A Maker of History Part 18

"I don't know, George. I'm poor, and I'm twelve years older than she is.

I don't know."

There was another silence. Then the conversation drifted back once more to the one subject which was monopolizing the thought of both of them.

"I tell you what seems to me to be the most extraordinary part of the whole business," Duncombe said. "First the brother disappears. Then without a word to any one the sister also rushes off to Paris, and vanishes from the face of the earth after a series of extraordinary proceedings. One supposes naturally that if they have come to harm anywhere--if there has been a crime--there must have been a motive. What is it? You say that their banking account has been undisturbed?"

"It was last week. I should hear if any cheques were presented."

"And the boy's letter of credit even has never been drawn upon!"

"No! Not since he left Vienna."

"Then the motive cannot be robbery. Thank Heaven," Duncombe added, with a little shudder, "that it was the boy who went first."

"Don't!"

A great winged insect came buzzing into the room. Duncombe struck viciously at it with the palm of his hand.

"Lord!" he muttered, "what a fool I am! I've never been away from home before, Andrew, without longing to get back, and here I am, just back from Paris in August, from turning night into day, from living just the sort of life I hate, and I'd give anything to be going back there to-morrow. I'm a haunted man, Andrew. I got up last night simply because I couldn't sleep, and walked down as far as the paddock. I seemed to see her face in all the shadowy corners, to see her moving towards me from amongst the trees. And I'm not an imaginative person, Andrew, and I've got no nerves. Look!"

He held out his hand, strong and firm and brown. It was as steady as a rock.

"I can't sleep," he continued, "I can't rest. Is there witchcraft in this thing, Andrew?"

Andrew Pelham laughed shortly. It was a laugh which had no kins.h.i.+p to mirth.

"And I," he said, "have seen her grow up. We were boy and girl together.

I stole apples for her. I have watched her grow from girlhood into womanhood. I have known flesh and blood, and you a cardboard image. I too am a strong man, and I am helpless. I lie awake at night and I think. It is as though the red flames of h.e.l.l were curling up around me.

George, if she has come to any evil, whether I am blind or whether I can see, I'll grope my way from country to country till my hand is upon the throat of the beast who has harmed her."

The man's voice shook with pa.s.sion. Duncombe was awed into silence. He had known Andrew Pelham always as a good-natured, good-hearted giant, beloved of children and animals, deeply religious, a man whose temper, if he possessed such a thing, was always strictly under control. Such an outburst as this was a revelation. Duncombe understood then how slight a thing his own suffering was.

"You shall not go alone, Andrew," he said softly. "But for the present we must wait. If any one can help us, Spencer will."

A servant came in with the whisky and gla.s.ses, and silently arranged them upon the table. Duncombe rose and attended to his duties as host.

"Can I get you anything further, sir?" the man asked.

"Nothing, thanks," Duncombe answered. "Tell the servants to go to bed.

We will lock up. Say when, Andrew!"

Andrew took his gla.s.s mechanically. Out in the lane the silence of the summer night was suddenly broken by the regular tread of horses' feet and the rumbling of vehicles. Duncombe Hall was built like many of the old-fas.h.i.+oned houses in the country, with its back to the road, and the window at which they were sitting looked out upon it. Duncombe leaned forward in his chair.

"Visitors by the last train going up to Runton Place," he remarked.

"Runton has quite a large party for the first. Hullo! They're stopping.

I'd better go out."

He rose from his chair. The omnibus had stopped in the lane, and they could hear the voices of the occupants clearly through the soft darkness. Some one was apparently getting out, and stumbled. A girl's soft laugh rang out distinctly above the man's exclamation. Duncombe was already stepping over the window-sill when he felt a clutch like iron upon his shoulder. He looked round in amazement. Andrew's face was transformed. He was struggling for words.

"Her voice!" he exclaimed hoa.r.s.ely. "Am I dreaming, George? It was her voice!"

CHAPTER XIV

LAUGHTER OF WOMEN

The door of the omnibus was opened as Duncombe stepped over the low wall into the road. A tall man in a long light Inverness descended.

"Hullo, Duncombe!" he exclaimed, holding out his hand; "I was coming in to see you for a moment."

"Good man!" Duncombe answered. "Bring your friends, won't you?"

He held open the gate hospitably, but Lord Runton shook his head.

"I only wanted a word with you," he said. "We're all starving, and if you don't mind we'll get on as quickly as we can. About to-morrow. You shoot with us, of course?"

"Delighted!" Duncombe answered.

"Cresswell met me at the station," Lord Runton continued. "I'd drawn out a plan for the shoot, but it seems that Cresswell--old fool--hasn't got his harvest in from the two fields by Ketton's Gorse. What I wanted to ask you was if we might take your turnips up from Mile's bottom to the north end of the gorse. We can make our circuit then without a break."

"My dear fellow!" Duncombe protested, "was it worth while asking me such a thing? Of course you can."

"That's settled, then," Lord Runton declared, turning back towards the omnibus. "Let me introduce you to my friends," he added, resting his hand upon the other's shoulder, "and then we'll be off."

Duncombe, in whose ears his friend's cry was still ringing, pressed eagerly forward.

"This is my neighbor, Sir George Duncombe," Lord Runton said, looking into the carriage, "who will shoot with us to-morrow. Miss Fielding and Mr. Fielding, Lady Angrave and the Baron Von Rothe."

Lady Angrave held out her hand.

"Sir George and I are almost old friends," she said, with a somewhat languid smile. "We were both at Castle Holkham last autumn."

Duncombe murmured something conventional as he bowed over her fingers.

His whole attention was riveted upon the tall, pale girl in the further corner of the omnibus. Her acknowledgment of his introduction had been of the slightest, and her features were obscured by a white veil. She looked away from him at once and continued a whispered conversation with the white-haired gentleman at her side. Duncombe could think of no excuse for addressing her.

"I shall have the pleasure of meeting you all again to-morrow," he said, closing the door after Lord Runton. "I won't keep you now. I know what the journey is down from town. Good night, Runton!"

"Good night, George. Ten o'clock sharp!"

The carriage rolled off, and Duncombe returned to his own domain. Andrew was waiting for him impatiently by the gate.

"Well!" he exclaimed eagerly, "you have seen her. Well?"

The man was trembling with excitement. There were drops of perspiration upon his forehead. His voice sounded unnatural.