The World's Great Snare

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  “Are you not making a mistake, Gerald?” he said. “This is Mr. Bryan, our new neighbour at the Old Hall.”

  Bryan’s composure had come back to him as suddenly as it had left.

  “I was in San Francisco a short time ago,” he said drily.

  “Of course you were!” Gerald exclaimed. “I should have known you anywhere—anyhow! I have always hoped that we should meet again, but I never dreamed of its being here!”

  “We must hear all about it!” Lord Wessemer said.

  They had formed a little group in the centre of the hall. Outside the circle the butler was hovering, for the luncheon bell had rung as the men had issued from the billiard-room.

  “It is not worth telling!” Bryan said quickly. “I knew San Francisco better than Mr. Wessemer, and I was able to render him some slight service. I should prefer nothing more being said about it!”

  Bryan frowned, and looked straight at Gerald Wessemer. The boy closed his mouth. There was something about Bryan’s manner which made it hard to disobey him at any time. The story would have remained untold for the present, but for Lady Helen.

  “Gerald, I insist upon hearing it now,” she exclaimed, laying her hand upon his shoulder. “Mr. Bryan will not object—if I wish it!”

  She looked appealingly at him, her proud young face for the first time relaxed. He felt his heart beat furiously. He nodded to Gerald. He had nothing more to say.

  “Well, it isn’t particularly creditable to me, but I’m awfully glad to tell it!” Gerald declared, with a little laugh.

  “Hazelrigg—fellow I was travelling with, you know—sort of tutor,” he explained for the benefit of Sir George and Captain Forrester, “was laid up at San Francisco, and I went round alone. I found out a restaurant—an odd, out-of-the-way sort of place—and got a bit thick with a fellow there. He had won quite a lot of money from me, but he was a plausible, gentlemanly sort of chap, and I was a young fool; and anyhow, there we were one night having dinner together, and he was going to take me to a place where I could have my revenge afterwards, he said. Well, Mr. Bryan came in while we were there, and I noticed that he looked at me rather curiously, and presently he came up and tapped me on the shoulder, and asked whether he could have a word with me. I got up, and he led me a few steps away and told me, like a regular good fellow, that the chap I was with was a professional gambler and a cheat, and begged me not to have anything to do with him. Of course, like a young fool, I got hot and indignant, and I’m afraid I told him to mind his own business. Well, he shrugged his shoulders, and went away. After dinner, the chap—Mercier he called himself—took me to a regular gambling-hell, and though I pretended that I did not believe a word of what Mr. Bryan had told me, I found myself watching him now and then, and, sure enough, I caught him bringing a king of hearts out of his pocket-handkerchief. Of course, I flung down my cards, and called out ‘Cheat!’ as loud as I could. There was an awful row. Mercier leaped up and whipped a revolver out of his pocket, swearing all the time like mad. He leaned over the table, and pointed it straight at me. I thought I was done, but all of a sudden, just as Mercier’s hand was upon the trigger, Mr. Bryan, who had been sitting close behind me, sent a tumbler full of spirits straight in Mercier’s face, and blinded him. He fired, but missed me. Then before he could raise his hand again, I heard Mr. Bryan cry out so that all the glasses in the place rattled:

  “Hands down! First man who stirs, I shoot!’

  “I saw every one in the room go stiff, and there was a dead silence. I looked round, almost afraid to breathe, and there was Mr. Bryan with his back to the wall, and a revolver in each hand, one pointed dead at Mercier, and another towards a group of his pals who had been standing round the bar. There was such a silence in the room that you could have heard a pin drop. I could hear my own heart beat, and I could hear Mercier breathing hard, and glaring at Mr. Bryan like a madman.

  “Then Mr. Bryan spoke without looking at me.

  “‘Get out of this place, youngster!’ he said quietly. ‘Out you go this second!’

  “I never thought of disobeying him. Up I got and walked down the room, and no one offered to stop me. But at the door I waited. I wanted to see the end. I don’t think I ever remember anything so awful as that silence. Every one was glaring at Mr. Bryan, but nobody dared move. All of a sudden Mercier’s hand went up, and Mr. Bryan’s followed it like lightning. The two shots rang out almost together. Alercier’s was too late, but”—the boy hesitated—“your shot went through his heart, didn’t it?”

