CHAPTER XVII
A CONFESSION OF LOVE
The Colonel turned bodily round in his chair. The couple to whom Wraysonhad drawn his attention were certainly incongruous enough to attractnotice anywhere. The man was lank, elderly, and of severe appearance. Hewas bald, he had slight side-whiskers, he wore spectacles, and his facewas devoid of expression. He was dressed in plain dinner clothes ofold-fashioned cut. The tails of his coat were much too short, his collarbelonged to a departed generation, and his tie was ready made. In a smallScotch town he might have passed muster readily enough as the clergymanor lawyer of the place. As a diner at Luigi's, ushered up the room to thesoft strains of "La Mattchiche," and followed by such a companion, he wasalmost ridiculously out of place. If anything, she was the morenoticeable of the two to the casual observer. Her hair was dazzlinglyyellow, and arranged with all the stiffness of the coiffeur's art. Shewore a dress of black sequins, cut perilously low, and shorn a little bywear of its pristine splendour. Her complexion was as artificial as herhigh-pitched voice; her very presence seemed to exude perfumes of thepatchouli type. She was the sort of person concerning whom the veriestnovice in such matters could have made no mistake. Yet her companionseemed wholly unembarrassed. He handed her the menu and looked calmlyaround the room.
"Who are those people?" the Colonel asked. "Rather a queer combination,aren't they?"
"The man is Bentham, the lawyer," Wrayson answered. His eyes were fixedupon the lady, who seemed not at all indisposed to become the object ofany stray attention.
"That Bentham!" the Colonel repeated, under his breath. "But what onearth--where the mischief could he pick up a companion like that?"
Wrayson scarcely heard him. He had withdrawn his eyes from the lady withan effort.
"I have seen that woman somewhere," he said thoughtfully--"somewherewhere she seemed quite as much out of place as she does here.Lately, too."
"H'm!" the Colonel remarked, leaning back in his chair to allow thewaiter to serve him. "She's not the sort of person you'd be likely toforget either, is she?"
"And, by Heavens, I haven't!" Wrayson declared, suddenly laying down hisknife and fork. "I remember her now. It was at the inquest--Barnes'inquest. She was one of the two women at whose flat he called on his wayhome. What on earth is Bentham doing with her?"
"You think," the Colonel remarked quietly, "that there is someconnection--"
"Of course there is," Wrayson interrupted. "Does that old fossil looklike the sort to take such a creature about for nothing? Colonel, hedoesn't know himself--where those securities are! He's brought thatwoman here to pump her!"
The Colonel passed his hand across his forehead.
"I am getting a little confused," he murmured.
"And I," Wrayson declared, with barely suppressed excitement, "ambeginning to see at least the shadow of daylight. If only you had someinfluence with your daughter, Colonel!"
The Colonel looked at him steadfastly. Wrayson wondered whether it wasthe light, or whether indeed his friend had aged so much during the lastfew months.
"I have no influence over my daughter, Wrayson," he said. "I thought thatI had already explained that. And, Herbert," he added, leaning over thetable, "why don't you let this matter alone? It doesn't concern you. Youare more likely to do harm than good by meddling with it. There may beinterests involved greater than you know of; you may find understanding agood deal more dangerous than ignorance. It isn't your affair, anyhow.Take my advice! Let it alone!"
"I wish I could," Wrayson answered, with a little sigh. "Frankly, I wouldif I could, but it fascinates me."
"All that I have heard of it," the Colonel remarked wearily, "soundssordid enough."
Wrayson nodded.
"I think," he said, "that it is the sense of personal contact in a caselike this which stirs the blood. I have memories about that night,Colonel, which I couldn't describe to you--or any one. And now this youngbrother coming on the scene seems to bring the dead man to life again.He's one of the worst type of young bounders I ever came into contactwith. A creature without sentiment or feeling of any sort--nothing but analmost ravenous cupidity. He's wearing his brother's clothes now--thinksnothing of it! He hasn't a single regret. I haven't heard a single decentword pass his lips. But he wants the money. Nothing else! The money!"
"Do you believe," the Colonel asked, "that he will get it?"
