Читать книгу The Scales of Justice - Fred M. White - Страница 11

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It was strange how still and silent the old house was through it all—like a troubled and tumultuous heart beating under a calm exterior. From the outside one might have taken it for some haunt of ancient peace, some favoured homestead that sorrow and tribulation had not touched at all. There had been no noise, no sign of struggle, and there had been no sign of Dr Bernard Beard after his study door had closed upon him. Perhaps he had other things to occupy his mind.

The big man sat there sucking moodily at his pipe after the two girls had left him. He no longer looked contented and masterful. The lines on his forehead might almost have been drawn there by physical pain. He took some letters from a drawer in a little safe let into the wall of the room, and proceeded to read them.

"Where is it all going to end?" he muttered. "How long can this last without a breakdown? And all these signs again for the third time! How did those people get here, how did they manage it? If I could only meet them face to face, if I could only get my enemy in my grasp!"

Beard tossed the letter back in the safe and locked the door. It was a bitterly cold night, but the perspiration stood on the man's broad forehead. With a gesture as of a man who needs air, he opened the window. At intervals came the sound of a gun from Greystone Gaol.

Beard smiled grimly to himself as he saw the lanterns flitting about the garden. So the convict who had escaped had not yet been taken! The hunted, desperate wretch was still at large.

"I wonder how he feels?" Beard muttered. "I wonder if he can see me from his hiding-place. Perhaps he is envying me and feels inclined to change places. The irony of it all! For I would give anything to change places with him. Ah!"

Beard drew a deep breath as he saw a figure dragged by two warders into a circle of light caused by the lanterns. The man-hunting instinct which is common to us all was upon him now; he was going to watch the dramatic moment of the convict's recapture. Then as the light fell upon the face of the poacher, Beard gave a sudden gasp.

"They have got hold of Marston!" he exclaimed. "What a fool I am not to have thought of him before! I wonder what that fellow is loafing about here for. Still he has come at a most opportune time."

Beard heard the quick passage at arms between the poacher and his captors; he saw the former slink away into the darkness. Then he extinguished his light and found his way quickly to the drawing-room, the long French windows of which he quietly unfastened. A moment later, and he was in the garden, pushing the casement close behind him. It was the quickest and easiest way out, and there would be no danger for a little time. But Beard was not thinking of that, he wanted to find the poacher without delay. He had a pretty shrewd idea which path the latter would take.

A match spluttered out presently and a dark face appeared beyond the bowl of a pipe. Beard strode up and touched the smoker on the shoulder. The latter held up the expiring match so that he could see who his assailant was. A bitter smile crossed his face as he saw Beard. Yet there was no trace of fear or alarm on the dark features of Marston.

"In the name of the fiend, what do you want?" he asked. "For two years we have been cheek by jowl, as one might say, and you have never come near me. Not that I wanted you, because your presence always means mischief to somebody else. I applauded your decision because it seemed to me that you were desirous to forget the past. Heaven knows that I should be glad to forget the past if I could."

"You are doing your best to try to obliterate it," Beard said meaningly. "Surely you can do something better than waste your life over these trumpery poaching excursions!"

"Of course, I could. I could become a city swindler and make money. They say the life is very exciting and there is always the chance of getting into the meshes of the law. Our old existence was fairly exciting, for instance. But that is all done with; you have turned out quite commonplace and respectable."

"The old life is not quite done with," Beard said, significantly. "You can never escape the full consequences of by-gone sins. I had a warning to-day, Marston. My life is not worth a minute's purchase. They have found me out, and if they have found me out they are on your track also. What do you think of that?"

Marston laughed contemptuously. Then he stopped to relight his pipe.

"I dare say you are right," he said. "The long arm that reaches for you reaches for me also. It was a coincidence that I should return to the scenes of my youth, and that by a kind of accident you should take up your quarters in this locality also. You have steadily avoided me for two years until to-night, though, of course, you must have wondered why so clever a knave as myself should be half-starving here. Well, I'll tell you. For three years now I have hardly ever been free from a pain that seems to eat my very heart away. I went to a doctor, who told me that if I wished to live I must be in the country air and out of doors as much as possible. I was penniless, the old lot had turned their backs on me. I was ready to do anything to get rid of this pain. Then I asked what the pain was, and they told me Beard, I am slowly dying of cancer."

Beard muttered something that sounded like sympathy.

"That is why I am not afraid," Marston went on. "I am afraid of nothing. The shadow of vengeance that hangs over us does not trouble me at all. I am too much of a man to rid myself of the torture that racks my life by suicide, but I shall welcome the end when it comes. I could have laughed aloud just now when you told me that the vengeance was upon us. Man, man I would go half-way to meet it. Why should I fly from death when life is not worth living?"

"Why, indeed?" Beard said gloomily. "But the case is far different with me. I tell you that I dare not die, at least, not just yet. There is something that must be done first. Come back to the house and have a chat with me."

"No occasion to do that," Marston replied. "My little cot is close by, and we can discuss matters there quite easily. Mind that ditch there on the right."

