Читать книгу The Golden Rose - Fred M. White - Страница 6

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Mary Grover flew along the narrow path closely followed by her companion. She came at length to the open door of the house: a cheap lamp burned on the table in the hall. Lethbridge had noticed that the place was meanly furnished, and showed every sign of poverty, though scrupulously neat and clean and profusely adorned with flowers. On the left-hand side of the doorway was the dining-room, and beyond it a range of greenhouses out of all proportion to the size of the cottage. Hence the noise had come, and here a man was standing in all attitude of rage and fear, his hands uplifted and his head nodding towards one side of the greenhouse, where two or three large panes of glass had been displaced. There were broken pots upon the floor, and a confusion of trampled flowers spoke eloquently of a struggle.

The man was tall and thin. He had a white hatchet face and a profusion of grey hair on his head and chin. He resembled some prophet of old with the spirit of invective strong upon him. He had ceased to call out, but his jaws were working as if he were scolding in an inaudible voice. He appeared to be unconscious that he was no longer alone, even after Mary Grover had addressed him two or three times.

"I tell you he went that way," the old man cried. "I don't know how the rascal got in, but when I turned round he was hiding beyond the flowers yonder."

"What sort of a man?" Mary asked soothingly.

"I don't know. I couldn't see his face. But I am sure it was the same, because of his boots. Little tiny feet he had, like a woman's, encased in patent leather shoes. I saw them as he broke the glass yonder and got away. It is the same man. I tell you I am sure it is the same man. And he comes here like a thief in the night to steal my secrets, to deprive me of all that I have left. Oh, the scoundrel, the scoundrel! To think that a poor old man like myself can't work in peace and comfort without being spied on and robbed in this fashion! But he shall be found, if I have all Scotland Yard here to help me. Go and fetch Wilkinson at once. He laughs at me and says it's all imagination, but it isn't true, Mary; it isn't true. There is a plot to rob me of my beautiful new flowers, as that rascally nephew of mine robbed me years ago."

Jasper Payn was speaking now with fixed look and glazed eyes. He was ignorant that his niece had a companion. The old man's mind was concentrated entirely upon the outrage. He was trembling from head to foot with helpless rage and indignation. Every hair of his long grey beard bristled. And despite the awkwardness of the situation, despite the trick that Fate had played upon him, John Lethbridge could not help being interested, for he, too, had evidently come under the observation of the clever thief who was down here with the intention of robbing Jasper Payn of the fruit of his genius. Surely there could not be two men trespassing and spying, both of whom possessed natty little feet and patent leather shoes. The same man must have spent the dark hours of the night prowling about Lethbridge's greenhouses.

"Who is Wilkinson?" he whispered to Mary.

"That is the local inspector of police I told you about," the girl murmured, "He is an enthusiastic gardener, and is only too pleased to come here whenever my uncle asks him. I think it was more a matter of policy than anything else that has led up to the acquaintanceship."

A word or two seemed to penetrate to the brain of Jasper Payn. He appeared to be conscious for the first time that a stranger was present. He turned his white suspicious face towards Lethbridge. Gradually his whole expression changed to one of mingled surprise and hatred and contempt.

"So you are here," he cried. "Strange that you should come at a time like this! How did that man get into the house, Mary?"

"He came with me," the girl stammered. "I was caught in a thunderstorm, and this gentleman was good enough to give me shelter. He was so kind as to walk home with me. We were just saying good-night when we heard you call out, and, of course—"

"Oh, of course," the old man sneered. "Do you want me to believe this? Do you think that I am so old and feeble that I have lost all control of my faculties? The whole thing was arranged. It is a vile conspiracy—"

"Stop," John Lethbridge cried. "Stop before you have said too much. You are at liberty to think what you please about me. You may call me a thief and swindler if you like; it would not be the first time. But this lady has nothing to do with it. When I came here a short time ago I had not the least idea that you had left Beckenham Hall. Like yourself, I came here because I was told that the climate would suit my experiments. Your niece has told no more than the truth. Do you suppose I would intrude upon your privacy if I had not imagined that something serious had happened?"

Jasper Payn made no reply. He was glancing at his young relative now with a sort of moody hatred from under the thick bush of his white eyebrows.

"I don't understand," Mary faltered. "It is plain that you two have met before. If you are—"

"Oh, I am," Lethbridge said bitterly. "I have the honour to be Mr. Jasper Payn's nephew. I am the John Lethbridge whom he turned out of his house without proof, under the impression that I had robbed him of one of his discoveries. I am the nephew whom he brought up to do nothing, and whom he sent into the world to get a living with no equipment except a knowledge of flowers. I did not tell you this before. Well, to be honest, I did not tell you for sentimental reasons. It was a treat to me to talk to a lady again. It was a great surprise, too, to find that in a way we were relations. But I hope you will believe that I did not mean to leave you in ignorance of my identity. I was just going to tell you when we heard the outcry, and I followed you here. But I fear that I am intruding. The best thing I can do is to go away and leave you to yourselves. But I want you, Miss Grover, to try to believe that my uncle is mistaken, and that I am not the contemptible thief that he takes me for."

The colour came and went in the girl's cheeks. She cast down her eyes in evident embarrassment. It was obvious that she was struggling with two sets of feelings. She had been accustomed at intervals during the whole time she had been with Jasper Payn to hear him denounce his nephew with bitter invective. She had come to believe from the bottom of her heart that Lethbridge was an ungrateful scoundrel, and owed to his uncle everything in life which was worth having. She had heard the story over and over again till the conviction was firmly rooted.

And yet this young man with the steadfast face and square jaw and resolute eyes did not look in the least like a thief. It began to be borne in upon Mary's mind that there was something wrong, but she was too confused to weigh the issue logically and clearly. The suggestion of a sad smile trembled on the corners of John Lethbridge's lips.

"It is not easy to remove fixed impressions," he said. "And after all, what does it matter? Good-night, Miss Grover, and try to think as well of me as you can."

The old man stepped forward unsteadily.

"Don't go yet," he whispered hoarsely. "I can't be left alone. That thief might come back. I am a very old man. Perhaps I have made a mistake."