CHAPTER XVI
He went into the dining-room first--Rachel was still upstairs--andpicked up the _Arbiter_ again, looking at it with this new, terribleinterpretation of what he saw in it. There it was, as damning evidenceas ever a man was convicted upon, the map that no one but himself andthe two principals had seen, reproduced, roughly it is true, but stillunmistakably, from the paper that he alone in the house had had in hispossession. He turned hurriedly to the brief but guarded commentaryevolved at a venture by Pateley, but nevertheless very near the truth.Pateley had played a bold game indeed, but he was playing it asskilfully and watchfully as was his wont. Rendel threw down the paperwith a gesture of despair, then clenched his hands. If he had been awoman he would have wept from sheer misery and agitation. But it was ofno good to clench his hands in despair; every moment that passed oughtto be used to find out the truth of what had happened, to clear himselffrom that nightmare of suspicion.
He went hurriedly across the hall to his study with the instinct of onewho feels that on the spot itself there may be some suggestion to helpdiscovery. His writing-table was locked. He tried it, shook it. The key,one of a peculiar make, hung always on his watch-chain. It was quiteimpossible that, save by one who had the key, the table should have beenopened. What had he done yesterday? What had happened? And he sat downand buried his face in his hands, concentrating his thoughts, trying torecall every incident. The first time that Stamfordham had come in andgiven him the rough notes and the map, he, Rendel, had been alone. Therewas no doubt of that. After that who came in? Rachel? No, Rachel had notbeen in the room with the papers except just at the end when Rendel wassealing up the packet. Besides, if Rachel had had a hundred secrets inher possession, they would have been as safe as in his own. Then hecaught himself up--in his own! after all, he was suspected--so theimpossible idea, apparently, could be entertained. Then the thought ofSir William Gore came into his mind, but only to be instantly dismissed,for since the papers were locked up in Rendel's writing-table they musthave been as inaccessible to Sir William as though they had beenseparated from him by the walls of several apartments. And there was onething pretty certain: Gore, supposing him to be capable of using it, hadnot got a duplicate key. "Even he," Rendel found himself thinking,"would not do that." He heard Rachel's step swiftly descend the stairsand go into the dining-room, then she came quickly across the hall tothe study.
"Oh, there you are, Frank," she said. "My father is----" then she brokeoff as she saw that he was apparently buried in painful thought fromwhich he roused himself with a start as she spoke. "Is anything thematter?"
"I will tell you," said Rendel, speaking with an effort.
"May I just ask you something first?" said Rachel hurriedly. "I wantsome foolscap paper for my father. He is so restless this morning, soimpatient."
"It is in there--I told you, didn't I?" said Rendel, turning round andpointing to one of the drawers at the side of his table.
"In that drawer!" said Rachel. "How very stupid of me! I didn't think ofthat. I thought it was in the top part, and I could only get one sheetout of there."
"The top? Wasn't the top locked?" said Rendel quickly, his whole thoughtconcentrated on the problem before him, and the part of the table musthave played in the drama that affected him so nearly.
"Yes, it was," said Rachel smiling, "and I couldn't open it, but therewas a little tiny corner of ruled paper sticking out, so I pulled it,and out it came."
Rendel started and looked at her.
"It is sweetly simple," she added.
"Yes," said Rendel, with an energy that surprised her. "It would comeout quite easily, of course."
"Frank," she said, surprised, "what is it? You didn't mind my pulling itout, did you?"
"Of course not; I don't mind your doing anything--only--I didn't realisethat things could be got out of my writing-table in that way."
"Well, you must be sure to poke them in further next time," Rachel saidlightly, shutting again the side drawer to which she had been directed,and out of which she had got some sheets of foolscap. "I will be backdirectly."
"Wait one moment," said Rendel. "Lord Stamfordham has been here."
"Lord Stamfordham! Since I went upstairs?" said Rachel, standing stillin sheer surprise.
"Yes," said Rendel. "Some secret information that--I knew about, has gotinto the paper and is published this morning."
"Oh, Frank, how terrible!" said Rachel. "How did it happen? Do theymind?"
"Yes, they mind," Rendel said.
"Was that what you saw in the paper," Rachel said, "that excited you somuch?"
"Yes," said Rendel.
"I don't wonder," Rachel said, standing with her hand on the handle ofthe door, an attitude of all others least inviting of confidence. "Wholet it out?"
"That is what we want to know," said Rendel. "That is what LordStamfordham came here to ask."
