The Pursuit

by Frank Savile

  CHAPTER III

  THE SHADOW OF A NAME

  For a moment there was silence between the two. Aylmer's fingersunconsciously wound and unwound a tiny lock of hair in the horse's mane.His eyes travelled over the woman's face and figure appraisingly; hisbrows contracted into a frown of puzzlement.

  He had seen little John Aylmer's mother once before, at her wedding nineyears previously. She had been a girl, then, almost a child, and youngfor her age, which was barely eighteen. Her beauty had been the fresh,innocent _beaute du diable_. She was fair, blue-eyed, with a tendency tofragility. And if report told the truth, her beauty had wasted and herfragility increased through the cruel years of her husband's domination.A bare six months ago she had been freed. Her father's millions hadhelped her to a separation which English Courts had made a legal one.They had also given her the custody of her one child, the heir to theAylmer name and the Landon title.

  This girl was fair, indeed; her eyes like the sea, her color fresh, herforehead bland and unwrinkled. But she was not the woman whose woes hadmade copy for a thousand newspapers on both sides of the Atlantic, whosesufferings had roused the storm of execration which had made the honestname of Aylmer a byword of dishonor and reproach. No, this was not hiscousin Landon's wife.

  And yet?

  Feature for feature, line for line, she reminded him of the woman whosedaintiness he remembered among the massed decorations of that New Yorkcathedral those years ago.

  He sought bluntly for an explanation.

  "I, too, am John Aylmer," he said quietly. "Who are you?"

  The sudden thrill of surprise with which she clutched the child to hertightened the reins. The gray backed a step; it was as if horse andrider were alike repelled by his question.

  She stared at him with a sudden fierce aversion which was undisguised.

  "You are Landon's cousin--you?" she cried.

  He bowed his head.

  "I have that misfortune," he answered quietly.

  At the form of his answer a tinge of relief woke in her eyes, but theystill watched him with incredulity and suspicion.

  "He--he has sent you?" she demanded. "You bring other proposals, orthreats?"

  He smiled gravely.

  "We have shared nothing, except a club, he and I," he explained. "I havenot set eyes on him for over a year."

  She still watched him alertly, debatingly, and still with mistrust.

  "How did you come here, and why?" she asked.

  "I am a member of the Tent Club," he answered. "I am in garrison atGibraltar. I could not get leave till yesterday afternoon and I waitedin Tangier to accompany Captain Rattier, whose ship is in harbor. Have Isufficiently explained myself?"

  She hesitated.

  "You have not seen your cousin for over a year? Perhaps you are incorrespondence with him?"

  He showed signs of impatience.

  "We have not exchanged half a dozen letters in our lives!" he saidemphatically.

  The lines of her face remained unsoftened. Her fierce grip on thechild's shoulder did not relax.

  "And this Frenchman--this Captain Rattier?" she asked. "What of him?"

  His eyebrows expressed the intensity of his amazement.

  "Paul Rattier is my distant cousin," he answered. "No finer gentlemanwalks the earth." He paused for a moment. "Is it permitted to inquirewhy you suspect--strangers?"

  She did not answer him. An abstraction, real or feigned, seemed to haveseized her. She stared out over his head into the distance with unseeingeyes as if she weighed problems, debated evidence, sought conclusions.It was the child who roused her into attention. He laughed, clapped hishands, and shouted.

  "Browny!" he clamored in delight. "Browny!"

  Aylmer looked round.

  Rattier, leading a very melancholy and still bleeding horse, hadapproached with Despard. Together they were bending over the major'strophy, the dead boar. Behind them Aylmer's horse was hobbling painfullyto its feet. Despard looked up and shook an admonishing finger at hisacclaimer.

  "You young rebel!" he cried. "You want a good smacking for yourdisobedience!"

  He slipped from the saddle as he spoke and led his horse towards them.He laid his hand familiarly on Aylmer's shoulder.

  "Hurt?" he asked.

  "Not in the least," said Aylmer, and then looked, with a significantlift of the eyebrow, from Despard to the gray horse's rider.

  Despard's face showed his own surprise.

  "Don't you know each other yet?" he marvelled. "Miss Van Arlen--CaptainAylmer."

  Uncertainty gripped Aylmer again. Landon had married a daughter of JacobVan Arlen, the millionaire. A divorcee reverted to her maiden name, butsurely not to her maiden title. But Despard had said Miss, mostdistinctly Miss.