  Bryan nodded grimly. There was a little audible stir. Lady Helen was very quiet and pale, and her eyes were fixed upon Bryan as though she were fascinated.

  “There was a regular hullabaloo then!” Gerald continued. “The shots rang out one after the other, but the place was filled with smoke, and no one could see distinctly. I suppose that is why Mr. Bryan wasn’t much hurt, for every one was firing at him. Then I saw him lift up one of the cowboys who had got close up to him with a knife, and hurl him back amongst the others, knocking them down like ninepins. Oh, it was a lovely row!” he went on, with a little burst of enthusiasm. “Then, when they were all in the wildest confusion, Mr. Bryan sprang to the door, caught my arm, and away we ran for our lives. We didn’t stop until we got into one of the avenues. Then he just laid his hand upon my shoulder, and gave me some good advice—I didn’t forget it, either—and before I could get out a single word of thanks, he was gone, and I didn’t know even his name! And, Mr. Bryan,” the boy added, with a bright sparkle in his eyes, “I’m more glad than I can say, to find you here, for I owe you my life, and I hope that we shall be friends!”

  He held out his hand impulsively, and Bryan took it.

  “Don’t think too much of it, my boy!” he said kindly. “We get used to rows out there, you know. But I’m glad to see you again!”

  Then his heart gave a great throb. Lady Helen had glided before him, and was looking into his face with a faint glow in her cheeks, and very soft eyes.

  “Mr. Bryan,” she said, “will you shake hands with me, too? Gerald is my only brother, and I could not have spared him!”

  Bryan could find safety only in silence. A sudden fire flashed in his eyes at the touch of her soft fingers, and his heart beat madly. Then there was a pause which, save for Lord Wessemer’s tact, might have become an awkward one.

  “It is really a most marvellous rencontre!” he said. “But don’t let us overpower Mr. Bryan, or he will begin to wish that he had left Gerald to fight his own battles. Suppose we talk it over at luncheon!”

  There were several other guests staying in the house, who kept dropping in to luncheon one by one, and notwithstanding Bryan’s protests, the story was told over a good many times, and he found himself the recipient of a good deal of attention. He was sitting at Lady Helen’s right hand, and he knew that it was she who had had the places altered.

  “I declare I haven’t enjoyed a thrill for ever such a long time!” one young lady declared to Sir George Brankhurst. “Fancy sitting at the same table with a man who has killed another man like that! Isn’t it fascinating? I do wish that I could get to talk with him! I shall make papa call, and then we may get him to dinner. He looks the part so, too, doesn’t he?”

  Sir George put up his eyeglass, and stared at Bryan. “Egad, he does!” he answered. “By-the-bye, does any one know who he is and where he came from?”

  “I don’t care a bit where he came from,” the young lady answered. “I think he’s lovely!”

  And so Bryan came in for a great deal of attention, and received it in such a manner that no one could possibly doubt but that he was a gentleman. Raymond Bettesford was so delighted that he could scarcely contain himself.

  “I’m awfully glad, old chap,” he exclaimed, when they were alone together for a moment after luncheon. “Fancy your being such an out-and-out brick!”

  “I wish they wouldn’t make such a fuss!” Bryan answered, laughing. “I say, Raymond,” he added serious
ly, “you were opposite me at luncheon. Did you see anything of the boor, eh?”

  “Not a particle!” cried Raymond heartily. “What rubbish! Why, you’re a perfect avalanche of social success! You carry all before you!”

  Gerald came up to them just then, and beckoned Bryan away. “I say, old chap, Helen wants to speak to you a minute,” he exclaimed. “She’s in the conservatory. Come on!”

  Bryan found her sitting alone in the winter gardens. Gerald strolled away for a moment to find a light for his cigarette. She looked up at him, smiling.

  “I just wanted to ask you to forgive me for being very rude last time we met—at Mrs. Holmes’!” she said softly. “You see—I had no idea that you were—that you could make yourself what you are! That sounds horribly confused, I know, but it’s your own fault. You should not make such an enigma of yourself! I was rude because I thought it was for the best. Do you see?”