"Well, he doesn't think it was you, I suppose," said Rachel, smiling atthe absurd suggestion.
"It is quite possible," Rendel said, with a dim idea that he would leadup to the statement, "that he might--that he does."
"What!" said Rachel, opening her eyes wide. "Frank! how absurd!"
"So it seems to me," said Rendel sombrely.
"Too ridiculous!--I'll come down in one moment," Rachel saidapologetically. "I don't want to keep my father waiting."
"Don't say anything to him," said Rendel, "of what I have just beensaying to you."
"Oh, no, I won't indeed," Rachel said. "He ought not to have anything toexcite him to-day," and she went rapidly upstairs.
Rendel, as the door closed behind her, felt for the moment like a manwho, shipwrecked alone, has seen a vessel draw near to him and then passgaily on its way without bringing him help. What was to be done? Againhe took hold of the situation and looked it in the face. But now a newlight had been thrown upon it by Rachel. If a paper could be taken outin the way that she had shown him, it was possible that Gore might haveobtained the map in the same way, though it still seemed to Rendelexceedingly unlikely that, granted he had done so, he would have beenable, given the condition he was in, to act upon it soon enough for itto appear this morning. He hesitated a moment, then he made up his mindto wait no longer. He took up the _Arbiter_ and went upstairs to SirWilliam's room. He met Rachel coming out.
"Oh, thank you," she said, as she saw the paper. "I was just coming downto fetch that. Father would like to see it."
"I thought I would bring it up," Rendel said. "I want to speak to him amoment."
Rachel looked alarmed.
"Frank, you will be careful, won't you?" she said. "He really is not ina fit state to discuss anything this morning."
"I am afraid what I have to say won't wait," Rendel said. "I think I hadbetter speak to him alone." And he quite unmistakably waited for Rachelto go her way before he went into Sir William's room and shut the door.Sir William, wrapped in his dressing-gown, was sitting up in an easychair. On the table near him were sheets of foolscap paper covered withfigures, and lying beside them a letter with a bold, splotchy writing,which he quickly moved out of sight as Rendel came in, a letter that hadtold him of certain successful financial operations undertaken in theCity on his behalf. His face was pale and haggard. He looked up, as hesaw Rendel come into the room, with an expression almost of terror,dashed however with resentment. In his mind at that moment, hisson-in-law was the embodiment of the fate that, in some incredible way,had, as it were, turned him, Sir William Gore, who had hitherto spenthis life in the sunshine of position, of dignity, of the deservedrespect of his fellow-creatures, out into a chill storm ofcircumstances, absolutely alone, into some terrible world where, insteadof walking upright among his fellow-men, he was, by no fault of his own,he kept repeating to himself, hurrying along with a burden on his back,crouching, fearing observation, fearing detection. That burden wasalmost intolerable. He had been trying to distract his thoughts and seeksome cold comfort by making calculations based upon the letter he hadreceived fro
m Pateley, but all the time, behind it lay ice-cold andimmovable the thought of the price at which Pateley's co-operation hadbeen bought, of the moment of reckoning with Rendel that must come whenthe sands should have run out their appointed time. So much had hesuffered, so much had he been dominated by this thought, that when thedoor opened and Rendel finally came in, the moment brought a sort ofrelief. Rendel, on the other hand, when he saw Sir William looking soold, so white and feeble, suddenly felt his purpose arrested. It wasimpossible, surely, that this old man, with the worn, handsome face andpathetically anxious expression, could have had a hand in a diabolicalmachination, and the thought that it was unlikely came to him with agleam of comfort. Then as quick as lightning came a reaction ofwonderment as to what hypothesis was to take the place of this one. Atany rate, there was only one thing to be done: to tell Gore the storywithout a moment's further delay.
"Good morning, Sir William," he said. "I am sorry to hear you are notwell this morning."
"Not very," Gore said, trying to speak calmly, and involuntarily lookingat the newspaper in Rendel's hand.
"I hear you were asking for the _Arbiter_," Rendel said.
"Yes, I should like to see it," Gore replied, "when you have done withit."
"I want you to see it," Rendel said. "There is something in it whichmatters a great deal." Gore felt a sudden grip at his heart. He saidnothing. "Here it is," said Rendel, and he handed him the paper, foldedso as to show the startling headings in big letters and the roughfacsimile of the map. Gore looked at it. The whole thing swam before hiseyes; he held it for a moment, trying desperately to think what he hadbetter say, but he could find no anchorage anywhere.