The cottage was in pitch darkness as Marston lifted the latch and fumbled in his pocket for a box of matches. Then the feeble oil-lamp flared out, and disclosed the poverty of the little sitting-room. Beard smiled as he looked about him.

"Strange quarters for a man of taste like yourself," he said. "At one time nothing was good enough for you. And your ambition was only limited to your horizon."

"I know, I know, but things have changed. My ambition is dead, this pain in my chest has killed it. All I want now is plenty of air and those little fishing and shooting excursions to give me a flavour of excitement. Ah!"

The strong man suddenly groaned and placed his hand to his heart. His face had grown white and haggard, the dark eyes told a tale of dreadful suffering. Beard suggested brandy, but Marston did not seem to hear anything. Presently the spasm passed, the sufferer wiped his shining face, and a little colour crept into his cheeks.

"Sometimes that lasts for two hours," he said. "Then I am so exhausted that I can only lie still and pray for death. Now tell me what you want."

"Well, I want you to do something for me. The source of the danger just now is in Paris. You know your Paris as well as I do, you speak the language even better. I must stay here for the present; I have something that demands my staying in England. I want you to go to the old quarters over there and ask questions."

"In my state of health? My dear Beard, it is impossible. In the first place, extreme caution is necessary. How could a man who suffers as I do be cautious? It is only by luck as well as judgment that the keepers have never taken me. Last week I had the worst attack I have ever experienced. I lay in a wood for twelve hours utterly incapable of getting away, my gun by my side, and every pocket full of fine pheasants. Fortunately, nobody found me. And yet you suggest that I should undertake a delicate and dangerous mission in Paris!"

Beard seemed to have no further remarks to offer. The moody frown was back on his face again; he paced up and down the little room glaring contemptuously at the evidences of poverty. Suddenly he came to a stop in front of the fire.

"Hallo," he said. "It is perhaps out of the question for you to undertake what I suggest, but here is somebody, if I mistake not, who will do just as well. You did not tell me that you were keeping up a correspondence with Cardrew."

"Well, I'm not," Marston said sullenly. "I don't even know where that handsome young scamp is. I thought that he was somewhere in India."

"Why try to fool me?" Bernard Beard demanded. "Here is a letter from him on the mantel-shelf. It is addressed to you in pencil."

Marston rose and looked at the envelope. It was quite clear to Beard that his expression of surprise was no acting. Moreover, Beard could see that the flap was sealed down. The letter must have come in Marston's absence.

"Cardrew must have found me out here," the poacher exclaimed. "He probably called this afternoon, and Jessie my little girl—gave him paper and envelope to write the note. It is the same paper that I use myself. Let's see what he says."

Beard watched his companion with an eagerness that he found some difficulty in concealing. Marston read the letter twice over without speaking.

"It is a private matter," he said at length, "and can not concern you in any way. This much I can say, Cardrew is down here, and he is very anxious for no-body to know of the fact, not even the Drummonds. He says he will call upon me to-morrow to discuss certain business. Nobody knows he is here, remember."

"Oh, I'm not the man to betray the secrets of another," Beard laughed. He seemed to be delighted about something.

"I suppose our young friend is at home on special leave. I know there has been some bother out yonder, and that young Drummond came home in disgrace. He may possibly be expelled from the service. An act of cowardice."

"Rubbish!" Marston cried. "No Drummond was ever a coward yet, and Captain Drummond was a fine fellow. Much more likely to be Cardrew, who has cunningly shifted the blame on to other shoulders. He comes down here without even letting his sweetheart know. But I had forgotten that he was a kind of connection of your friends."

"I fancy my friends would like to forget it also," Beard smiled. "Well, I must be getting back again. Sorry that you are not in a fit state to help me. I think I'll look in some time to-morrow, and try to get a few words with Cardrew myself."

Beard closed the cottage door behind him, and lounged off in the darkness. Apparently his thoughts were more pleasant than when he started, for he smiled to himself more than once. He got back at length to the garden; he glanced up, and saw the the light was still burning in George Drummond's bed-room. If the visitor only knew everything! Beard chuckled again at the thought. He would perhaps have been less easy in his mind if he had only been cognisant of what George Drummond really did know.

A couple of warders were still poking about the garden. Beard paused with the sash of the dining-room window in his hand, a sudden thought had come to him.

"Perhaps I can help you," he called out. "You seem to think that the escaped convict is hanging about the house somewhere. There's a little tool-shed just by the side of the plantation, and a ladder is hidden alongside. Try the loft over the shed. It is full of straw, and would make a capital hiding-place for anybody. I'll come and show you."

"It is very good of you, sir," one of the warders replied. "We will just look in the loft, though to my mind our man is far enough away by this time. He had friends to help him to begin with, and they would not leave him to wander about on a night like this."

Beard led the way to where the ladder was standing, and superintended the searching of the loft. But the search was in vain.

"No luck," the second warder said. "No luck at all. We'd better be getting back, Willis. Good-night, sir, and keep an eye on your window fastenings."

Beard returned the salutation and went slowly back to the house.