The Moving Finger Part 5

"Then we may as well go and have some really good bridge," she said, "until you men take it into your heads to come and disturb us."

CHAPTER IV

A QUESTION OF OBLIGATION

Afternoon tea was being served in the hall at Beauleys on the day after Saton's arrival. Saton himself was sitting with Lois Champneyes in a retired corner.

"I was going to ask you," he remarked, as he handed her some cakes, "about Mr. Rochester's marriage. He was a bachelor when I--first met him."

"Were you very intimate in those days?" she asked.

"Not in the least," he answered, with a faint reminiscent smile.

"Then you never heard about the romance of his life?" she asked.

Saton shook his head.

"Never," he declared. "Nor should I ever have a.s.sociated the word with Mr. Rochester."

She sighed gently.

"I daresay he was very different in those days," she said. "Before the Beauleys property came to him, he was quite poor, and he was very much in love with the dearest woman--Pauline Hambledon. It was impossible for them to marry--her people wouldn't hear of it--so he went abroad, and she married Sir Walter Marrabel! Such a pig! Everyone hated him.

Then old Mr. Stephen Rochester died suddenly, without a will, and all this property came to Henry!"

"And then he married, I suppose?" Saton remarked.

"I was going to tell you about that," Lois continued. "Mary was a niece of Stephen Rochester, and a daughter of the Marquis of Haselton, who was absolutely bankrupt when he died. Stephen Rochester adopted her, and then died without leaving her a farthing! So there she was, poor dear, penniless, and Henry had everything. Of course, he had to marry her."

"Why not?" Saton remarked. "She is quite charming."

"Yes! But this is the tantalizing part of it," Lois continued. "They hadn't been married a year when Sir Walter Marrabel died. Pauline is a widow now. She is coming here in a few days. I do hope you will meet her."

"This is quite interesting," Saton murmured. "How do Lady Mary and her husband get on?"

Lois made a little grimace.

"They go different ways most of the time," she answered. "I suppose they're only what people call modern. Isn't that a motor horn?" she cried out, springing to her feet. "I wonder if it's Guerdie!"

"For a man who has been a great lawyer," Lord Penarvon declared, "Guerdon is the most uncertain and unpunctual of men. One never knows when to expect him."

"He was to have arrived yesterday," Lady Mary remarked. "We sent to the station twice."

"I suppose," Rochester said, "that even to gratify the impatience of an expectant house-party, it is not possible to quicken the slow process of the law. If you look at the morning papers, you will see that he was at the Central Criminal Court, trying some case or other, all day yesterday. The man who pleads 'Not Guilty,' and who pays for his defence, expects to be heard out to the bitter end. It is really only natural."

Saton, who had been left alone in his corner, rose suddenly to his feet and came into the circle. He handed his cup to his hostess, and turned toward Rochester.

"You were speaking of judges?" he remarked.

Rochester nodded.

"In a few moments," he said, "you will probably meet the cleverest one we have upon the English bench. Without his robe and wig, some people find him insignificant. Personally, I must confess that I never feel his eyes upon me without a s.h.i.+ver. They say that he never loses sight of a fact or forgets a face."

"And what is the name of this wonderful person?" Saton asked.

"Lord Guerdon," Rochester answered. "Even though you have spent so little time in England of late years, you must have heard of him."

The curtains were suddenly thrown aside, and a footman entered announcing the newly-arrived guest. From the hall beyond came the sound of a departing motor, and the clatter of luggage being brought in. The footman stood on one side.

"Lord Guerdon!" he announced.

Lady Mary held out her hands across the tea-tray. Rochester came a few steps forward. Everyone ceased their conversation to look at the small, spare figure of the man who, clad in a suit of travelling clothes of gray tweed, and cut after a somewhat ancient pattern, insignificant-looking in figure and even in bearing, yet carried something in his clean-shaven, wrinkled face at once impressive and commanding. Everyone seemed to lean forward with a little air of interest, prepared to exchange greetings with him as soon as he had spoken to his host and hostess. Only Saton stood quite still, still as a figure turned suddenly into stone. No one appeared to notice him, to notice the twitching of his fingers, the almost ashen gray of his cheeks--no one except the girl with whom he had been talking, and whose eyes had scarcely left his. He recovered himself quickly. When Rochester turned towards him, a moment or so later, he was almost at his ease.

"You find us all old friends, Guerdon," he said, "except that I have to present to you my friend Mr. Saton. Saton, this is Lord Guerdon, whose caricature you have doubtless admired in many papers, comic and otherwise, and who I am happy to a.s.sure you is not nearly so terrible a person as he might seem from behind that ominous iron bar."

Saton held out his hand, but almost immediately withdrawing it, contented himself with a murmured word, and a somewhat low bow. For a second the judge's eyebrows were upraised, his keen eyes seemed to narrow. He made no movement to shake hands.

"I am very glad to meet Mr. Saton," he said slowly. "By the bye," he continued, after a second's pause, "is this our first meeting? I seem to have an idea--your face is somehow familiar to me."

There were few men who could have faced the piercing gaze of those bright brown eyes, set deep in the withered face, without any sign of embarra.s.sment. Yet Saton smiled back pleasantly enough. He was completely at his ease. His face showed only a reasonable amount of pleasure at this encounter with the famous man.

"I am afraid, Lord Guerdon," he said, "that I cannot claim the privilege of any previous acquaintance. Although I am an Englishman, my own country has seen little of me during the last few years."

"Come and have some tea at once," Lady Mary insisted, looking up at the judge. "I want to hear all about this wonderful Clancorry case.

Oh, I know you're not supposed to talk about it, but that really doesn't matter down here. You shall have a comfortable chair by my side, and some hot m.u.f.fins."

Saton went back to his seat by the side of Lois Champneyes, carrying his refilled teacup in his hand. She looked at him a little curiously.

"Tell me," she said, "have you really never met Lord Guerdon before?"

"Never in my life," he answered.

"Did he remind you of anyone?" she asked.

"It is curious that you should ask that," Saton remarked. "In a way he did."

"I thought so," she declared, with a little breath of relief. "That was it, of course. Do you know how you looked when you first heard his name--when he came into the room?"

"I have no idea," he answered. "I only know that when I saw him enter, it gave me almost a shock. He reminded me most strangely of a man who has been dead for many years. I could scarcely take my eyes off him at first."

"I will tell you," she said, "what your look reminded me of. Many years before I was out--in my mother's time--there was a man named Mallory who was tried for murder, the murder of a friend, who everyone knew was his rival. Well, he got off, but only after a long trial, and only by a little weakness in the chain of evidence, which even his friends at the time thought providential. He went abroad for a long time. Then he came into a t.i.tle and returned to England. He was obliged to take up his position, and people were willing enough to forget the past. He opened his London house, and accepted every invitation which came. At the very first party he went to, he came face to face with the judge who had tried him. My mother was there. I remember she told me how he looked. It was foolish of me, but I thought of it when I saw you just then."

Saton smiled sympathetically.

"And the end of the story?" he asked.