"That is very surprising," he said finally. "As far as I can see,it's--it's a partition of Africa between England and Germany? Is thatit? I can't see very well this morning."
"That is it," said Rendel.
"Yes, that is very important," Gore said, leaning back and letting thepaper slide from his grasp. "Most important," and he was silent again,waiting in an agony of suspense for what Rendel's next words would be.Rendel, scarcely less agitated, was trying to choose them carefully.
"I am very sorry," he began, "to have to tire and worry you about thiswhen you are not well, but I have a particular reason for talking to youabout it."
"Pray go on," Gore managed to say under his breath.
"I have a special reason," said Rendel, "for wanting to remember whathappened in my study yesterday afternoon."
"Yesterday afternoon?" said Gore. "Did anything particular happen?"
"That is what I want to know," said Rendel, trying to speak calmly andquietly. "You will oblige me very much if you will try to rememberexactly what happened all the time, from the moment you came into theroom until you left it."
Gore made an effort to pull himself together. There was no difficulty,alas! for him in remembering every single thing that had takenplace--the difficulty was not to show that he remembered too well.
"When I came in," he said, endeavouring to speak in an ordinary tone,"you were at your writing-table."
"I was," said Rendel, watching him.
"And then I sat down in an armchair and read the _Mayfair Gazette_----"and he stopped.
"Yes. All that," Rendel said, "I remember, of course. Thacker came intelling me Lord Stamfordham was there, and I rushed out, shutting theroller top of my writing-table, which closes with a spring. I wasespecially careful to shut it, as it had valuable papers in it."
"Indeed?" said Sir William, almost inaudibly.
"Yes, and among them," Rendel said, watching the effect of his words, "amap--that map of Africa which is reproduced this morning in the_Arbiter_."
"In your writing-table?" Gore said, with quivering lips.
"Yes, in my writing-table, out of which it must have been taken."
"That is very serious," Gore forced himself to say.
"It is very serious," said Rendel, "as you will see. When I came backand had finished my work on the papers I did them up myself in a packetand sent them to Lord Stamfordham."
"Your messenger was not trustworthy, apparently," said Gore, recoveringhimself.
"My messenger was Thacker," Rendel said, "who is absolutely trustworthy.Lord Stamfordham himself told me that he had received the packet with myseal intact."
"Still," said Gore, "servants have been known to sell State secretsbefore now."
"But not Thacker," said Rendel. "However, of course I shall ask him; Imust ask every one in the house, for it must have been by some one herethat the thing was done, that the map was got out."
"I thought you said the table was locked?"
"It was locked, yes," said Rendel, "but I have learnt this morning thatpapers can be pulled out from under the lid. Rachel got a piece offoolscap paper for you in that way."
"Did she?" said Gore, feeling that he had unwittingly supplied one linkin the chain of evidence.
"There was only one person, so far as I know," said Rendel, "in the roomwhile that paper was in my desk, who could have pulled it out and lookedat it, and apparently made an unwarrantable use of it." The questionthat he expected to hear from Gore did not follow. Rendel waited, thenhe went on, "That person was--you."
"What do you mean?" said Gore, sitting up, his colour going and comingquickly.
"My words, I think, are quite plain," Rendel said. "I mean that all theevidence, circumstantial, I grant, points--you must forgive me if I amwronging you--to your having taken out the map."
"Will you please give me your reasons for this extraordinaryaccusation?" said Gore.
"Yes," said Rendel, "I will." And he spoke more and more rapidly as, hisself-control at length utterly broken down, and his emotion havinggained entire possession of him, he felt the fierce joy of those who,habitually watchful of their words, yield once or twice in their livesto the impulse of letting them flow out unchecked in an overwhelmingflood. "You alone were in the room with the papers; your prepossessionsare all against us; you spoke yourself just now of the value of a Statesecret sold in the proper quarter; things are looking ugly about the'Equator.'"
"Do you mean to hint----" said Gore.
Rendel interrupted him quickly. "No, not to hint," he said; "hinting isnot in my line. I dare to say it out. I dare to say that in one of thosemoments of aberration, of deviation, whatever you choose to call it,that sometimes descend upon the most unlikely people, you pulled thatpaper out, from idle curiosity, I daresay, and finding out what it wasyou sent it to the _Arbiter_."
"You did well," said Gore bitterly, "to keep your wife out of the roomwhile you were accusing me. I am old and defenceless," he said, withlips trembling, and again an immense self-pity rushing over him. "Ican't answer; I can't reply to a young man's violence."