  With his usual straightforward instinct to find the nearest way to probea mystery, he looked at the girl herself. He became aware that her eyeshad been upon his face with intentness.

  "Yes," she said quietly. "This," she patted the child's shoulder, "is mynephew."

  He gave a little sigh of appreciation and, he scarcely knew why, ofrelief. It was not possible, of course, that this girl, whose wholepoise and carriage spoke of resolution and unfettered self-command,could be the woman, broken in health and spirit, who had cowered beforeher husband's glance, so some of the baser journals had hinted, evenwhen she was seeking and had received the law's protection from him.

  And her eyes? They were not of that appealing blue which had shonebeneath the bride's deep lashes on that half-forgotten wedding-day. Theywere blue, indeed, but they met his with something which was akin todefiance.

  She did not explain herself, but her glance was that of one who neededno warrant for her demeanor. Her attitude was not one of blatantaggressiveness, but was undoubtedly distrustful.

  He looked at the child with renewed interest.

  "Your sister is--where?" he asked quickly.

  The frown came swiftly back to her forehead.

  "You ask me that? Why?" she demanded.

  He looked at the boy.

  "Naturally I thought she might be with you," he answered. "As an AylmerI should be glad to meet her."

  "Ah!" Her tone was hard and suspicious again. Unconsciously she grippedthe child to her again with a fierceness which made him protest.

  "You hurt!" he complained. "You hurt, and I want to see the boar."

  With a sailor's instinctive fondness for children, Rattier, who hadresigned his limping horse into the hands of one of the Arab beaters,turned towards him.

  "May I be permitted?" he said simply, and held out his arms. The childmade a restless little movement towards him. "He'll show it me!" hecried joyously. "He'll take me!"

  Again she reined back, looking from one to the other with patentmisgiving.

  "No!" she cried sharply. "You shall not touch him, either of you!" Shemade an appealing gesture towards Despard. "You must see me back to thecamp!" she said.

  He was smiling with tranquil amusement, a smile which seemed to rouseher to anger.

  "Let us go now, at once!" she said, and wheeled her horse.

  Despard nodded, but did not dismiss the smile.

  "Might I inform you that Aylmer has been my friend since our Sandhurstdays, and that I have shared his intimacy with Commandant Rattier forthe last five years? I can vouch for them; I really can."

  She reined in her horse again and sat looking at all three with doubtstill lurking in her eyes. Aylmer met her expression with unrestrainedamazement. He found her mistrust of him a conundrum to which there wasno answer. The Frenchman's shoulders rose and fell almost imperceptibly.His head was slanted with deferential acquiescence. He laid his handupon Aylmer's arm.

  "Your horse?" he interposed.

  He pointed to it and to Absalaam, who had now arrived and was touchingthe wounds in its flank with delicate, probing fingers. The commandant'sgesture seemed to imply that the situation in which they foundthemselves demanded a tactful retreat, and that here he indicated adignified one
.

  Aylmer still hesitated. He saw no reason why he should concur in his owndismissal; the idea grated on him. What had he done?

  It was Despard who took the edge of restraint off the situation. Heswung himself back into the saddle, and pointed up the hill.

  "After all, the thing was a squeak," he allowed. "You are shaken." Heturned and nodded slightly to the other two. "I will return and helpwith the horses; we shall have no other beat to-day."

  They smiled, bowed to his companion, and gave him answering nod. Theyunderstood. He was going to use the opportunity to sponsor them. Then hewould return, and they would have their explanation. They watched himbend towards his companion as they rode away.

  "It is almost as if we diffused a contagion, you and I," speculatedRattier as they turned to Absalaam and the horses, but Aylmer made noeffort to elaborate the issue. An inexplicable instinct to make theincident a personal rather than a general one had overtaken him. As hewatched Despard ride away with his companion, he felt almost as if hewere being defrauded. The relations between his cousin and her sistermade a tie between Miss Van Arlen and himself; surely, in spite ofeverything, they were sufficient foundation upon which to foundsomething more than a mere acquaintanceship. In the name of all theother decent-minded, clean-living Aylmers, he might have been allowed tomake his and their protest against being held responsible for theknaveries of the head of their house.

