The Bars of Iron Part 30

His voice rose a little, and the menace of it became more apparent. He bent slightly towards the man he threatened. His eyes blazed red and dangerous. Tudor stood his ground, but it was impossible any longer to ignore Piers' open fury. It was like the blast of a hurricane hurled full against him. He made a slight gesture of remonstrance.

"My good fellow, all this excitement is utterly uncalled for. The advice I gave your grandfather would, I am convinced, have been given by any other medical man in the country. If you are not satisfied with it, you had better get him to have another opinion. As to taking advantage of your absence, I really don't know what you mean, and I think if you are wise you won't stop to explain. It's getting late and if you don't value your night's rest, I can't do without mine. Also, I think when the morning comes, you'll be ashamed of this foolery."

He spoke with studied coldness. He knew the value of a firm front when facing odds. But he did not know the fiery soul of the man before him, or realize that contempt poured upon outraged pride is as spirit poured upon flame.

He saw the devil in Piers' eyes too late to change his tactics. Almost in the same moment the last shred of Piers' self-control vanished like smoke in a gale. He uttered a fearful oath and sprang upon Tudor like an animal freed from a leash.

The struggle that followed was furious if brief. Tudor's temper, once thoroughly roused, was as fierce as any man's, and though his knowledge of the science of fighting was wholly elementary, he made a desperate resistance. It lasted for possibly thirty seconds, and then he found himself flung violently backwards across the table and pinned there, with Piers' hands gripping his throat, and Piers' eyes, grim and murderous, glaring down into his own.

"Be still!" ordered Piers, his voice no more than a whisper. "Or I'll kill you--by Heaven, I will!"

Tudor was utterly powerless in that relentless grip. His heart was pumping with great hammer-strokes; his breathing came laboured between those merciless hands. His own hands were closed upon the iron wrists, but their hold was weakening moment by moment, he knew their grasp to be wholly ineffectual. He obeyed the order because he lacked the strength to do otherwise.

Piers slowly slackened his grip. "Now," he said, speaking between lips that scarcely seemed to move, "you will make me that promise."

"What--promise?" Gaspingly Tudor uttered the question, yet something of the habitual sneer which he always kept for Piers distorted his mouth as he spoke. He was not an easy man to beat, despite his physical limitations.

Sternly and implacably Piers answered him. "You will swear--by all you hold sacred--to take no advantage whatever of me while I am away. You had a special purpose in view when you planned to get me out of the way. You will swear to give up that purpose, till I come back."

"I?" said Tudor.

Just the one word flung upwards at his conqueror, but carrying with it a defiance so complete that even Piers was for the moment taken by surprise! Then, the devil urging him, he tightened his grip again.

"Either that," he said, "or--"

He left the sentence unfinished. His hands completed the threat. He had pa.s.sed the bounds of civilization, and his savagery whirled him like a fiery torrent through the gaping jaws of h.e.l.l. The maddening flames were all around him, the shrieking of demons was in his ears, driving him on to destruction. He went, blinded by pa.s.sion, goaded by the intolerable stabs of jealousy. In those moments he was conscious of nothing save a wild delirium of anger against the man who, beaten, yet resisted him, yet threw him his disdainful refusal to surrender even in the face of overwhelming defeat.

But the brief respite had given Tudor a transient renewal of strength.

Ere that terrible grip could wholly lock again, he made another frantic effort to free himself. Spasmodic as it was, and wholly unconsidered, yet it had the advantage of being unexpected. Piers s.h.i.+fted his hold, and in that instant Tudor found and gripped the edge of the table. Sharply, with desperate strength, he dragged himself sideways, and before his adversary could prevent it he was over the edge. He fell heavily, dragging Piers with him, struck his head with violence against the table-leg, and crumpled with the blow like an empty sack.

Piers found himself gripping a limp, inanimate object, and with a sudden sense of overpowering horror he desisted. He stumbled up, staggering slightly, and drew a long, hard breath. His heart was racing like a runaway engine. All the blood in his body seemed to be concentrated there. Almost mechanically he waited for it to slow down. And, as he waited, the madness of that wild rush through h.e.l.l fell away from him.

