Читать книгу A Clue In Wax - Fred M. White - Страница 5

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Before Clifford could reply a clerk came into the room and laid a visiting card on his employer's table. Then he vanished as quietly as he came.

"Now, there is a strange thing," Lawrence said. "This is Miss Marchand's card. She has evidently called to see me on business, and if you like to hang about in the waiting-room for a bit, I will tell her that you are here."

Clifford rose immediately, and for the next quarter of an hour was cooling his heels in the waiting-room. Then the door opened and Evelyn Marchand came in.

The same Evelyn Marchand he had known two years before, and yet not the same. The same almost spiritual beauty, the pleading eyes of clearest blue, the sunny, rather wistful smile, and the crown of auburn hair. But no longer the timid child in a cheap, home-made frock, but one who had suddenly become accustomed to that definite luxury of surrounding which spells prosperity. She was dressed almost as simply as ever, but it was the simplicity of art allied to that Parisian exclusiveness of cut and texture which every daughter of Eve would recognise at a glance, and which merely fascinates man and puzzles him. But directly the girl opened her mouth and held out her hand Clifford knew that there was no change here.

"Oh, Clifford, this is delightful," she said with that dimming naturalness of hers. "I had wondered what on earth had become of you. You disappeared in the most extraordinary way. Just in the middle of a chapter of your book. And never a word to me except that you were leaving England on business. And I have been wondering ever since if I did anything to offend you."

"Offend me," Clifford cried. "My dear girl, you couldn't possibly do it. I couldn't tell you where I was going because it was police business and my lips were sealed. When I went away I thought it would be for a month instead of which I was on the other side of the Atlantic for nearly a year. But why this amazing change? You are not going to tell me that you made that powder-blue frock, simple as it looks."

Evelyn laughed joyously.

"You can't deceive a policeman," she said. "But I might ask you the same question. You would hardly call yourself in plain clothes, would you? You are not going to tell me that the suit you are wearing came from anywhere but Bond-street."

"Saville Row as a matter of fact," Clifford smiled. "My one extravagance. I bought myself a spring and autumn suit on the strength of being made a sergeant, and my old tailors let me have it practically at cost price. But what about yourself? You are not-er-well, not exactly—"

"Married," Evelyn said roguishly. "Oh, no."

"Going to be, perhaps," Clifford said greatly daring.

"Not even that, you impertinent person. At least, I—I don't think so. But it is quite a romance. Many months ago I happened to see an advertisement in 'The Times,' asking for information as to any family called Marchand. It was only by a bit of sheer luck that I saw it whilst I was waiting in a house in Grosvenor-square in connection with some of my typing. Now, as you know Marchand spelt with a 'c' is a very uncommon name, and I am under the impression that my mother and myself are the only two people in the country who can claim that name. I don't think I should have worried about it, only my mother insisted. So I went to the address of a firm of solicitors in Lincoln's Inn Fields with all the evidence I could collect and, after a few days, I heard from those lawyers that their client was the Earl of Seagrane who is absolutely the last of his line. They told me he was a rich old gentleman, living in an ancestral seat called Seagrane Holt, which is on the South Kent coast, and that as he had no heirs and no one to succeed him, he was anxious to trace anyone bearing the family name of Marchand with a view of—well, adopting them. So when all the preliminaries were over, my mother and I went down to Seagrane Holt and—well—there we have been ever since. Isn't it a romantic story?"

"Wonderful," Clifford cried. "I am not going to ask you if you are happy, because you have happiness written all over you."

"Oh, you couldn't help being happy at Seagrane Holt," Evelyn said. "It is such a glorious old place, with old family servants and everything just as you read it in Peacock's stories. And then he is such a dear, kind old man. His life is a romance. He was very wild in his youth, and when really a boy, ran away to sea and was lost sight of for over 50 years. He became a caddie on some American golf links, and when the late Earl died and he was advertised for he was working in the professional's shop making clubs. Of course, he never expected to come into the title, as when he left England there were half a dozen people between him and the earldom. However, he did come back when he was obliged to, and, because he was so lonely and so out of things in England, he advertised for relatives. And he says mother is a godsend, because she is such a splendid chatelaine. She seemed to take to managing that great household in the most natural way. But the Earl is quite a character in his way, and he hates anything like ceremonial or fuss. So long as the house is run properly and he gets his golf, which he plays regularly at Sandchester—"

