Читать книгу The Lonely Bride - Fred M. White - Страница 10

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A strange calmness came over Grace; she did not feel as if she were in the presence of catastrophe at all. It seemed almost impossible to believe that anything could have happened to one so strong and self-reliant and courageous as Max. He had evidently gone off on some unexpected errand, and she intimated to the general that he would probably be heard of in the course of the day.

"I am quite sure Max is able to take care of himself," she said. "Probably by the time you get home he will have turned up again. Why should you be so anxious?"

"I cannot but feel anxious," General Graham replied. "I know that Max had a most important appointment in London this morning, and at first I thought he had gone off there last night. But his trustees have seen nothing of him, indeed, they have just telegraphed me to that effect. We have searched everywhere, but so far entirely without result. You may call me an old fool, Grace, and say that I am not behaving in the least like a soldier, but I am terribly anxious about my boy. Still, I am wasting time here."

Grace colored up as if the general's last words were a reproach to her. She inwardly wondered at her own calmness, considering that the general's manner was beginning to infect her with his own uneasiness. After all, things of this kind had happened before to men quite as strong and able to take care of themselves as Max Graham. Other people had disappeared before now and never been heard of again. Involuntarily Grace cast a side glance at Rice, who did not appear to be listening. The general had taken no notice whatever of the latter, for Rice was not the class of visitor likely to find a welcome at Water Park, where the Grahams had held sway for the last 300 years. Rice looked up from the grass and caught Grace's eye with a question in it. He felt bound to say something. He enquired of General Graham if the latter really meant that there had been foul play here.

"Of course I do so," the general said stiffly. "My boy has never caused me a moment's anxiety in his life—that he has got into trouble on his own account I utterly refuse to believe. Why should he stay out all night? And even if he did, he would have certainly come back to breakfast this morning."

By this time other guests had arrived, and the story had gone round that Max Graham had met with some misfortune. As Grace stood there racking her brain to think of some sensible suggestion, Cyril Walter's story flashed into her mind.

Surely here was the solution of the mystery, she thought. Rice must have had a hand in the business. Indeed, at this moment it was clearly to his interest to get Max Graham out of the way. On his own confession Rice knew that Max was going to put his hands in his pocket and rid Mr. Anstey of all suggestion of disgrace. Rice had overheard Max make this promise, which would have gone a long way to rid Grace for ever of Rice's persecutions. On the other hand, with that fateful letter in his possession, Rice was more or less master of the situation, and therefore the production of the sum of money required by Mr. Ansley was a minor consideration.

Still, Grace could not forget Max's intimation that he had yet another weapon to use against Rice. Indeed, he had gone so far as to hint that once he had seen Rice, the latter would have to withdraw and leave a clear field for his favored rival. This it was, of course, that had led to the scene last night between the two men. Grace turned suddenly to Rice.

"Did you not see Mr. Max Graham last night?" she asked. "Did he not come to Mr. Brooks' house after dinner?"

"He certainly did come in," Rice admitted. He appeared to be just a little restless and uneasy. "But how does that affect the question? I don't see what it has to do——"

"Perhaps not," Grace said. "Did you leave first, or did Mr. Graham? Did you go away together?"

"Hardly likely," Rice sneered. "Mr. Max Graham is no friend of mine, indeed we barely speak when we meet."

"Then you did not see him after he left Mr. Brooks' house?" Grace asked. "You are certain of that."

"I have already answered your question," Rice said sullenly. "I know nothing whatever about Mr. Graham, and I care less."

Nobody appeared to notice the savage rudeness of the speech. A hush had fallen on the little party gathered there for the simple purpose of enjoyment; everybody seemed to feel that there was tragedy in the air. Men in flannels and ladies in white dresses had thrown down their rackets and croquet mallets to join the group standing round the tall, soldierly figure, and speculate on what had happened to Max Graham. The sun shone down from the cloudless sky, a gentle breeze stirred the trees. It all seemed so out of keeping with the crime and tragedy, and Grace shuddered as she thought of the dreadful secret that the verdure of the distant woods might hold. But there was more to be thought of than that; she began to feel the strain of it now. She touched the general on the arm.

"Are we not wasting time here?" she asked. "Surely it is time we organised something in the shape of a search party. I am certain that all the gentlemen here will be willing to give their services."

A murmur of assent followed. A few moments later and the men of the party were scattered, making their way in the direction of the house where Max was last seen the night before. It was a heavily wooded country, the ground rising here and there, and filled with deep lanes and coppices where at one time a deal of desperate poaching had taken place. There was no cause to think of poachers at this time of the year, and most assuredly Max had not come to grief that way. Still, it would have been possible for the body of a man to lie in those deep woods for days without being found.

Grace watched the figures in their gay flannels until they disappeared in the distance. As other men came over they learnt of the history of the case and started out in pursuit like the rest until only Stephen Rice remained. Grace had almost forgotten his presence, she had almost forgotten everything in the anxiety of the moment. Now she turned her eyes on him hotly.

"Why do you not go along?" the protested.

"Why should I go?"' Rice asked coolly. "Graham is nothing to me, indeed the longer he keeps out of the way the better I shall be pleased. After all said and done, it is no pleasant thing to know that the girl you are going to marry is in love with somebody else. I think you understand what I mean?"