The demons that had driven him pa.s.sed into distance. He was left standing in a place of desolation, utterly and terribly alone.

A trickle of cold water ran down Tudor's chin. He put up a hesitating, groping hand, and opened his eyes.

He was lying in the arm-chair before the fire in which he had spent the evening. The light danced before him in blurred flashes.

"Hullo!" he muttered thickly. "I've been asleep."

He remained pa.s.sive for a few moments, trying, not very successfully, to collect his scattered senses. Then, with an effort that seemed curiously laboured, he slowly sat up. Instinctively, his eyes went to the clock above him, but the hands of it seemed to be swinging round and round. He stared at it bewildered.

But when he tried to rise and investigate the mystery, the whole room began to spin, and he sank back with a feeling of intense sickness.

It was then that he became aware of another presence. Someone came from behind him and, stooping, held a tumbler to his lips. He looked up vaguely, and as in a dream he saw the face of Piers Evesham.

But it was Piers as he had never before seen him, white-lipped, unnerved, shaking. The hand that held the gla.s.s trembled almost beyond control.

"What's the matter?" questioned Tudor in hazy wonder. "Have you been boozing, or have I?"

And then, his perceptions growing stronger, he took the gla.s.s from the quivering hand and slowly drank.

The draught steadied him. He looked up with more a.s.surance, and saw Piers, still with that deathly look on his face, leaning against the mantelpiece for support.

"What on earth's the matter?" said Tudor sharply.

He felt for his gla.s.ses, found them dangling over his shoulder, and put them on. One of them was cracked across, an illuminating fact which accounted for much. He looked keenly at Piers for several quiet seconds.

At length with a shade of humour he spoke. "Here endeth the first lesson!

You'd make a better show if you had a drink also. I'm sorry there's only one gla.s.s. You see, I wasn't expecting any friends to-night."

Piers started a little and straightened himself; but his face remained bloodless, and there was a curiously stunned look in his eyes. He did not attempt to utter a word.

Tudor drained his gla.s.s, sat a moment or two longer, then got up. There were brandy and water on his writing-table. He poured out a stiff dose, and turned to Piers with authority.

"Pull yourself together, Evesham! I should have thought you'd made a big enough fool of yourself for one night. Drink this! Don't spill it now! And don't sit down on the fire, for I don't feel equal to pulling you off!"

His manner was briskly professional, the manner he usually reserved for the hysterical portion of his patients. He was still feeling decidedly shaky himself, but Piers' collapse was an admirable restorative. He stood by, vigilant and resolute, while the brandy did its work.

Piers drank in silence, not looking at him. All the arrogance had gone out of him. He looked broken and unmanned.

"Better?" asked Tudor at length.

He nodded mutely, and set down the gla.s.s.

Tudor surveyed him questioningly. "What happened to you?" he asked finally.

"Nothing!" Piers found his voice at last, it was low and shamed. "Nothing whatever! You--you--my G.o.d!--I thought you were dead, that's all."

"That all?" said Tudor. He put his hand up to his temple. There was a fair-sized lump there already, and it was swelling rapidly.

Piers nodded again. The deathly pallor had gone from his face, but he still avoided Tudor's eyes. He spoke again, below his breath, as if more to himself than to Tudor.

"You looked so horribly like--like--a man I once--saw killed."

"If you are wise, you will go home to bed," said Tudor gruffly.

Piers flashed a swift look at him. He stood hesitating. "You're not really hurt?" he questioned, after a moment.

"Thank you," said Tudor drily, "I am not."

He made no movement of reconciliation. Perhaps it was hardly to be expected of him. Piers made none either. He turned away in silence.

The clock on the mantelpiece chimed the hour. Two o'clock! Tudor looked at it with a wry smile. It had been a lively quarter of an hour.

The surgery-door banged upon Piers' departure. He heard his feet move heavily to the gate, and the dull clang of the latter closing behind him.

Then, after a protracted pause, there came the sound of his motor.