  “Perfectly,” he answered. “It is I who should plead for forgiveness. I was rude and violent.”

  “You are forgiven,” she answered brightly. “And I hope we shall be friends!”

  “Will you give me a flower?” he asked simply.

  She laughed, and bending forward, broke off a rosebud from one of the climbing trees.

  “You can have this, if you like,” she said. “Take it quickly!”

  He took it, his strong hands trembling as they touched hers. Then Gerald’s bright young voice rang out from behind.

  “Come on, Bryan, old chap, and see the gees.”

  He went away, and Lady Helen was left alone under the roses. She put down her book, and half-closed her eyes. It seemed to her that she had a good deal to think about. It was like a leaf out of a fairy tale. Her boor lover had become a hero!

  IX. “WHO ARE YOU?”

  Table of Contents

  A few days after the luncheon party at Wessemer Court, Bryan received an unexpected visit. He was returning from a walk to one of his farms, and was crossing the home field on his way to the Vicarage, when he saw a pair of the famous Wessemer carriage horses drawn up to his door, and Lord Wessemer stepping out from the brougham. As Gerald had been rabbit-shooting with him all the morning, and had not said a word about any visit from any member of the family, Bryan at first thought that he must be mistaken. But when he reached the ring fence and turned into the avenue, he saw Lord Wessemer standing upon his doorstep.

  He walked swiftly up the drive, and arrived just in time to stop the carriage. Lord Wessemer stepped out, and the footman closed the door.

  “I am fortunate,” the Earl remarked as they shook hands. “I so seldom pay visits that it annoys me most unreasonably to find any one out.”

  “I’m glad I happened to see you,” Bryan answered. “I thought I recognized your horses, so I hurried back. Won’t you come in?”

  “Thank you.”

  Bryan led the way into the library, wheeled an easy-chair to the fire, and rang the bell for tea.

  “You learnt my weakness very early in our acquaintance, Mr. Bryan,” the Earl remarked. “I am particularly glad to have found you in. I want to have a little talk with you.”

  Bryan stood up on the hearthrug and bowed. During the last few months a wonderful self-possession and restraint had grown up within him. Lord Wessemer looked at him critically, studied his clothes, his bearing, and expression, and told himself finally that the man was a gentleman. There could not possibly be any doubt about it.

  “I am sure you will not misunderstand what I am going to say,” he began pleasantly. “At any rate you must give me credit for taking some considerable interest in you, or I should not be here at all. I am not one who, as a rule, concerns himself about his neighbour’s business.”

  Bryan bowed. The Earl had looked at him as though expecting some remark, and there was nothing which it occurred to him to say.

  “Gerald’s narrative the other day,” he continued, “was quite a little drama in its way. We are all intensely indebted to you for getting him out of such a scrape, and I am not going to weary you by talking about it. I know that that would only bore you.”

  Bryan made a little gesture of relief. In truth, he was sick of hearing it mentioned.

  “Naturally every one has been talking a great deal about it, and after you left every one seemed to imagine that because they had met you at the Court, that I could tell them all about you. But, as you know, I was able to do nothing of the kind. Sir George Brankhurst told me that you snubbed him most unmercifully when he asked you a question about your family. Was that quite wise? Now understand me, Mr. Bryan! As Mr. Bryan you will always be very welcome indeed at Wessemer Court, but I should like other people—”

  “I do not care anything about society,” Bryan interrupted calmly. “I have no desire to make acquaintances.”

  “But if you intend, as I presume you do, to take up a permanent residence here,” Lord Wessemer continued, “you will sure find it more pleasant to be on cordial terms with your neighbours. The long and short of it is, that I have come to ask you, not for my own sake, but for yours, a blunt question. Who are you? Where did you come from?”

  Bryan had drawn himself up to his full height, and his face had grown set and stern. He did not answer for a moment. His eyes seemed fascinated by that little streak of far-away moorland, of which he could just catch a glimpse through his uncurtained window. Then he turned towards Lord Wessemer.