  So it was with something of dissatisfaction in his aspect that he turnedto Absalaam and the wounded horse. The Moor saw it but misunderstood itspurport.

  "Merely a flesh wound, Sidi," he hastened to assure Aylmer. "A week,perhaps ten days, of rest and he is himself again. A small price to payfor so precious a thing as that child's life."

  Aylmer looked at him with tolerant amusement. Absalaam ibn Said hadneither harem nor wife; his career had been notoriously one of unrestand adventure. These pious opinions issued oddly from his bachelor lips.

  "A small price indeed," he agreed pleasantly, "but a hundred youngstersrun risks little less in the Sok of Tangier every day."

  The Moor made a sweeping motion of the hand, as if he suddenly droppedthe subject of conversation from a higher plane to a lower.

  "The children of the Sok!" he cried contemptuously."Khabyles--Arabs--Susi--Riffs! What are they? Little more than vermin;their ranks are replenished all too quickly as it is! But this one! Herewe tell a different story, do we not?"

  Aylmer halted in his examination of the wounded pastern and looked up.There was something arresting in the Moor's vehemence.

  Absalaam caught the look and shrugged his shoulders.

  "The Sidi has not visited Tangier for five or six weeks?" he said.

  Aylmer nodded. And waited. He had had a good deal of experience of theMoor and his conversational methods. He was aware that the deferring ofa climax till it could be launched on a tide of tantalization was thechiefest of them.

  "Therefore, Sid' Aylmer," continued the Moor, "you have not heard allthe tales which center round this small one's fortunes?"

  Aylmer smiled and prepared to give his attention again to his horse. Itwas left to Rattier to ruin the pyramid of stimulation.

  "What tales?" he demanded laconically.

  Absalaam's brown eyes met both question and questioner withmelancholy--almost, indeed, with scorn. How could one titillate, howcould one embroider, how could one work up to a brave display ofinterest, if bald facts were to be wrung from one at this stage of atale? He sighed.

  "Tales of his wealth and importance, Sidi," he answered, in accents ofsubjection.

  Rattier drew up the monocle which swung from a ribbon at his buttonholeand concentrated his stare upon the Moor.

  "Wealth?" he repeated tersely.

  Absalaam opened his arms to their widest and held his palms emptilyoutflung.

  "Wealth sufficient to buy all Tangier, all Fez, the whole of Mogrheb alAcksa, if a tenth of the reports be true. His life, therefore? How canone value it!"

  He beamed upon them. He had been robbed of his slowly forgedculmination, but he had, at least, been able to offer them a surprise.

  Aylmer replaced upon the ground the hoof which he had been holding. Helooked at the Moor good-humoredly.

  "So the gossip mongers of the Sok credit this infant with riches?" hesaid. "On what evidence, if any?"

  Absalaam made a motion towards the sea.

  "In the harbor, when you landed, did you observe a yacht, Sidi--a whiteboat, with lines of gold at her cutwater and figurehead?"

  "Yes."

  "That boat lies there at the service of that child. They have taken forhim the Villa Eulalia; they have surrounded it with tents of men who arethere to do no more than guard his safety; there are servants, horses,donkeys. The Gibraltar steamer brings packets of provisions or what notseveral times a week. In the town their money flows."

  Rattier dropped his eyeglass.

  "I think, _mon ami_," he said slowly, "that gold must be freer with themthan gratitude. Were you thanked for what you did? I don't seem toremember it."

  Aylmer shook his head.

  "That is the mystery," he agreed. "I did little enough, but I was goingto be thanked--till I disclosed my name. Then," he shrugged hisshoulders, "you saw."

  He meditated a minute. Then he burst out laughing.

  "I was not allowed even to hold him, and I am not at all sure that I amnot his guardian!" he said suddenly.

  Rattier's surprise was evident, but he managed to concentrate it in amonosyllable.

  "Eh?" he demurred wonderingly.

  Aylmer gave an emphatic nod of the head.

  "I was coming home from China at the time of the marriage of my cousinLandon with this child's mother. I broke my journey in New Yorkspecially to attend it. And Landon, merely as a form, asked me as hiskinsman to be a party to his settlement. In certain circumstances,including his death, I was to be one of the trustees for his children."

  "And he is dead, this cousin?"

  "No, my friend. Merely divorced. Where do I come in--where?"