"Ah, Sandchester," Cheriton replied—or, rather, interrupted with a half-sigh. "What happy recollections that name conjures up. I used to go down there with my father every summer before the crash came, and those days I shall never forget. Do you know, Eve, I have always promised myself a week-end cottage at Sandchester if ever I was fortunate enough to attain such a luxury. There was a thatched house there, on the high ground beyond the golf links looking out over the sea, with woods behind and—Oh, well, you know the sort of thing I mean."

"Of course I do," Evelyn said. "Why, the park at Seagrane Holt runs right down to it. Isn't the place you mean just behind the seventh hole?"

"That is the spot," Clifford cried almost excitedly. "But perhaps it has been pulled down by now?"

"Indeed it hasn't," Evelyn said. "It is used as a kind of storeroom for odds and ends. It is part of Lord Seagrane's property. I know it very well."

"Now, this is almost like a fairy story," Clifford smiled. "Do you think his lordship would let it to me on lease? I would put it in repair and see that it was no disgrace to the property. Do you think it could be managed?"

"I am quite sure it could. I have only to ask anything in reason, and Lord Seagrane will be only too delighted to meet my wishes. He really is the dearest old man. Not the popular conception of a great nobleman, because, you see, he had practically no education, and, for the most part, his life in America was a very hard one; but the kindest-hearted man. But what is all this talk about? Are you telling me that you have suddenly come into a fortune or something of that sort?"

"Upon my word, Eve, you are not far wrong," Clifford laughed excitedly. "Let me tell you all about it."

In a few words he outlined the extraordinary events of the last hour. How something like fame had come to him out of the blue, and how, all at once, he had blossomed from a mere policeman into something very like a celebrity.

"Wonderful, isn't it?" he concluded. "This morning I hadn't a five-pound note to bless myself with, and now I am in possession of nearly L2000 and the promise of a good deal more than that, annually. So I am going to give up being a detective and devote myself to literature in future. But what a remarkable thing it is that I should find you here just when Lawrence was telling me of my amazing luck. By the way, he told me something more than that. He was saying just now that you had also written a promising story something on the same lines of my type of work. And then I informed him that you used to act as a sort of secretary to me. And almost before I had finished telling him a clerk brought in your card. There is a fate in this. But then I always knew that we should meet again some day. But, tell me, how was it you happened to be up in town?"

"Well, I came up to do some shopping, and also to see to a commission that Lord Seagrane gave me. So I thought that I would call on Mr. Lawrence to see what he thought of my story."

"You are going back this afternoon?"

"Oh, no," Evelyn said. "Not till to-morrow, anyway. I am on my own after 6 o'clock and I am staying the night at a private hotel in Mount-street."

"Splendid!" Clifford cried. "In that case, you are going to dine with me and perhaps we can do a show afterwards. Something wildly extravagant in the way of a dinner to celebrate the occasion. I believe that I have a respectable dress suit somewhere or another, and if I can't find it, then I will hire one. But perhaps you have some other engagement."

Evelyn responded to the effect that the evening was entirely at her disposal and that she had not been looking forward to it with any great amount of pleasure.

"I was thinking of looking up an old friend of mine who is secretary to a city merchant," she said. "But we need not worry any more about that."

"We won't," Clifford said promptly. "Now, look here, you have some work to do and so have I. If you give me your address I will call for you at 7 o'clock and, meanwhile, I will engage a table at the Clarendon. I have not been inside that place for five years, though I believe the old head waiter is still there and will be glad to see me for my father's sake."

On this understanding they parted and, shortly afterwards, Clifford returned to his lodgings with Lawrence's cheque in his pocket. That he would pay into the bank the following morning and, meanwhile, he had in ready money the necessary funds for the evening's entertainment. His first business was to look up the dress suit he had not worn time out of mind, to discover that it had not suffered, though perhaps not quite so up-to-date as he would have liked. A hurried visit to a neighbouring tailor and the application of a skilfully used hot iron worked wonders, so that, later on, it was quite an immaculate young man who set out on foot to pick up his companion in Mount-street.

