Читать книгу The Honour of his House - Fred M. White - Страница 11

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The household was all in commotion now. It was as if the oiled wheels had left the track, as if the whole perfect machinery had fallen out of gear. There were sounds of voices in the house, a confused murmur of servants as they hurried from room to room, and, above it all, the sharp incongruous note of the telephone bell.

They had the stricken man upstairs now. He was lying partially undressed on his bed, still breathing stentoriously. The mottled red on his face had struck a deeper purple hue. Downstairs in the drawing-room, William Saltburn stood by the fireplace, his hands behind his back, reckoning up his chances. He was the only one there who did not seem in the least impressed by the tragedy. By his side stood Philip, tugging irresolutely at his moustache. So far as he was concerned he was profoundly shocked and impressed. He was recalling other conversations which had led up to the distressing scene which he had lately witnessed. He had more than an uneasy impression that his father was at the bottom of the whole ghastly business.

"What do you think of it?" William Saltburn asked.

"I don't know," Philip murmured. "It is all so unutterably sad. It seems an awful thing for the master of all this to be fighting for this life upstairs like an ordinary human being."

"Common lot," Saltburn exclaimed. "Got to come to us all sooner or later. What has become of the Baron? Has he gone home? Do you know I should like to get hold of that chap—just the sort of man I could make use of. Poor, isn't he? They tell me he lives in a little cottage here on about a pound a week. Funny idea for a man of his ability. But those Latins are rum chaps when their vanity is touched. Anyway, I'd give a hundred thousand pounds if I could get de la Croisa to place his services at my disposal. And you can tell him so if you like. You get on better with that class of old swell than I do."

"I should be sorry to," Phillip murmured. "I should expect the Baron to run me through the body. But, look here, father, is there really anything in this Tortina business? I don't want to be personal, but if our host is in trouble through dabbling in some scheme of yours, why—"

"You mind your own business," Saltburn growled. "Don't you come meddling in things you don't understand. Your game is to play pretty and make yourself agreeable to the ladies."

Philip stood there, profoundly dissatisfied. He might have said more, only the door opened at that moment, and de la Croisa came in.

"I think he is a bit better now," he said in answer to Philip's inquiry. "The doctor has come, and the first thing he did was to turn us all out of the room. Lady Edna would like to speak to you, Mr. Philip. You will find her in the library."

Philip needed no second bidding. He closed the door quietly behind him, leaving the Baron and his father confronting each other. Saltburn's red, aggressive face was strongly combative now. The Baron was regarding him through narrowed eyelids, his glance appeared to sparkle like steel.

"Well, are you satisfied?" he asked. "My dear Mr. Saltburn, there are times when it is necessary to sink the method of diplomacy and give nature a chance. It would be foolish on my part to close my eyes to what has taken place to-night. Tell me, why you should go out of your way to make all this trouble with my old friend Sherringborne. Surely he has done you no harm?"

"That is not the question," Saltburn responded.

"Perhaps not. But it is important from my point of view. This, I presume, is what you call business. There are people like myself who could give it quite another name. Fifty or sixty years ago when gentlemen settled their differences in a proper and orthodox manner I should have been compelled to call you out for this. I should have had infinite satisfaction in running you through the body and subsequently repairing to my cottage with a clear conscience. But now it is the fashion to employ lawyers to do these things for one. Still, it is an easy negotiation after all. You have only to revert to your original scheme with regard to the finances of my friend Santa Anna. Do you follow me?"

"Oh, I'm all there," Saltburn said bluntly. "I am ready to answer to the crack of the whip if you can find it. But can you find it? In the hands of Japan—"

"My dear friend," the Baron said softly, his eyes were half-closed now, he appeared to be examining the painted ceiling with critical approval, "my dear friend, is there not a Scotch poet who sings that there are hills beyond Pentland and seas beyond Firth? It is precisely the same with international politics. It is well for you to shield yourself behind that plea that this new policy on Japan's part calls for reconsideration of your position. But it is just possible that there are forces which may induce the Mikado to take another view of the matter. Now, in all your travels, have you ever been as far as Japan?"

