the last impression left upon gerard buckland’s mind as he went down the drive with arthur aldington after they had taken leave of the american family at the priory, was that of a party of good-humored, unpretending, easy-mannered people, anxious to enjoy life and to make those around them enjoy it also.
the group on the door step of the old elizabethan mansion, as seen partly in the moonlight and partly in the electric light which streamed through the open door of the house, was a striking and a charming one.
in the foreground stood the two brothers, harry, tall, thin, solemn, and perhaps rather unprepossessing but not at all behind the rest of the family in the warmth of his invitation to the departing guests to come again.
denver, the younger, broad-shouldered, deep-voiced, the embodiment of good humor, perhaps rather addicted to his national vice of boastfulness, but on the whole too unaffected and straightforward in manner to be other than pleasing.
mrs. van santen, the picture of gentle good nature[185] and simplicity, was just behind her sons, with a hand on the shoulder of the younger, who stood on the step below her. her gentle voice could be heard but faintly as she wished her guests good-bye; but the gracious, homely figure was good to look upon, forming as it did a strong amusing contrast to the elegance of her daughters, and to the luxury of the house in which they lived.
the daughters were, perhaps, the figures that remained the longest in the minds of the departing guests. after the manner of young american women, they were so amusing, so vivacious, and withal so quiet in their manners, making their mark rather by quickness of intellect than by loudness of voice, that it was impossible to think of them without recalling the pleasure their accomplishments and graces had given.
delia, the elder, was the perfection of grace, and wore her plainly made but well-chosen clothes with a distinction which a princess might have envied. without being very handsome, she was so lively, so full of repartee and resource in argument, and so active and alert in passing from group to group among her mother’s guests, assuring herself that all were enjoying themselves, and that they were in congenial society, that she might have been called the leading spirit of the family, and was undoubtedly the pivot on which their social scheme turned.
she it was who knew when to take a guest, sore[186] over his losses at poker, into the garden to enjoy conversation under the trees in the soothing society of the old lady, or into the music-room to be coaxed back into good humor by the sweet singing of her sister cora.
as for cora, her musical gifts never failed to evoke the remark that it was a pity she was not a professional singer, for such rare sweetness of voice as she possessed ought to have been given to a wider circle than any amateur can appeal to.
but when anyone said this, the brothers would look rather offended, and would say shortly that it might have been all very well for cora if she had been poor, to earn her living on the concert platform, but that they could never think of allowing their sister, who had and would always have, every luxury she could wish for provided for her, to appear in public. if her voice was charming, let her use it for the pleasure of her friends.
personally, then, gerard had no fault to find with any of the family. he might like some members of it better than the others, he might disapprove of the tastes and habits which seemed to him to indicate both want of consideration for their visitors and lack of those qualities which make men lifelong friends. to spend so many hours at cards was revolting to the young englishman, and his principles and prejudices alike made the spending of sunday in this manner distasteful to him.
[187]but this alone would have roused in him no suspicion that there was anything wrong about these hospitable strangers. many an english household that he knew of spent sunday in much the same way, and incurred no suspicion of there being anything worse than a tendency to dissipation on the part of its members.
racing ladies like lady sylvia and the marchioness were known to play bridge on most days, and yet they were not “cut” by their acquaintances and friends.
it was the fact that he had met rachel davison at the priory which filled gerard with disquietude. for, whatever might be the truth about her, it was undeniable that he had so far never failed to find her connected in some more or less close way with things that had been better undone.
the incident in the crowd on the night of the ball; the affair at the stores; her deceit towards her mother and lady jennings; all these things combined to make it impossible to see in this fresh phase of rachel’s existence anything but some new form of trickery or ugly mystery.
to have seen her sit down to play cards with these americans, therefore, would alone have made him curious concerning them; but, coupled with the fact that both she and the van santens had pretended not to know the man jones, her playing became at once[188] suggestive to gerard’s unwilling mind of something being wrong with the play.
what he would have passed without remark at any other time, therefore, now became a source of disturbance and uneasiness to him; and instead of taking for granted that denver’s estimate of his gains that day was correct, he made a little sum for himself, based on what he had heard, in answer to his inquiries, concerning the luck of the rest of the card-players.
