it was the day following the dramatic disappearance of kate charlock, and once more tanza and his companion were on board the yacht. the italian had been away most of the morning, and had only arrived in time for lunch. he appeared to be on excellent terms with himself. there was a merry twinkle in his eye as he contentedly sucked his cigarette.
"you are not going to tell me anything, then?" he asked.
"my dear sir, there isn't anything to tell you," malcolm grey replied. "i won't say that i haven't made a discovery or two, because that wouldn't be true. at the same time, i stick to my original idea of keeping what i know to myself. we will both go our own way and see what we can make of it. but i am more or less convinced that your original suggestion is correct, and that there was foul play in the matter of the french maid."
tanza's eyes sparkled brightly.
"i have never had the slightest doubt of it," he said. "i have an instinct for that kind of thing. i knew that we had to deal with a scoundrel above the common. the whole thing is most fascinating. i suppose you have heard the latest development?"
"indeed, i haven't," grey said. "tell me."
"mrs. charlock has left her husband. there are a good many versions as to the cause of the quarrel. but, at any rate, she has gone, apparently leaving no trace behind her. i dare say there are faults on both sides; he is a hard man, and she is an extravagant, thoughtless woman. one never knows what a man of the artistic temperament is going to do. it seems that charlock has disposed of his household goods and has made up his mind to spend the next year or two in a cottage."
"posing, i presume," grey said cynically.
"no, i don't think so," tanza went on. "he is too great a genius to indulge in childish follies. he can afford to leave that kind of thing to the log-rollers. i understand that he has outrun the constable, and that he has every desire to get on terms with the world again. anyway, his wife wouldn't go with him, and i believe they have separated. as the man is a friend of yours, i thought you might have heard about this."
but grey shook his head. the information was news to him. he was a little annoyed, too, because there were certain facts which he expected to gather from charlock. he sat there debating the matter for a short time in his mind, then announced his intention of seeking out charlock. it was possible the artist had not left the neighbourhood yet, and there was no time to be lost. tanza raised no objection. he hinted that he had work to do himself and that he could dispense with grey's company for the rest of the afternoon.
a little time afterwards grey walked up the drive of charlock's house. there was nothing in the condition of the grounds to indicate that the place was empty. the lawns had been freshly cut, the flower-beds were trim and neat as usual. it was only the blank, staring windows and the litter of straw on the front door which told the story. as grey stood there the door opened, and charlock himself came out. there was a grim, significant smile on his face.
"you are astonished to see this?" he asked.
"not in the least," grey said. "i should not be astonished at anything you did. but, if it isn't an impertinent question, why are you acting in this fashion? it seems almost a sacrilege to strip a beautiful place like this. and if you must leave it, why not have let it furnished?"
a cynical laugh broke from charlock's lips.
"it takes time to let a furnished house," he said, "even a little paradise like this. and the lesson loses nothing of its force because it is administered promptly and speedily. when i bark, i bite. and i don't want to give warning. ah, you don't know what it is to be mated to an extravagant wife who has no consideration for any one but herself. i should be, at the present moment, a rich man. i have no vices. my personal expenditure is nothing. but i do love to be surrounded by things that are good and beautiful. that is why i spent so much in furnishing this house. i thought i was one of the happiest of men. i thought i was going to lead an ideal existence. but i found i was tied to a woman whose one idea was fashion, who thought nothing of playing at gardening in a paris frock that cost fifty or sixty pounds. and one day i awoke to the fact that i was on the verge of bankruptcy. great scott! how those bills came rolling in! there was only one thing to be done—to act at once. there are no half measures with me. i cut everything adrift. i have taken a labourer's cottage. i told my wife she would have to live there with me and do everything till every farthing was paid. and now she has gone."
charlock spoke harshly and bitterly. it was rarely, indeed, that he mentioned his own feelings. but the wound was too recent. and there was something in grey's manner that invited confidence.
"your wife will think better of it," the latter murmured.
"will she? yes, perhaps, when the leopard changes his spots and the ethiopian his skin, but not till then. oh, everybody will side with her, of course. everybody knows that i am hard and harsh and difficult to live with. she will pose as an injured woman, and the blame will be mine; indeed, she has begun to do so already. what do you think of her making a convert of arnold rent? fancy that cynical man of the world, who would stick at nothing to gratify his ambition, forfeiting his future for the sake of my injured wife! that is the idea. he has become her champion. i presume he is going to look after her welfare till i am forced to make her a proper allowance. probably you will hear of the thing again in the law courts—the well-known artist and his outraged wife, and all that kind of thing. well, let them take what steps they like; i sha'n't trouble to defend it. and yet behind it all there is a comedy so amusing that i feel inclined to laugh in spite of myself. what do you think of my wife's going down to devonshire to seek an asylum under the roof of rent's mother? and what do you think of me as an honoured guest in the same house? i am not joking. the thing is in my own hands; indeed, it is more or less imperative, especially as i am not very busy, and an early commission is essential. there is a situation in a play for you! think what pinero would make out of it! but why should i bore you with these sordid details? they cannot interest you."
before grey could make a suitable reply charlock held out his hand and bade his companion a blunt good-day. he turned back to the house and banged the door behind him, as if ashamed at this display of feeling. it was not often that the strong man cried aloud so that the world might know of his hurt. he was furious with himself that he had done so now. and it seemed to grey that it would be in bad taste to attempt to follow his friend and clear up the points which had been the object of his journey.
he walked out of the gates and down the road to the outskirts of the town to the newly erected buildings where, until the past day or two, arnold rent had been conducting a series of experiments in wireless telegraphy. the office was close to the shore. one or two workmen were engaged with some apparatus the like of which grey had not seen before. it was only natural that he should be interested in what was going on, that he should linger for a moment or two, until the office door opened and a clerk emerged. with some directness of manner, but civilly enough, he asked grey's business. the scientist turned to face the man, abnormally thin and tall—a man with a face like faded yellow parchment, lighted by a pair of sombre, smouldering eyes.
"you seem to have forgotten me, swift," grey said. "have i altered so much during the last two years?"
the tall man gasped. his features twitched convulsively for a moment. then the colour of his face changed. a sullen red tinged the parchment hue, leaving it still more pallid a minute afterwards.
"mr. grey," he stammered. "what do you want here?"
there was something embarrassed, almost guilty, in the speaker's manner. grey smiled as he replied.
"i am interested in all these kinds of things," he said. "but don't think i come here to learn your secrets. as a matter of fact, i called to see mr. rent."
"he is away," the tall man explained. "but now a piece of business has turned up and i am telegraphing him in the course of the day. is there anything i can tell him?"
"i don't think so," grey said thoughtfully. "anyway, there is no hurry. and how are you doing? have you got over the old weakness? for, if so, you are likely to realise the old ambitions, after all. don't think me impertinent."
"i don't," swift said indifferently. "i am only human, and i begin to realise that i shall never be able to cope with that accursed thing. still, i am better than i was, and i am fairly happy here doing congenial work. you see——"
what swift was going to say was cut short by the appearance of a third party. he was a slight, dapper man, with prominent features and sleek, glossy hair. his manner was heavily dashed with audacity. he was ludicrously overdressed, and he carried the fact that he was an unregenerate scamp written in every line of his face.
"you are wasting your time," swift said coldly. "mr. rent desires me to say that he does not know you and has no desire to see you. i hope i make myself plain."
"oh, very well," the stranger said. "in that case, i will wait till mr. rent comes back and see him personally. i shall find a way to refresh his memory, and don't you forget it. i don't allow anybody to play the fool with ephraim bark."