Saltburn looked frankly puzzled. He was phenomenally quick at grasping a point, but palpably he was at sea here. And he did not like the cynical superiority of the Baron's smile.

"No, I haven't," he said. "I believe it is a beautiful country all the same. And certain to go ever farther than it has."

"Aye, and that before long, too," the Baron said with a sudden change of voice. "I suppose you have heard of the Prince Ito? He is at present in London, and—now, my dear friend, do you want me to say more?"

Something like an oath broke from Saltburn's lips. He began to understand now the power and significance of the force which was arrayed against him.

"I haven't thought of that," he muttered. "Strange as it may seem. Ito had never entered my calculations for a moment. And I have never met the Prince. Have you?"

"He is a friend of mine, of course. They are all friends of mine, Mr. Saltburn. Ah, the old man tending his roses in his country garden is not entirely forgotten yet. I don't want to interfere with your plans, but, I think, I really think, my friend, that this sad business will be settled on an amicable basis yet. A true patriot like yourself—"

"Patriotism be hanged," Saltburn broke out furiously. "It's only the fool and the socialist who prates of patriotism. And you may be assured of one thing—whatever happens—"

Saltburn's strident voice died away in a growl as the door opened, and Pallisser, accompanied by the others, came in. De la Croisa lifted his eyebrows interrogatively.

"Very bad," the Premier said. "Very bad indeed. The symptoms are exceedingly grave, and fresh complications may supervene at any moment. On the other hand, it is just possible that Sherringborne may be comparatively himself within a week. But it would be criminal to be too sanguine. Featherstone, I wonder if you would lend Lady Edna your car? She has taken it into her head that she would like to fetch Shorland herself."

"What, alone?" Featherstone asked significantly. "Of course she can have the car with pleasure, but it would be far more advisable for one of us to go. You see, Shorland is not the kind of man to put himself out for other people's convenience. I don't suppose Lady Edna will approve of some of his associates if he happens to be giving a supper-party or something of that kind, which is exceedingly likely. I don't think—well, you know what I mean, Sir James. Between ourselves, Shorland is a vicious young scamp, and as heartless and selfish as they make them."

The Premier shook his head doubtfully. He had heard many of these stories, which are usually the last to come to the ears of those most concerned. Lord Sherringborne was aware that his son was reckless and extravagant. But of the kind of life that he was leading Lady Edna knew nothing. She was entirely outside a world of that kind. As the little group of men stood there debating the point, Lady Edna came in.

"My father appears to be quieter now," she explained. "The doctor has asked me to keep away as much as possible. He has managed to get hold of two nurses who have just arrived. But, really, Shorland ought to know, he would be terribly distressed and hurt if he thought that we were keeping him in the dark." The others exchanged glances. "Of course, I know he is very wild and foolish, but with all his faults he is devoted to his father and to me. I must do something, Sir James, I really can't stay here. This inaction is positively maddening. Do lend me your car, Lord Featherstone. I can be back again in two or three hours at the outside."

Featherstone hesitated. He ventured to suggest that he should go himself.

"It would be far better," he said, "for a man to undertake this thing."

But Lady Edna would have none of it, nothing would please her except that she should undertake the journey personally. She was still pressing the point home when Philip Saltburn came in. He was already dressed for a journey, he was wearing a big motor-coat over his dress clothes. He seemed to have taken the whole matter into his own hands as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"I have taken the liberty of borrowing your car, Featherstone," he said. "I have managed to get Lord Shorland's address in London, and with any luck I shall be back here by midnight. I understand that Lady Edna wants to go, but, of course, that is out of the question. It is impossible."

Lady Edna flashed a challenge from moist eyes.

"I shall be glad of your assistance," she said, "but, all the same, understand that I am going with you."