Till the Clock Stops

by J. J. Bell

  CHAPTER I

  Despite its handsome and costly old furnishings, the room gave one asense of space and comfort; its agreeable warmth was too equable to havebeen derived solely from the cheerful blaze in the veritable Adam'sfireplace, which seemed to have provided the keynote to the generalscheme of decoration. The great bay-window overlooked a long, gentlysloping lawn, bounded on either side by shrubbery, trees, and hedges,terminated by shrubbery and hedges alone, the trees originally therehaving been long since removed to admit of a clear view of the loch, theArgyllshire hills, and the stretch of Firth of Clyde right down to Buteand the Lesser Cumbrae. Even in summer the garden, while scrupulouslytidy, would have offered but little colour display; its few flower bedswere as stiff in form and conventional in arrangement as a jobbinggardener on contract to an uninterested proprietor could make them. Andon this autumn afternoon, when the sun seemed to rejoice coldly over thehavoc of yesterday's gale and the passing of things spared to die anatural death, the eye was fain to look beyond to the beauty of theeternal waters and the glory of the everlasting hills.

  Turning from the window, one noticed that the brown walls harboured butfour pictures, a couple of Bone etchings and a couple by Laguilermieafter Orchardson. There were three doors, that in the left wall being theentrance; the other two, in the right and back walls, near the angle,suggested presses, being without handles. In the middle of the back wall,a yard's distance from the floor, was a niche, four feet in height by onein breadth by the latter in depth, a plain oblong, at present unoccupied.Close inspection would have revealed signs of its recent construction.

  Near the centre of the room a writing-table stood at such an angle thatthe man seated at it, in the invalid's wheeled chair, could look from thewindow to the fire with the least possible movement of the head. Youwould have called him an old man, though his age was barely sixty. Hairand short beard were white. He was thin to fragility, yet his hand,fingering some documents, was steady, and his eyes, while sunken, wereastonishingly bright. His mobile pale lips hinted at a nature kindly, ifnot positively tender, yet they could smile grimly, bitterly, in secret.Such was Christopher Craig, a person of no importance publicly orsocially, yet the man who, to the knowledge of those two individuals nowsitting at his hearth, had left the Cape, five years ago, with a moderatefortune in cash and shares, and half a million pounds in diamonds. And hehad just told those two, his favoured friends and trusted associates ofthe old South African days, that he was about to die.

  Robert Lancaster and Francis Bullard, summoned by telegraph from Londonthe previous afternoon, had not been unprepared for such an announcement.As a matter of fact, they had been anticipating the end itself formonths--long, weary months, one may venture to say. Yet Lancaster, whohad been unfortunate in getting the easy-chair which compelled itsoccupant to face the strong, clear light, suffered an emotion thatconstricted his throat and brought tears to his eyes. But Lancaster hadever been half-hearted, whether for good or evil. He looked lessunhealthy than on that spring morning, eighteen months ago, but thefurtiveness had increased so much that a stranger would have pitied himas a man with nerves. To his host's calmly delivered intimation he had noresponse ready.

  Bullard, on the other hand, was at no loss for words, though he allowed afew seconds--a decent interval, as they say--to elapse ere he utteredthem. He was not the sort of fool who tosses a light protest in the faceof a grave statement. If his dark face showed no more feeling than usual,his voice was kind, sympathetic, sincere.

  "My dear Christopher," he said, "you have hit us hard, for you never werea man to make idle assertions, and we know you have suffered much theselast few years. Nevertheless, for our own sakes as well as your own, wemust take leave to hope that your medical man is mistaken. For one thing,your eyes are not those of a man who is done with life."

  Christopher Craig smiled faintly. "Unfortunately, Bullard, life isdone--or nearly done--with me."

  Said Lancaster, as if forced--"Have you seen a specialist?"

  The host's hand made a slightly impatient movement. "Let us not discussthe point further. I did not bring you both from London to listen tomedical details. By the way, I must thank you for coming so promptly."

  "We could not have done otherwise," said Bullard, fingering his cigar."It is nearly two years since we saw you--but, as you know, that has beenhardly our fault."

  "Indeed no," Lancaster murmured.

  "Go on smoking," said the host. "Yes; I'm afraid I became a bit of arecluse latterly. I had to take such confounded care of myself. Well, Ididn't want to go out of the world before I could help it, and I wasenjoying the quiet here after the strenuous years in Africa--AfricaSouth, East, West. What years they were!" He sighed. "Only the luck cametoo late to save my brother." He was gazing at the loch, and could hardlyhave noticed Lancaster's wince which called up Bullard's frown.

  Bullard threw his cold cigar into the fire and lit a fresh one with care.With smoke coming from his lips he said softly, "Your brother wasdevilishly badly treated in that land deal, Christopher. Lancaster and Iwould have helped him out, had it been possible--wouldn't we, Lancaster?"

  Lancaster cleared his throat. "Oh, surely!"

  "Thanks," said Christopher. "Of course we've gone over all that before,and I'd thought I had spoken of it for the last time. Only now I feel I'ddie a bit happier if I could bring to book the man or men who ruined him.But that cannot be, so let us change the subject with these words, 'Theyshall have their reward.'"

  "Amen!" said Bullard, in clear tones.

  Lancaster took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead.

  Still gazing at the loch, Christopher continued--

  "I will speak of the living--my nephew, Alan." He lifted his hand asthough to check a contradiction. "I am well aware that you believe himdead, and I cannot get away from the fact that the wretchedtwopence-ha'penny expedition came home without him. But no member couldassert that he was dead--only that he was lost, missing; and though Ishall not live to see it, I will die in the firm belief of his returnwithin a year."