and the result of his calculations was to find that, instead of denver’s having won twenty-six pounds, which was his own rough estimate of his winnings, he must have netted at least two hundred pounds.
from this calculation it was easy to go on to others; and to say that, if denver played poker once a week only, and if he were always as lucky and as skillful as he had shown himself that day, then his annual income derived from the cards alone must be something approaching ten thousand pounds.
of course he had no possible means of knowing whether denver did play poker every sunday; and whether he invariably won at it; but, taking the facts that he knew in conjunction with miss davison’s presence, and with the singular fact that she and the others pretended not to know jones, who was clearly acting as a decoy, it seemed to gerard terribly difficult to get away from the conclusion that something[189] was wrong in the pleasant and hospitable household, and that rachel davison was mixed up in it.
and now she had deliberately told him a lie! he tried in vain to avoid coming to this conclusion, but in the face of her denial that cecil jones was identical with the man he had seen in her company more than once, he could not believe her. although to-day was the first occasion on which he had seen the young man’s face, gerard had so carefully made a mental note of his figure and gait, that he was sure he could not be mistaken.
arthur aldington, who was his own chauffeur, was driving slowly and carefully down the drive when suddenly he stopped the motor-car, and looking out into the road towards which he was going, said—
“by jove! there’s a breakdown, and it’s sir william gurdon’s big car in difficulties, i believe.”
gerard jumped out and went down the drive to the gate, which had been left open.
looking down the road he saw that arthur was right: the big, handsome car which had brought the baronet over from his thames-side villa was blocking the road, and beside it were three persons: sir william, his chauffeur, and cecil jones, whom the baronet had offered to take back to town with him, which he could easily do, as he proposed to spend the night in the city himself.
gerard went back to arthur, told him he was[190] right, and jumping into the car again, turned and said—
“sir william’s got that fellow jones with him.”
arthur had not yet started the car, and he said in a low voice—
“i don’t like the look of jones. he’s such an awful ass! i don’t want to have to take him with us.”
“oh, i don’t suppose we shall have to do that. we don’t know what’s wrong. something very trifling, perhaps.”
still arthur hesitated. he was in a very ill humor, on account of his losses.
“i suppose it doesn’t matter to him how much money he loses,” he said, in a grumbling tone; “he looks that sort of chap, doesn’t he?”
gerard hesitated. he had in his mind the notion that cecil jones, simple as he looked and sillily as he spoke, was not quite the innocent jay he appeared. but yet he did not want to betray a suspicion of these new friends of rachel davison’s until he was quite sure about them.
“did he lose much?” asked gerard, instead of replying to his friend’s question.
“i don’t quite know. i saw a good deal of gold flying about, and he said, with that sheepish smile of his, that he’d been cleaned out. i wonder miss davison cares to stay with people who play cards all day on sunday!”
[191]“well, it surprised me to see her playing, too,” admitted gerard.
“yes. i shan’t say anything about that at home. mother would be awfully disgusted. and i can’t say i quite like it myself; and i know i don’t like losing so much as i did.”
“why did you go on playing, then?”
“oh, you know one can’t help oneself. these people are rich, and they don’t consider that other pockets are not all as deep as their own.”
“are they really so rich?”
“oh, yes. of course i know everybody in america is called a millionaire if he has a little money put by. but the father, old van santen, really is a very rich man, as i happen to know, and a man with a decent character, as rich men’s characters go out there. he’s expected over here every day, and i fancy he’ll be rather surprised, if all i hear about his rather straight-laced views is correct, at the way in which his quiet family has transformed itself into a remarkably lively one. denver says they’ve all been kept in with too tight a hand, and that now they have to make up for it.”
“i don’t quite understand that fellow,” said gerard. “he’s not consistent. i heard him telling sir william that he sometimes lost at poker to beginners at the game. but then, later, he was boasting that he could beat any poker-player in england.”
[192]“i don’t believe,” said arthur viciously, “that he plays merely for the pleasure of the game, as he says. i believe he’s trying to make a pile for himself, in case his father, when he turns up, should object to the way they’ve been going on, and cut off supplies.”
this was a good suggestion, and gerard muttered, “by jove!”
“of course i don’t mean to suggest,” went on arthur hastily, “that there’s anything fishy about his play. only that he isn’t indifferent to what he makes by it.”