"I understand you perfectly," Grace said. "Any honorable man would see his way quite clear. Why did you lie to me just now?"

Rice started and bit his lip savagely.

"You give me credit for all the vices," he said. "What do you mean by asking that question? How did I lie to you?"

"You lied to me when you said you had seen nothing of Max last night," Grace said. "I know more than you imagine. You walked down the drive together and had a discussion in the road. You thought you were free from observation because you were driving your own motor-car. And then you quarrelled—possibly because Mr. Graham had shown you that he could prevent any further attentions of yours to me. It was a violent quarrel, and you bear the traces of it in your face at the present moment."

"I say it is false," Rice cried. "I am prepared to swear to you that I never saw Graham last night."

"And I can prove that you did," Grace replied. "If you could only see your face at the present moment you would know that I had found you out. And this is the class of man I have promised to marry. Oh, my degradation is deeper than I thought."

Rice shuffled about uneasily, but said nothing for a moment. Grace had turned away from him with a gesture of indignation and contempt; she was half-way to the house before he could overtake her.

"Look here," he said angrily. "This thing has got to stop. Graham or no Graham, the time will come when you will be my wife. Once that is accomplished I shall teach you prettier manners than you possess at present. Do you mean to insinuate that I have had anything to do with this escapade of Graham's? Cherchez la femme!"

The cruel insinuation brought the hot blood flaming to Grace's cheeks. She turned and faced Rice angrily.

"Yes, I do," she almost whispered. "I believe that he knows something of your disgraceful past that would have made it impossible for you to raise your eyes to any good and virtuous woman. It was the allusion to that episode in your past that brought about your quarrel. It would have been easier for you to bow to the inevitable and acknowledge defeat. But you are not the man to accept defeat, if you can turn it into victory by any means, however questionable. It would have been easier for you to leave your car by the roadside and follow your victim through the woods, which was the shortest way home. A treacherous blow dealt from behind, and the thing was done. In my mind's eye I can see it as plainly as if I had been there. Oh, you may laugh."

For a forced laugh had come from Rice's lips. Despite his dogged courage and resolution, his face was pale and he could not meet Grace's eye. He strode away in the direction of the house without further words. Grace stood there looking out across the fields until her eyes grew dim and the tears began to run down her cheeks. It was almost maddening to wait there in suspense.

It was nearly dark before the search party began to straggle back to the bank house again. They had been absolutely unsuccessful in their search, though their ranks had been largely augmented during the past hour or two. But nobody had anything to report, no trace of Max Graham had been found. Nor had anything happened over at Water Park to solve the mystery.

"We have been everywhere," General Graham said. "We have even searched the ruins of the old priory behind the big cover. It is exceedingly kind of you all to take this trouble and I will not worry you any further. I am so worn out with anxiety now, that I must go home and rest."

The darkness had fallen at length, and Anstey's guests had departed, and father and daughter were dining alone. It was a silent meal, for Grace was consumed with a sickening anxiety, and Anstey was moody, and preoccupied. He looked up presently to note that the tears were streaming down Grace's cheeks.

"Why worry about it?" he asked irritably. "Do you honestly suppose that anything serious has happened to Graham? Besides, in any case, he could be nothing to you now, and the sooner you get your mind to forget him the better."

"I shall never forget him," Grace said. "Father, why have you changed so much towards me of late, why are you so different from what you used to be? I used to regard you as one of the best of men, and now it seems to me——"

But Grace was speaking to the winds, for Anstey had flung himself out of the room and banged the door behind him. Grace sat there engrossed in her own painful thoughts until a footman entered with the intimation that "Poor Billy" desired to see Miss Anstey.

"Least, that's what I understand, miss," he explained. "It is very hard to make Billy out, and we have come to the conclusion that he wants to see you, miss."

"Ask the poor fellow in," Grace said, forgetting her own sorrows for the moment, "bring him in here."

The half-demented little man shuffled into the room presently, and looked about him in a vacant kind of way. Yet there was some sort of method in his madness, for he seemed to be seeking something, and his eyes were not so expressionless as usual. Grace signed to the servant to leave them and close the door. With a gesture she signified that Billy should take a seat by her side. It was useless to speak to the ragged little figure, for he was deaf as well as dumb, and everything would have to be done by signs. Grace raised her eyebrows and looked significantly at her tattered companion. He smiled in a vague way and went through the motion of writing a letter. Evidently he had watched people doing that kind of thing, though, it probably conveyed nothing to his intelligence.

But it seemed to Grace that she understood. It suddenly flashed upon her now that Billy had been the messenger employed to convey that fateful letter to Mr. James Holder. Perhaps he was alluding to this. It was just possible to test the poor idiot's intelligence, and Grace laid a sheet of paper and pencil on the table before the little man. A smile lighted up his face.

He took the pencil in his shaky fingers, and began to make marks upon the paper. Gradually there grew up thereon something that bore a resemblance to a ruined old house; in front was a decayed tree which had obviously been struck by lightning at some time.

"Old Water Priory," Grace exclaimed. "What does it mean?"