He had a good deal to think about as he walked along. His own future for one thing—a future so bright and glowing that he almost trembled when he thought of it. As if by the lifting of a fairy's wand, he had been raised almost miraculously from a lowly position in the police force to something that was very nearly akin to fame. At any rate, he could see before him now the prospect of a splendid income for many years to come, and the knowledge that he was his own master, to work when he liked, and turn his intelligence to that class of literature to which he felt himself to be best fitted.

And Evelyn. What a beautiful girl she had grown into! She had always been pretty and attractive with a certain appeal of her own which had stirred Clifford profoundly. He was beginning to realise now, with something almost like a shock, that he had always cared for Evelyn Marchand, though he had never, by word or sign, shown her in what direction his feelings lay. It would have been selfishness personified to have done so. As a mere humble member of the police with no prospect before him, it would have been almost cruel on his part to have made any attempt to engage the affections of a girl who had come to him in the first instance as a mere matter of business.

But now everything was changed. For Evelyn was no longer a child struggling to make money enough to keep herself and her mother from starvation, but a lovely girl on whom prosperity and happiness had acted entirely for the best.

So Cheriton walked along the West End streets with his head high in the air and a feeling in his heart that he had the whole world at his feet. He did not even care to consider the possibility that the Earl of Seagrane might have had other views for his attractive young relative. It was pleasant to know that the present head of the Seagranes was no haughty aristocrat, but a man who had had to struggle hard in a harder world and was, therefore, devoid of the shibboleths of the class to which he had been born. Sooner or later, he would have to meet this old man and—oh, well, the future could take care of itself.

Here was Evelyn awaiting him, a dainty vision in sea-green with shoes and stockings to match. A perfect figure of budding English womanhood with a smile on her lips and a look in those glorious blue eyes of hers that set Clifford tingling from head to foot. It was as if fortune was showering all her gifts upon him at once and the knowledge had gone to his head.

"Splendid," he said. "I suppose the right thing to do is to compliment you on your frock, isn't it? I have been so long a lonely policeman that I have forgotten all the little amenities. But you look stunning."

"That is very nice of you," Evelyn smiled. "All the more so because I believe you mean every word you say."

"And a good deal more than that," Clifford said emphatically. "Now, let me call a taxi."

"The extravagance of it!" Evelyn mocked. "On a lovely night like this I should much prefer to walk. Wait a minute till I get a wrap."

She vanished, to reappear again almost immediately, and together they walked down the street, with Evelyn happy and gay and not realising exactly what a proud and happy man it was who strode along by her side. Nor did she seem to be in the least conscious of the attention she was attracting as she walked across the floor of the Clarendon grill-room to the table at the far end, which Clifford had engaged an hour before. It was that beautiful unconsciousness of hers and the sweet serenity with which she surveyed the room which was not the least of her charms.

It was the head waiter himself who piloted them to their table laid out for two and saw that they had every attention.

"Capital chap, that," Clifford said when the coffee and liqueur stage was reached. "It is extraordinary what memories these head waiters have. That man recognised me directly I came in, though I have not been inside these walls for five years. He remembered my father and told me how honoured he was to have the opportunity of waiting on a Cheriton once more. He seemed to be under the impression I had been abroad all this time. But I don't doubt for a moment that he knows all about the family misfortunes, to say nothing of the fact that I am a mere policeman. All very soothing to my vanity."

"All very pleasant, I am sure," Evelyn said. "Do you know, I have never dined in a place like this before. I felt horribly frightened when I came in and wondered if I should do anything that was not quite right and proper. You see, this is practically my first visit to London since we went down to Seagrane Holt. It is all very wonderful and fascinating and some of those women's dresses are marvellous. Gives me a sort of Arabian Nights feeling. I could sit here watching for hours."

"Well, let's," Clifford suggested. "Unless you would like to go on to a music hall or something of that sort."

"Oh no, Clifford, I am quite satisfied as I am, to sit here and watch these people coming and going. It gives me the feeling that I am in the great world at last. Mind you, I wouldn't change Seagrane Holt for anything that London had to offer me."