  For once Bullard seemed to have nothing to say, and doubtless he wassurprised to hear his colleague's voice stammer--

  "If you could give me any grounds for your belief, Christopher--"

  "Men have been lost in the Arctic before now, and have not died."

  "But Alan, poor fellow, was alone."

  "He had his gun and some food. As you know, he was hunting with a mannamed Flitch when they got separated in a sudden fog."

  "And all search proved vain," said Bullard.

  "True. But there was an Eskimo encampment within a day's march," retortedChristopher, mildly.

  "It had been broken up--"

  "Yes; by the time the search party reached it. I may tell you that I haveseen and questioned every member of the expedition excepting the manFlitch, who seems to have disappeared, and several admitted thepossibility which is my belief." The pale cheeks had flushed, the calmvoice had risen.

  Bullard gave Lancaster a warning glance, and there was a pause.

  "I must not excite myself," resumed Christopher, his pallor back again."But the boy grew dear to me when, like other happenings in my life, itwas too late. I was angry when he went, though I had done little enoughto attach him to myself, and I cursed whomever it was that supplied himwith the necessary funds. He had friends, I suppose, whom I did not knowof. Served me right! But once he was gone my feelings changed. He had aright to make his own life. He had as much right to his ambitions asI"--a faint smile--"to my diamonds. Well, I'm always thankful for the fewhours he spent here before his departure. The Arctic was not mentioned,but we parted in peace."

  The speaker halted to measure five drops from a tiny phial into awine-glass of water ready on his desk.

  "You're overtaxing yourself," said Bullard compassionately.

  "I'll rest presently."

  With a grimace at the bitterness of the draught, Christopher Craigproceeded: "The day after he went I signed a deed of gift by which
Alanbecame possessed of this house and all I possess"--he paused, turningtowards his visitors--"in the way of cash and securities, less a smallsum reserved for my own use. I wanted the boy to know my feeling towardshim in a way that a mere will could not show them. However, it is nogreat fortune--a matter of fifty thousand pounds."

  "Much may be done with fifty thousand pounds," remarked Bullard, as ifrousing himself. "It is a generous gift, Christopher," he went on. "Withthe house, I presume you include all it contains." Bullard knew that hisvoice was growing eager in spite of him. "Naturally," he said, with afrank laugh, "we are curious to know what is going to become of thediamonds--eh, Lancaster?"

  The man addressed smiled in sickly fashion.

  "In what, I still trust, is the distant future," Bullard quickly added.

  "Ah, the diamonds!" said Christopher tenderly. "I shall be sorry to leavethem. A man who is not a brute must worship beauty in some form, and Ihave worshipped diamonds." He leaned over to the right, opened a deepdrawer, and brought up an oval steel box enamelled olive green. It wasfifteen inches long, twelve across, and nine deep. He laid it before himand opened it with an odd-looking key. It contained shallow trays,divided into compartments, each a blaze of light.

  Bullard half rose and sat down again; Lancaster shivered slightly.

  "In times of pain and depression I have found distraction in these vainthings," said Christopher. "Give me a few sheets of wax and a handful ofthese, and time ceases while I evolve my jewel schemes. You may say therecreation costs me a good income. Well, I have preferred the recreation.At the same time, diamonds have risen in price since I collected mine."He shut the lid softly, locked it, and added impressively, "Six hundredthousand pounds would not purchase them to-day."

  "Great Heavens!" escaped Lancaster; Bullard ran his tongue over dry lips.

  "With one exception, you are the first to see them, to hear me mentionthem, since they left South Africa," said Christopher. "No, not even mynephew knows of their existence. My servant, Caw, is the exception, buthe is ignorant of their value."

  "Very handsome of you to trust us, I'm sure," Bullard said withwell-feigned lightness. "I, for one, had never guessed the greatness ofyour fortune."

  "I have trusted you with much in the past; why not now? And I grant thatyour interest in the ultimate destination of my diamonds is the mostnatural thing in the world. Incidentally, your friendship shall not gounrewarded." He waved aside Bullard's quick protest. "But I have grownwhimsical in my old age, and you must bear with me." He smiled gently andbecame grave. "Ultimately my diamonds will be divided into threeportions. But--and I emphasise this--nothing shall be done, nor will thediamonds be available for division, till the clock stops--in, I pray God,the presence of my nephew, Alan."

  "Till the clock stops?" exclaimed Lancaster stupidly.

  "The saying shall be made clear to you before long, Lancaster. And now Imust make an end or I shall be giving my doctor more trouble."

  With a sigh he pressed one of three white buttons under the ledge of thetable. "You will forgive my handing you over to a servant. Caw will seeyou to your car. Farewell, Lancaster; my regards to your wife, my love toDoris. Farewell, Bullard; yet there are better things even thandiamonds."

  The door was opened. A middle-aged man in black, with clean shavenascetic face, and hair the colour of rust, and of remarkably wiry bodilyappearance stood at attention.

  There was something in Christopher's sad smile that forbade furtherwords, and the visitors departed. Lancaster's countenance working,Bullard's a mask.

  The door was shut noiselessly. Christopher's hand fell clenched on thegreen box. His pallid lips moved.

  "Traitors, hypocrites, money maniacs! Verily, they shall have theirreward!" He reopened the box, took out all the five trays, and gazedawhile at the massed brilliance. And his smile was exceeding grim.