Witness to the Deed Part 75

At last he threw himself into a chair.

"This is neither the time nor place to talk of your devotion to me, Brettison. Heaven reward you for it! You have brought me back to a new, even if hopeless, life. Let us now talk of the future."

"Yes, yes," said Brettison eagerly, for he had grown uneasy at his friend's words.

"There must never be the slightest risk of Myra and that man meeting again. Here in England it would always be possible."

"No, no; don't say you will send the poor wretch back to the prison."

"No; as I have said before, that is out of the question now, but he must leave England."

"Yes; but how?"

"You must help me again, Brettison."

"Of course, boy; but how?"

"You are a wanderer; ready to go anywhere to study plant life?"

"Yes."

"Then you must select some place to begin with and settle there for a time--say in Brittany, inland or on the coast. Let that man be with you, and his nurse, and always under your eye."

"Willingly."

"When tired of one place go to another; but he must not be left."

"I'll do it," said Brettison eagerly.

"I knew you would. But listen; I shall share your task. I'll give up everything to guard against that horror. Will you help me?"

"My boy, I tell you, yes; and gladly, too, now that this black shadow is being swept from your life."

"Thank you, Brettison. We will start to-morrow, if possible; if not, as soon as it is."

"Good. He will be no trouble, and it will be like old times again, Malcolm. Bless you, my boy! It gives me life to see you growing firm and like yourself again. Who's that?"

He started as he stood up and clasped Stratton's hand, for there was a sharp double knock at the outer door.

"Guest," said Stratton. "There, our plans are made. They are for ourselves alone I trust Guest, but not yet with this."

He threw open the inner door, and unfastened the outer, which was drawn from his hand, and the man regarding whom they had been planning, looking intent and strange, strode into the room.

"James Barron!"

"Yes; I have business with you, sir," he said, in quite his old tone.

"Mr Malcolm Stratton, I believe?"

CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN.

FLAs.h.i.+NG BACK TO LIFE.

Brettison leaped from his chair, and Stratton literally staggered back against a gla.s.s case so violently that a figure upon it toppled over and fell with a crash, as if emblematic of another downfall of all hope.

For it seemed incredible. Little more than an hour before they had left this man apparently a helpless imbecile, unable to concentrate his mental faculties save upon one point, and only at certain times upon that, at all others hopelessly blank. While now the vacuity had apparently departed, his face looked eager and animated, and the helpless log had turned into a dangerous enemy, whose fresh coming upon the scene completely upset all calculations, and the question staring them in the face was how to act next.

For it was quite plain; so long as the man had gone on in his quiet, regular track, with his nurse in attendance, and his invalid-chair waiting to take him a short distance every morning, his mind had remained blank; but though he had made no sign--though he had apparently not been in any way impressed by Stratton's company--beneath the calm, dreamy surface the old man had been evoked, the thoughts lying dormant had suddenly been awakened; and with the last scene of which he was conscious, before the shot had prostrated body and mind at one blow, once more vividly before his mind, he had risen from his seat during his nurse's absence, and made straight for the chambers, bent upon finis.h.i.+ng the task upon which he had set his mind.

As he mounted the stairs, nearly everything was as clear as on the day when he had presented himself. Only one matter was confused, and, strangely enough, that was the point upon which, during his imbecile condition, he had been able to dwell--to wit, his wound. One set of ideas swept away the other, and he could only go back to the moment when he had presented that revolver at Stratton.

And now, as he entered the room and spoke, it was to him the same day and the continuation of his interview with Stratton. It puzzled him a little that he should have had to come through the streets to continue that scene, but not much, for his mind had been gradually opening out from the time he left Queen Charlotte Road, and it was only when he reached Stratton's door that he had gained its full expansion. He was a little surprised, too, at seeing Brettison there. The latter had come in suddenly like one in a dream, but he did not let it trouble him. If Stratton was willing to let a third person share the secret, that was his lookout. Brettison was evidently not connected with the police, and he felt that the power he held made him more than a match for both.

He smiled as he saw the effect his arrival had produced on the occupants of the chambers, and looked sharply from one to the other before turning, and turning the bolt of the inner door into its socket. Then his hand went suspiciously to his pocket and then to his breast. Not finding what he sought, he looked at the table and the floor in search of it.

He shook his head then as if to clear his mind, and turned to Brettison.

"Who are you?" he said sharply. "Friend of his--a friend of the lady?

Why have you come? Don't matter. If he doesn't mind, it's nothing to me. Get the old man and the aunt, and my wife too, if you like, for she is my wife, mind. You can't get out of that--my wife, Mrs James Barron. Do you hear, Stratton?--Mrs James Barron."

Stratton uttered a peculiar sound, between a groan and a cry of rage, and he took a step toward the man, who drew himself up threateningly.

"No nonsense," he said, with a fierce snarl.

"No games, or you'll repent it. I'm playing high, and I'll stand no humbug. Look here, old man," he continued, turning to Brettison, "you sit down there, whoever you are. I don't want to hurt you. I warn you, for I may turn rusty. What you've got to do is to take a sensible view of the case, and advise him to do the same. Sit down."

He spoke as fiercely as if it were to an obstinate dog, and Brettison sank back in an easy-chair, looking stunned.

"That's right. Now you, Stratton, you'd better squat down, too. I've come on particular business. I expected you to turn nasty, and I'm quite prepared."

He tapped his breast where he had felt for the revolver, and a look of low cunning crossed his heavy face.

Stratton also sank into a chair--not so much in obedience to the man's words as to gain time and settle upon some plan of action.

"Come, that's sensible," said the man, smiling. "I see we shall come to good terms suitable to all parties. I hate quarrelling, specially when all the good cards are in my hand. It's like being forced to take a cowardly advantage of the other side."

Brettison turned a hopeless look upon Stratton, and the man saw it and said sharply:

"Never mind him. I'll tell you, as you were not here. I propose a handsome sum down. Hallo! he has pocketed those notes that were on the table. But it doesn't matter, they're easily brought out. A handsome sum down, and a regular quarterly payment. He has only to agree to that, and James Barron goes about in the dark and he never sees him.

It'll be just as if James Barron was shot and drowned, as the papers said, in an attempt to escape off The Foreland one dark night about a year ago. Ugh! it was rough work," he added, with a shudder, "and I deserve a little extra for leaving the lady alone for so long. Now, then, isn't that a fair offer?"

Brettison's lips moved as he sat there perfectly prostrated, wis.h.i.+ng that in his zeal he had not interfered; for had he not, the man before them would have been dead and powerless to work all this evil--unless discovery had made him a more deadly enemy still.

"I say, isn't that a fair offer?" he repeated. "Silence gives consent.

There we are, then. Come, Stratton. They must be ready to start for the church by this time, so look alive and let's get the business done.

Just a few strokes of the pen, the handing over of some filthy lucre in the shape of notes--Bank of England, mind," he said with a peculiar laugh, "none of your Russian roubles. By jingo, what notes those were, though. They didn't find 'em out for years. Well?"