"Who can tell?" Wrayson answered. "That Morris Barnes was in possessionof valuables of some sort, everything goes to prove. Just think of thenumber of people who have shown their interest in him. There is Benthamand his mysterious client, the Baroness de Sturm and your daughter,and--the person who murdered him. Apparently, even though he lost hislife, Barnes was too clever for them, for his precious belongings muststill be undiscovered."
The Colonel finished his wine and leaned back in his chair.
"I am tired of this subject," he said. "I should like to get back tothe club."
Wrayson called for the bill a little unwillingly. He was, in a sense,disappointed at the Colonel's attitude.
"Very well," he said, "we will bury it. But before we do so, there is onething I have had it in my mind to say--for some time. I want to say itnow. It is about your daughter, Colonel!"
The Colonel looked at him curiously.
"My daughter?" he repeated, under his breath.
Wrayson leaned a little forward. Something new had come into his face.This was the first time he had suffered such words to pass hislips--almost the first time he had suffered such thoughts to formthemselves in his mind.
"I never looked upon myself," he said quietly, "as a particularlyimpulsive person. Yet it was an impulse which prompted me to conceal thetruth as to her presence in the flat buildings that night. It was aserious thing to do, and somehow I fancy that the end is not yet."
"Why did you do it?" the Colonel asked. "You did not know who she was. Itcould not have been that."
"Why did I do it?" Wrayson repeated. "I can't tell you. I only know thatI should do it again and again if the need came. If I told you exactlyhow I felt, it would sound like rot. But I'm going to ask you thatquestion."
"Well?"
The Colonel's grey eyebrows were drawn together. His eyes were keen andbright. So he might have looked in time of stress; but he was not in theleast like the genial idol of the Sheridan billiard-room.
"If I came to you to-morrow," Wrayson said, "and told you that I had metat last the woman whom I wished to make my wife, and that woman was yourdaughter, what should you say?"
"I should be glad," the Colonel answered simply.
"You and she are, for some unhappy reason, not on speaking terms. That--"
"Good God!" the Colonel interrupted, "whom do you mean? Whom are youtalking about?"
"About your daughter--whom I shielded--the companion of the Baroness deSturm. Your daughter Louise."
The Colonel raised his trembling fingers to his forehead. His voicequivered ominously.
"Of course! Of course! God help me, I thought you meant Edith! I neverthought of Louise. And Edith has spoken of you lately."
"I found your younger daughter charming," Wrayson said seriously, "butit was of your daughter Louise I was speaking. I thought that you wouldunderstand that."
"My daughter--whom you found--in Morris Barnes' flat--that night?"
"Exactly," Wrayson answered, "and my question is this. I cannot ask youwhy you and she parted, but at least you can tell me if you know of anyreason why I should not ask her to be my wife."
The Colonel was silent.
"No!" he said at last, "there is no reason. But she would not consent. Iam sure of that."
"We will let it go at that," Wrayson answered. "Come!"
He had chosen his moment for rising so as to pass down the room almost atthe same time as Mr. Bentham and his strange companion. Prolific ofsmiles and somewhat elephantine graces, the lady's darkened eyes metWrayson's boldly, and finding there some encouragement, she even favouredhim with a backward
glance. In the vestibule he slipped a half-crown intothe attendant's hand.
"See if you can hear the address that lady gives her cabman," hewhispered.
The boy nodded, and hurried out after them. Wrayson kept the Colonel backunder the pretence of lighting a fresh cigar. When at last they strolledforward, they met the boy returning. He touched his hat to Wrayson.
"Alhambra, sir!" he said, quietly. "Gone off alone, sir, in a hansom.Gentleman walked."
The Colonel kept silence until they were in the street.
"Coming to the club?" he asked, a little abruptly.
"No!" Wrayson answered.
"You are going after that woman?" the Colonel exclaimed.
"I am going to the Alhambra," Wrayson answered. "I can't help it. Itsounds foolish, I suppose, but this affair fascinates me. It works on mynerves somehow. I must go."
The Colonel turned on his heel. Without another word, he crossed theStrand, leaving Wrayson standing upon the pavement. Wrayson, with alittle sigh, turned westwards.
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