“i think that too,” assented gerard.
“but pray don’t say i made any suggestion of the sort,” added arthur. “i shouldn’t like the girls to hear that i had said anything they wouldn’t like to hear about their brother. and indeed i don’t know that i have any right to say what i did to you; but i’m rather sore at having been fool enough to lose more money than i can afford.”
“of course,” suggested gerard tentatively, “if you suspect the one you must suspect the rest, and surely you don’t think the ladies—”
arthur interrupted quite fiercely.
“i don’t suspect anybody. i never said such a thing,” he said irritably. “of course it’s all right. but what i meant was that i don’t like american men and their ways and habits and tastes, so well as i like the feminine part of the nation. the daughters[193] are charming, perfectly charming, and the old lady is quite a treat in her refreshing innocence. the sight of that quaint new england—it is new england, isn’t it, that the quaint old figures come from?—new england figure among all those smart young modern men and women, is something one can’t forget.”
“you’re quite right,” said gerard enthusiastically. “she’s an old dear, with her skimpy little shawl, and what i’m sure she would call her best taffety petticoat.”
the two young men laughed, and, as there was no sign of a forward movement in the big car, arthur started his motor, and soon arrived at the spot where the group stood round the disabled machine.
“hallo! a breakdown! anything we can do?” asked arthur, as he stopped and got down.
sir william was not at all pleased at his mishap, and he answered rather shortly that there was nothing much the matter, and that if the small car were to go on, he would soon overtake it.
the artless-looking cecil jones was smoking a cigarette with the same placid smile on his face which had irritated arthur aldington at the card-table. he made weak suggestions as to the cause of the mishap, and was treated by the others as a person who did not count.
gerard, however, who had reason to suspect that he was not quite so simple as he pretended to be,[194] went up to him, and, seizing a moment when the others were all bending down to look into the machinery of the disabled car, said—
“i think i’ve met you before, mr. jones, and i’m trying to remember where it was.”
the young man turned, with his sheepish smile on his face.
“have you?” he said. “i don’t remember you. where was it we met?”
gerard felt irritated and angry. he knew that this man was either a swindler who was working with miss davison in the dubious paths he suspected, or else that he was a man who was desperately in love with her, and whom she had twisted round her little finger, so that he did what she told him to without question, if not without suspicion.
to judge by his silly face, this latter was the more likely supposition of the two.
gerard tried to take him by surprise.
“was it outside lord chislehurst’s house, on the night of the great ball he gave a year ago?” he asked sharply.
but there was no sign of confusion or intelligence on cecil jones’ face.
“lord chislehurst’s!” he echoed stupidly. “a year ago! i don’t know where lord chislehurst’s is. and i don’t think i was in england a year ago.”
frustrated, gerard decided to make a fresh attempt to take him by surprise.
[195]“i daresay i’m wrong,” he said. “i’m not very good at remembering faces. but you do remind me of a man i met a few days ago, coming out of a police-station.”
the words could be taken as insulting, but cecil jones was impervious to insult.
“i don’t think i’ve ever been in a police-station,” he said simply.
“not with miss davison?”
cecil jones turned round so that he could stare blankly into his questioner’s face.
“miss davison!” echoed he. “do you mean the lady i was introduced to to-night?”
“yes,” said gerard shortly.
a broad stupid smile spread over the young man’s plump face.
“fancy thinking i should meet a smart lady like that in a police-station!” he said buoyantly. “it sounds like the game of consequences. ‘where they met’—‘in a police-station.’ ‘what they were doing’—‘picking pockets!’”
and he burst into such a long and silly laugh that gerard, irritated almost beyond endurance, did not dare to go on with his questions, for fear of drawing down upon them the attention of the others, who turned round to see what was the matter.
but gerard was more convinced than ever that this innocent-looking young man was a person to be watched; and, resolved to see what became of him[196] that night, he found an opportunity of asking sir william where he was going to set his companion down.
the baronet named a well-known sporting club.
arthur aldington was calling gerard to get into his car, and in a few minutes they were on the road again.
gerard had made his plans, and, as his friend had offered to take him back to his chambers in town, he could reckon upon being in time for what he wanted to do, if only the big car were delayed sufficiently to give the little one a good start.