"I have no intention," Rendel said, still speaking with a passion whichintoxicated him, "of being violent, but I must go on with this, for LordStamfordham won't rest until it is sifted to the bottom, and he is not aman to be trifled with. And as to your being defenceless, good God! yourbest defence is Rachel's trust in you and devotion to you. It is becauseof it that I wanted to spare her the knowledge of what we have beensaying. Her faith in your infallibility has always seemed to me sotouching that for her sake I have respected it. I have tried--Heavenknows I have tried!--all this time to be to you what she wished me tobe." Gore stirred; he was quite incapable of speaking. "This is not themoment," Rendel went on, almost unconscious of his words, which pouredout in a flood, "to keep up a hollow mockery of trust and friendship,and it is more honest to tell you fairly that I have not entirelyshared her faith in you. I have always thought that, like the rest of usafter all, you were neither better nor worse than most other falliblepeople in this world, and that you may be, as I daresay we all are,fashioned by circumstances, or even by temptation. And I tell youfrankly that I believe that you did this thing that I accuse you of.How, I demand to know. That, at any rate, is not more than one man mayask of another."
Sir William winced and writhed helple
ssly under Rendel's words. Theintolerable discomfort and misery that he felt as the moment ofdiscovery drew near had given place gradually to a furious resentment atwhat he was being made to endure at the hands of one who ought not tohave presumed to criticise him. As Rendel stood there, his clearly cutface hard and stern, pouring out accusations and reproach, Gore felt asif the younger man embodied all the adverse influences of his own life.It was through Rendel that the fatal opportunity had come of his gettinghimself into this terrible strait, Rendel: who, most unjustly in thescheme of things, was daring to tax Gore with it. It was too horrible tobear longer. He too felt that the time had come when that with which hisheart and soul were overflowing must find vent in speech. As he heardRendel's words of stern impeachment ringing in his ears, "I tell youfrankly that I believe that you did this thing," he rose desperately tohis feet.
"Well," he said, casting with a kind of horrible relief all restraintsand prudence to the winds, "what if I had?"
Rendel turned pale.
"If you had?" he said. "You did it, then?"
"If I had," Gore went on quickly, "it wouldn't have been a crime. Youcan't know how easy it was for the thing to happen. I am not going totell you--I am not going to justify myself----" And he went on with apassionate need of self-vindication, drawing from his own words theconviction that he had hardly been at fault.
"Sir William," Rendel said hurriedly, "tell me----"
"It is easy enough," said Gore, "for you to talk of faith and trust. Youneed not grudge my child's faith in me. I have nothing else left now."And as the two men looked at each other each in his soul had a vision ofthe gracious presence that had always been by Sir William's side: of onewho would have believed in him, justified him, if the whole world hadaccused him. Rendel suddenly paused as he was going to speak.
"Life is very easy for you," Gore went on in a rapid, trembling voice.Oh, the relief of saying it all!
"It is all quite plain sailing for you, you with whom everythingsucceeds, you who are young and have your life before you. You have timefor the things that happen to you to be made right."
"Don't let us discuss all that now," said Rendel, with an effort. "Weare talking of something else that matters more than I can say. Youonly can tell me----"
"I will tell you nothing," said Gore loudly, excited and breathless,speaking in gasps. "One day when you are old and alone--and both ofthese things may come to you as well as to other people--you willunderstand what all this means to me."
"Father, dear father!" cried Rachel, coming in hurriedly. Anxious andwretched at Rendel's interview with her father being so undulyprolonged, she had wandered upstairs again, and when she heard theexcited and angry voices she could bear the suspense no longer. "What isit?"
Gore sank back trembling into his chair as she came in, making signs toher that for the moment he was unable to speak. A glance at him wasenough to show that it actually was so.
"Oh, Frank!" she cried, "what have you done? I asked you not to excitehim."
"Wait, Rachel, wait!" said Rendel, trying to speak calmly, feeling thateverything was at stake. "Sir William, can you not tell me----?"
Gore feebly shook his head.
"Frank!" cried Rachel, amazed at his persistence. "Oh, don't! Let meimplore you not to ask him anything more. Frank! do you mind leaving himnow? Oh, you must, you must, really. Look at him!"
Sir William, white and exhausted, was leaning back in his chair with hiseyes closed. Rendel looked at her face of quivering anxiety as it bentover her father, then turned slowly and left the room.
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