Mr. Marx's Secret Part 27

De Cartienne quitted his seat and stood looking over his shoulder, probably hoping that I should do the same. But I remained where I was, taking care to manifest my interest in the problem by asking frequent questions. The moment the doctor had finished his rapid figuring and solved the equation, I stretched out my hand for it eagerly.

"May I see it, sir?" I begged. "I fancy you've made a mistake in the values."

He handed it across the table at once, with a quiet smile.

"I think not, Morton," he said. "Examine it for yourself."

De Cartienne moved round to my side, with nervously twitching lips and an ugly light in his eyes.

"One moment, Morton," he said. "I won't keep it longer."

I laid a hand upon it, and pushed him back with the other.

"My turn first, please. Isn't that so, Dr. Randall?"

He nodded genially, not noticing the suppressed excitement in de Cartienne's manner.

"Certainly. I'm glad to find you both so interested in it. Let me know about this mistake at lunch-time, Morton," he added, smiling. "I'm going for a stroll round the garden now, and I should advise you to do the same. We've had a close morning's work."

He rose and left the room. De Cartienne watched the door close and then turned to me.

"Morton," he said quickly, "I want that envelope. There are some memoranda on the reverse side which concern my private affairs. I need not say more, I suppose."

"Keep your hands to yourself, de Cartienne!" I answered, shaking him off.

"I shall not give you the envelope till I have examined it."

"You cad!" he hissed out, his voice shaking with fury. "How dare you attempt to pry into my private affairs? Give me the envelope, or I'll----"

"You'll what?" I answered, standing up, putting the envelope in my pocket and facing him. "Look here, de Cartienne, I'm not going to attempt to justify my conduct to you. On the face of it, it may seem to be taking a mean advantage, but I don't care a fig about that. I've made up my mind what to do, and all the bl.u.s.tering in the world won't make me alter it. I am going to look at the reverse side of this envelope. You----"

I ceased and with good reason, for, with a sudden, panther-like spring, he had thrown himself upon me, and his slender white fingers were grasping at my throat. It was a brief struggle, but a desperate one, for he clung to me with a strength which seemed altogether out of proportion to his slim body and long, thin arms.

I was in no mood for trifling, however, and, suddenly putting forth all my strength, I seized him by the middle, and sent him backwards, with a crash of fallen furniture, into a corner of the room. Before he could recover himself, I drew out the envelope from my pocket and looked at it.

There was nothing on the reverse side but the address and the postmark.

They were quite sufficient for me, however. The postmark was Mellborough and the handwriting was the peculiar, cramped handwriting of Mr. Marx.

CHAPTER x.x.xII.

FORESTALLED.

For a full minute neither of us moved. Then de Cartienne rose slowly to his feet and walked to the door.

"Here, take this!" I said, holding out the envelope towards him. "The private memoranda upon it may be useful to you."

He s.n.a.t.c.hed it from my fingers and tore it into atoms. Then he walked quietly away, with an evil look upon his face.

At luncheon Cecil appeared, white as a ghost, and looking anxious and disturbed, as well he might. Dr. Randall was quite uneasy at his appearance, and acquiesced at once when I asked for permission to take him for a drive during the afternoon. De Cartienne sat silent throughout the meal, except for a few sympathising sentences to Cecil, and left the room at the first opportunity.

At three o'clock my dog cart was brought round and Cecil and I drove away. We scarcely spoke until we were in the streets of Drayton, and then, rousing myself, I bade him pluck his spirits up, and a.s.sured him vaguely that I would see him through it somehow. He thanked me, but seemed very despondent.

We went to the "Bull," and inquired for Mr. Fothergill. He was in the coffee-room, we were told, and there we found him lunching.

"So good of you fellows to come and look me up!" he exclaimed, welcoming us cordially. "Waiter, a bottle of Pommery. Don't shake your head now, Lord Silchester. It'll do you good. I can see you're a bit seedy this morning."

Cecil smiled feebly.

"I'm not quite up to the mark," he admitted, "Just a bit of a headache--that's all. I say, Mr. Fothergill," he went on, plunging at once _in medias res_, "I'm awfully sorry, but I shan't be able to settle up with you to-day."

"Settle up with me!" repeated Mr. Fothergill, putting down his gla.s.s untasted, and looking surprised. "I don't understand you. Settle what up?"

"Why, the money I lost last night," Cecil explained.

Mr. Fothergill leaned back in his chair and looked into Cecil's white, anxious face with an astonishment which, if simulated, was certainly admirably done. Then he broke into a little laugh.

"My dear Lord Silchester," he said energetically, "you can't for one moment suppose that I expected anything of the sort. Why, I scarcely took our play seriously at all, and I should very much prefer that we said no more about it. Pray don't be offended," he added, hastily, for the sensitive colour had flushed into Cecil's cheeks. "I'll tell you how we'll arrange it. You shall give me your I O U's and pay them just as it is convenient. Any time within the next five or six years will do. But as to taking a sum like that from a b--a man who is not of age--why, it's absurd! I feel rather ashamed of myself for having been so fortunate."

A look of intense relief had stolen into Cecil's face, but the reaction was a little too sudden. He left us abruptly and stood looking out of the window for a minute or two. Then he returned, smiling, and held out his hand to Mr. Fothergill.

"Mr. Fothergill, you're a brick!" he declared emphatically.

"Not another word, please!" Mr. Fothergill answered, smiling. "Now, look here, Lord Silchester," he added. "Drink this gla.s.s of wine."

Cecil obeyed him promptly.

"And now you'll be so good as to have some luncheon with me," Mr.

Fothergill continued. "I don't care what you say. I don't believe you've eaten anything to-day. Waiter, bring me those other cutlets I ordered and the game-pie, and--yes, I think we might venture on another bottle of wine."

"Mr. Morton, you must join us. Clever animal of yours--that one outside,"

he rattled on lightly; "but I'd have her taken out for an hour, if I were you. It's too cold for her to be standing about. Shall I ring the ostler's bell and tell him? And then, if you will, you might drive me down to the station, when you're ready to go. My train leaves a little before five."

Whatever my former opinion of Mr. Fothergill had been, I felt bound to change it now. He was showing tact, good-nature, and a decidedly gentlemanly spirit. I had, in truth, eaten very little lunch at Borden Tower and Cecil none at all; and we proceeded to make good the omission.

When, an hour or two later, we left Mr. Fothergill at the station, we were both of one mind concerning him, and we had both promised to accept his cordial invitation to run up to town and see him before long.

On our way home Cecil stopped at the "Rose and Crown," and went in to make his peace with Milly. I promised to call for him and went on to the photographer's up the street. Mr. Lawrence appeared at once from a back-room, which, I presume, was the studio, wiping his hands upon a not particularly clean-looking towel.

I paid him in advance for a dozen photographs, promising to come in and have them taken next time I was in the town. Then I explained what was really the purport of my visit: Had he preserved the negative of the photograph which he had taken of Mr. Hart?

Certainly he had, he a.s.sured me. I told him about the date and his head and shoulders disappeared into a cupboard. In a few minutes he withdrew them and called out sharply for his a.s.sistant.

"Fenton," he exclaimed angrily, "you've been at this cupboard!"

Fenton, who was a tall, ungainly lad of most unprepossessing appearance, shook his head.