  “I am not sure that I know,” he answered simply.

  Lord Wessemer gave a slight but distinct start. Twice within a few days, this man, a past master in the nonchalance bred of custom and habit, had lost control of himself for a minute.

  “You do not—know?” he repeated slowly.

  “I do not. I wish that I did!” Bryan answered.

  The Earl was silent. He looked steadily into the fire. His cheek seemed a little blanched, and the white hand which supported it shook slightly. Just at that moment a servant entered with the tea-tray. They were neither of them very sorry for the interruption.

  In silence, Bryan did the honours of his little repast, and brought out the cigarettes. The man was dismissed as soon as possible. The Earl lit a cigarette with fingers which still shook a little, and sipped his second cup of tea absently.

  “That is rather an extraordinary statement of yours, Mr. Bryan,” he said at length.

  “No doubt it sounds so,” Bryan answered. “If you care to hear as much of my history as I feel disposed to tell any one, I will tell it to you.”

  “I should like to hear it very much,” Lord Wessemer answered.

  Bryan finished his tea, and set down the cup. Then he lit a cigarette and commenced, still standing up and looking steadily out of the window.

  “I don’t think that I have a very good memory,” he said. “Anyhow, I can’t remember anything when I was very young. The first thing which I can recollect is the old farmhouse where I lived when I was a boy, and the man and woman to whom it belonged. I called them grandfather and grandmother, but I found out afterwards that they were not related to me in any way. I must have led them a fearful life, for I was a wild, harum-scarum boy, but they were very good to me. I went to an excellent school in the neighbouring town, or rather was supposed to, but I stayed away whenever I could, and went ferreting or rabbiting. They were very old people, and they were unfortunately very lenient with me. I did nearly what I liked. I grew up as I liked—and that was very badly. When I was about fourteen years old, they died. A Mr. Jameson, who has since died, but who was then agent of the nobleman who owned all the land round, came forward and declared himself my guardian. I was sent to live with some fresh people whom I did not like at all. Plenty of money was found for my maintenance and education, which I was given to understand had been left me by my grandparents. I had only to ask for anything in reason and I got it, but I am free to confess that at that time I was a vagabond. I ran away from every place I was sent to. I built a hut of my own, and insisted upon living in it. Mr. Jameson did all he could
to induce me to settle down with any of the farmers around, but I declined. Soon I got such a bad name that none of them would have had me. The history of my life from fourteen to twenty is simply a record of vagabondage, poaching, and fighting!”

  “As I grew up, I am happy to say, I changed a little. I became curious to know whether the old people with whom I first lived were really my grandparents, and who I really was. As to the first, I was soon satisfied. I discovered that they were not related to me in any way. But as to the second, it was a different affair. I had been brought to them quite young, and they had given out some time before that they were going to adopt the child of a distant relative. No one knew by whom I had been brought to them, or where I was born. The money, Mr. Jameson told me, was mine, and he showed me a will signed by my reputed grandparents, leaving it to me. I could discover nothing else about myself.

  “One night, when I was in my hut alone, there came a knock at the door. A drunken man was outside, and I let him in out of the rain. He asked me, amongst a lot of incoherent questions, whether I was not the boy who had been brought up by the old people at Weldon’s farm. I answered eagerly ‘yes,’ and hoped that now at last I was going to hear something. He was so drunk, however, that I could get nothing out of him. In the end I gave him a shakedown, and left him till morning, hoping that he would then be able to tell me all I wanted to know. But when the morning came, his place was empty. He had stolen away!”

  Bryan paused for a moment, and relit his cigarette which had gone out. With the match between his fingers, he glanced towards Lord Wessemer. His face was in the shadow, but he was evidently deeply interested.

  “I hunted that man like a bloodhound,” Bryan continued. “In London I lost him. I drew money from Mr. Jameson, and I went to a detective agency. After months of delay I found out something definite. He had sailed for New York. I went to Mr. Jameson again, and told him that I was going gold-digging. He advanced me all the money I asked for, and I left England for New York. At New York I found out, after infinite pains, that he had gone to San Francisco. I followed!”