"
"It pitched in an outslung boat and was brought back to me," Gregoryexplained grimly. "A
fterwards--well, I offended again."
Sir Bertram sighed.
"I suppose God gave us the instincts," he murmured, "but the devil hastoyed with them since."
"She scarcely spoke to me again," Gregory concluded, "except out of hersweetness when we met face to face on the dock at Marseilles. It wasbecause of her I went on to Monte Carlo, instead of coming straighthome, and of course I won. I played baccarat at Rome and won again. Ibrought home more pocket money than I ever had before in my life. But Ihate that Image like hell. Now you know everything."
Sir Bertram moved to the sideboard, helped himself to a whisky and soda,and returned to his place.
"Confidence for confidence," he said, stretching himself outcomfortably. "I'm not going to even comment upon your little confession,Gregory, because I don't know what sort of a fellow your friend Wu Lingwas and I've never seen a Chinaman yet I'd trust for five seconds with apack of cards. I've bad news for you, though, I'm afraid. We are prettynearly broke. We can't go on more than a few more months."
"As bad as that!"
"I don't know how it is," Sir Bertram continued, "but luck always seemsagainst the gambler who takes the big chances--especially when it reallymatters. If any man knows the points of a horse, I do. If there's anyamateur understands racing, I do. I bought my yearlings right. I trainedwith Sam Roscoe, and there's none better, and the luck of old Harry'spursued me this year, just as it did last. Up to three days before therace Little June--you remember her--was favourite for the Derby. Whenyou left England you know what I was doing. I wasn't waiting forstarting price. I put on all I could at long odds. I got forty, thirty,twenty, and at eighteen I left off. Then, without any rhyme or reason inthe thing, she went lame. She's done for. She'll never race again. Itisn't worth telling you the whole story. I've finished--haven't a horseleft. And I still owe Roscoe a thousand or two. You know old Mason, thebookmaker--well, I owe him seven thousand. 'Pay me when you can, SirBertram,' he said, 'and shake hands on it.' And I shook hands with him,but, Gregory--God forgive me--I've never paid him. The lands bring us inabout thirteen thousand, taxes five thousand, interest on the mortgagesa little more than the rest. Query--how do we live? God knows!"
There was a short silence. Gregory had thrown away his cigarette and hishands were clenching the arms of his chair. His face was set. The ghostof this threatened horror had risen up between them.
"It means breaking the entail, I suppose?" he muttered at last. "You andI can do it."
Sir Bertram rose to his feet, fidgeted for a moment upon the hearth-rug,then stooped down and laid his hand upon his son's shoulder. So far asit was possible for him to show emotion, he was showing it then.
"My lad," he said, "I am the sixteenth baronet. You would be theseventeenth. Sentiment, but hell all the same, isn't it? And, mark you,before we can sign the papers, I swear that Henry will shoot us. He'sliving in a panic. I feel his eyes upon me wherever I go."
"Is there any other way out at all?" Gregory asked despairingly.
His father once more disappeared into the inner room and returnedcarrying the Image.
"Gregory," he confided, "I believe in the legend. If the jewels aren'tin this one they are in the other."
There was something in Sir Bertram's eyes which spoke ofenterprise--something definite to be attempted. Gregory responded to itat once.
"I'll go back to China and have another try if you say so," he declared.
Sir Bertram glanced round the room as though he feared a listener. Hisvoice, which was always low, became a whisper.
"You needn't," he confided. "The Soul is up at the Great House."
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