"As ideal as all that," Clifford smiled. "Then you don't find it dull down there occasionally?"

"Dull, my dear boy, how ridiculous. That lovely old house, filled with all sorts of wonderful treasures. Pictures and tapestries and furniture almost priceless. Then the gardens and the lawns and the wonderful trees! The late Lord Seagrane would have had to sell it if he had lived much longer. It was quite a mercy in its way that my dear old benefactor happens to be on exceedingly rich man."

"Oh, is he? How does that come about? I understood you to say that he worked on some American golf links."

"Yes, that is true enough," Evelyn explained. "But every now and then, he got the wanderers' fever and went off exploring. Alaska and the Yukon, and all that kind of thing. Then he would come back again, sure of his old job because he was a fine workman, to settle down for a year or two, and then off again. And, eventually, he became really rich. As far as I can gather, there was a trip he took with an Englishman named Canton, and they found a copper mine. Canton hadn't any money, but plenty of friends in the city, and they financed the scheme. Just before the late earl died, his successor realised all he had made out of that last desperate adventure, and was prepared to spend the rest of his days in America, when he came into the title and estates, and came home, very much against the grain. His partner died in the meantime, and, by some means or another that I have never had properly explained, contrived to lose all his money. He had a son called Andrew Canton, who had not long come down from Oxford, and had nearly qualified for the Bar, and it was characteristic of the dear old man that he should seek out Andrew Canton and induce the latter to come and live at Seagrane Holt."

Clifford was conscious of a certain uneasiness which he would have found it hard to account for.

"And what is the young man like?" he asked.

"Oh, presentable enough—quite the finished product of Oxford. A good sportsman, but a little rash and impetuous, and, I fancy, a born gambler. Not that it matters much, because, some day or another, he will be master of Seagrane Holt and a huge fortune, which will necessarily be attached to it."

Without quite knowing why, Clifford was not displeased to hear this.

"Oh, then, you are not going to be the nursery story type of heiress?" he asked.

"Oh dear, no," Evelyn said emphatically. "Lord Seagrane made that quite clear when we first went to Seagrane Holt. He told my mother and myself that he was under the deepest obligation to Andrew Canton's late father, and that, in any case, most of what he had would go to the young man in question. Perhaps I am wrong, but I feel a sort of conviction that there was a sort of tragedy behind that statement, because the earl spoke so strangely about it. He was communicative and yet, at the same time, reticent, and I seemed to see in his expression a shadow of shame. Of course, it might be my fancy, but I can't shake off the impression. Still, it has nothing whatever to do with me, and I am thankful to know that my mother and myself will be well provided for."

"That is good hearing, at any rate," Clifford said thoughtfully. "I suppose, to round off the story properly, you and this young man Canton ought to fall in love with one another and receive the old man's blessing with the assurance that now he can die happy. You know the sort of tale I mean."

As he spoke, Cheriton saw the flush on Evelyn's cheek, and a certain unsteadiness about her lips. Then she laughed, but the laughter did not seem to ring exactly true.

"That would be a fitting ending, wouldn't it?" she almost challenged. "But don't you think we are looking a little far ahead? However, you will be able to judge for yourself when you come down to Seagrane Holt. When I get back there to-morrow, I shall tell the Earl all that has happened, and how I met a valued friend who badly wants to rent a cottage close to Sandchester golf links. Do you know what will happen when I tell the old gentleman that?"

"How should I?" Clifford asked.

"Well, he will tell me to write you a letter asking you to come down and stay there for a bit. The mere fact of your being a friend of mine will prompt him to suggest that at once. And when he hears that you are a golfer, he will welcome you with open arms. And if you want that cottage, I am sure you can have it."

They sat there talking happily for the best part of an hour until Evelyn rose and expressed a desire to leave.

"Why the hurry?" Clifford asked. "And why are you looking across at that table in the opposite corner?"

"Did you notice that?" Evelyn asked. "You see those men there? I am sure they are talking about us. The eyes of the taller of the two make me feel quite uncomfortable. Very silly, of course, but—"