things turned out as he wished. he and arthur got to town before sir william; and gerard went straight to the neighborhood of the club where cecil jones was to be set down, and was able to conceal himself in the entrance of a block of flats on the opposite side of the road.
here he waited for nearly half an hour, afraid he had missed his man.
at last, however, he saw sir william gurdon’s big motor-car coming up the street, and a few moments later it stopped at the door of the club, and cecil jones got out, shook hands with sir william, and went into the building.
the motor-car drove away, and gerard remained on the watch. not for more than half an hour, for at the end of that time cecil jones came out of the club building, and hailing a hansom, got in and[197] drove off, giving a direction to the cabman which gerard could not hear.
but he was far too much interested in what became of jones to let the matter rest like that. so he hailed a hansom in his turn, told the driver to follow the vehicle before him, and continued the chase until jones’ hansom stopped in one of the streets off charing cross road. here cecil jones got out, paid the cabman, and disappeared from sight most mysteriously.
although gerard was watching keenly, he was unable to tell exactly at what point his quarry had disappeared. the street was rather dark at this point, and there was a court, as well as the openings into doorways, to be examined.
cecil jones’ hansom drove away, and gerard paid his own cabman and got down to continue his pursuit on foot, but in vain. jones had disappeared as completely as if the earth had swallowed him up.
gerard looked upon this circumstance as not merely suspicious, but as confirming his own belief that jones, instead of being the innocent and mild-eyed victim of expert gamesters that he had pretended to be, was really a confederate of these americans, if they were swindlers, or a swindler who intended, in the future, to make money out of the boastful denver, and who began by posing as a harmless dupe or beginner, in order to take the american off his guard.
[198]gerard did not think the van santens were cheats; their father being a man of good repute, as well as of great wealth, it was scarcely likely, even if his sons had turned out loose-principled, that they would take to dubious courses which would endanger their position in society. the sons of such a woman as the gentle mrs. van santen, too, were scarcely the sort of persons to be accused of deliberate fraud.
but that the younger made money by his card-playing, and that he boasted of the fact was obvious; and gerard thought that such a man might very easily become the prey of a clever card-sharper, who might begin by passing himself off as a bungling novice, and end by making considerable sums out of the swaggering american.
this was the view he was most inclined to take. not for one moment did he believe that the mild-eyed jones was really a victim: he was confident that he had been with miss davison on the occasion of the shop-lifting, and he began now to ask himself whether he were not the very man to whom he had seen her handing the flashing ornament on the night of lord chislehurst’s ball.
perhaps they were both under the influence of the man in the white mustache. or perhaps—but this he scarcely believed possible—cecil jones was no other than the military-looking man under a disguise.
as this last suggestion came into his mind, gerard[199] tried to recall the voice of the white-haired man, whom he had heard utter a few words to miss davison before parting with her at the station.
but on that occasion it was rachel who had spoken clearly enough to be heard, while the man had so subdued his voice that gerard could just hear him speaking, without being able to make out what he said. such a remembrance as he retained therefore of the sound of the elderly gentleman’s voice gerard could not rely upon as a help in his present difficulty.
one thing, and one thing only he was quite sure of, cecil jones, instead of being the dupe he pretended to be, was a swindler, and a very artful one. nothing else would explain his conduct adequately. only a swindler, or a man used to the arts of concealment, would have contrived so often to be seen without being well seen. only a man who had something to conceal would have affected not to know miss davison, when, as a matter of fact, he must be on terms of old acquaintance with her. and only a very clever man could have succeeded so well in feigning absolute stupidity over the cards as he had done.
last and most important thing of all, gerard was convinced that, carefully as he had concealed himself while watching jones, that astute person must have seen him and must have laid his plans well in order to throw his pursuer off the track.
sick at heart, and not knowing whether he now[200] hated miss davison for her duplicity and her obvious association with undesirable persons, or whether he retained his old longing to believe in her in spite of everything, gerard went back to his rooms.
he went to sleep that night upon a firm resolve to have no more to do with rachel davison if he could help it; not to put himself in her way again, and not to visit lady jennings until that lady had forgotten her late friend and protégée, and interested herself in someone else.
