Christopher Hibbault, Roadmaker Part 56

"Confound him," thought Christopher, "has he never seen burrs on a wet coat before or is my tie up?"

"Christopher," said Aymer, at last, "come and sit by me, will you. I think I should like to tell you myself." He looked at Mr. Saunderson as if waiting permission.

"Of course, of course, Mr. Aston. I quite understand. It is not the sort of news we tell people every day."

Christopher sat on the edge of the sofa with his eyes fixed on Caesar.

"Are you sure it won't keep," he asked abruptly, "you look rather tired for business, Caesar."

"It won't keep. It concerns Peter Masters. Mr. Saunderson says public rumour has underestimated his fortune rather than exaggerated it. He was worth nearly three millions."

"Three millions six hundred and forty-one thousand." Mr. Saunderson rolled it out in sonorous tones after a little smack of his lips that set Christopher's teeth on edge.

"It seems, Christopher," Aymer went on, with an abruptness that did not accord with his opening words, "that it's yours. You are his heir."

He made not the smallest movement or sign by which the two strangers could gather one pa.s.sing glimpse of the agony it cost him to say it, for their attention was fixed on the younger man. But Christopher saw nothing else and had thought for nothing but how soonest to quench that fierce pain.

The preposterous catastrophe was evidently true, but surely his own will and wishes were of some account. He put his hand on Aymer, searching for words which would not form into sense.

"Take your time, take your time, young man," broke in Mr. Saunderson's resonant voice. "It's not the sort of event a man can be hurried over.

You will grasp it more clearly in a few minutes."

Christopher turned and looked at him.

"I believe I quite grasp the matter," he said coolly. "Mr. Masters has, with no doubt the kindest meaning in the world, left his fortune to me. It's unfortunate that I don't happen to want all this money. I couldn't possibly do with it."

Mr. Saunderson leant back in his chair with a tolerant smile as if this were just what he would expect to hear after the shock, but Aymer bit his lip as if face to face with some inevitable ill.

Christopher leant towards him.

"You are worrying about it, Caesar. There can't be any need to say any more now. Of course it's out of the question my accepting it. They can't make me a millionaire against my wishes, I suppose. Anyhow it's a preposterous will."

"There is no will," began Caesar and then looked at the big lawyer, "tell him," he added shortly. Mr. Saunderson cleared his throat.

"That is so. There is no will and the fortune naturally goes to the next of kin."

"Very well, then," returned Christopher, with blunt relief. "I believe he told me once he had a son somewhere. You had better find him. I don't want to deprive him of his luck."

Again the embarra.s.sing silence. Then the big lawyer got up and bowed solemnly to Christopher.

"We have found him. Allow me to be the first to congratulate you, Mr.

Masters."

Christopher wheeled round on him like a man struck.

"No!" he cried with pa.s.sionate emphasis. "Caesar, it's not true. Tell them so."

But Caesar lay very still and looked past them all, staring blankly at the opposite wall. It seemed to Christopher the watching eyes of the others imprisoned him, held him in subjection. He got up.

"Let me out," he muttered between his teeth, though none impeded him.

He walked across the room to the fireplace and stood with his back to them, his hand mechanically altering the order of a procession of black elephants that stood there.

Aymer broke the silence, speaking with clear evenness.

"Shakleton, will you take Mr. Saunderson into the library. You will find my brother there, probably."

"Certainly, Mr. Aston. Shall I leave these?" He indicate the papers on the table before him.

"Yes. Leave them where they are."

Mr. Saunderson rose. "You must not be alarmed, my dear sir," he said in a forced whisper, with a glance towards Christopher, "such news often takes a man off his feet for a while. He'll soon appreciate it."

"No doubt. Order anything you like, Shakleton."

They were alone at last, yet Christopher did not move.

"Christopher, come to me," called Aymer quietly.

At that he turned and walked mechanically to the sofa, seating himself, again with his elbows on his knees, and his eyes absently fixed on the carpet.

"Did you know this before, Caesar?"

Aymer's face twitched. "Yes, always."

"Did--he--know?"

"Yes, apparently."

"You did not tell him?"

"No."

Christopher looked up sharply and met his eyes, and again he forgot his own intimate trouble before the greater one.

"Thanks, Caesar," he said, dragging up a smile, "it would have been far harder at your hand."

Then suddenly he sunk on his knees by Aymer's side, and hid his head against the arm that had sheltered him as a child.

"They can't make me take it," he whispered, "even if I am his son. But Caesar, Caesar, why didn't you tell me before?"

"I hoped you would never know. Did you never have any suspicion yourself?"

"Never. It was the last thing I should have imagined."

"You have never asked me anything. You must sometimes have wondered about yourself."

"I was quite content." Christopher spoke with shut teeth. Under no provocation must Caesar know the falsehood that had lain so long in his mind. He saw it in its full proportion now, and hated himself for his blindness in harbouring so ugly a thought.

"We were never certain how much Peter knew and I've never known for the past three years whether he meant to claim you or not."