The Bars of Iron Part 41

He paused, for Piers had turned to stare at him in open amazement. "You!"

he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.

Crowther's smile came over his face like a spreading light. "You don't think much of parsons, I gather, sonny," he said.

Piers broke into his sudden laugh. "Not as a tribe, I admit. I can't stand any man who makes an a.s.s of himself, whatever his profession. But of course I don't mean to a.s.sert that all parsons answer to that description. I've met a few I liked."

Crowther's smile developed into a laugh. "Then you, won't deprive me of the pleasure of your friends.h.i.+p if I become one?"

"My dear chap," said Piers forcibly, "if you became the biggest blackguard in creation, you would remain my friend."

It was regally spoken, but the speaker was plainly so unconscious of arrogance that Crowther's hand came out to him and lay for a moment on his arm. "I gathered that, sonny," he said gently.

Piers' eyes flashed sympathy. "And what are you going to do then? You say you're not going to settle in England?"

"I am not," said Crowther, and again he was looking out ahead of him with eyes that spanned the far distance. "No; I'm going back again to the old haunts. There's a thundering lot to do there. It's more than a one-man job. But, please G.o.d, I'll do what I can. I know I can do a little. It's a h.e.l.l of a place, sonny. You saw the outside edge of it yourself."

Piers nodded without speaking. It had been in a sense his baptism of fire.

"It's the new chums I want to get hold of," Crowther said. "They get drawn in so devilishly easily. They're like children, many of 'em, trying to walk on quicksands. They're bound to go in, bound to go under, and a big percentage never come up again. It's the children I want to help. I hate to think of fresh, clean lives being thrown on to the dust-heap.

It's so futile,--such a crying waste."

"If anyone can do it, you can," said Piers.

"Ah! I wonder. It won't be easy, but I know their temptations so awfully well. I've seen scores go under, I've been under myself. And that makes a lot of difference."

"Life is infernally difficult for most of us," said Piers.

They rode in silence for awhile, and then he changed the subject.

It was not till they returned that Crowther announced his intention of leaving on the following day.

"I've no time for slacking," he said. "I didn't come Home to slack. And there's the mother waiting for me."

"Oh, man," Piers said suddenly, "how I wish I had a mother!"

And then half-ashamed, he turned and went in search of his grandfather.

Again that evening Crowther accepted Sir Beverley's invitation to dine at their table. The old man seemed to regard Piers' friend with a kind of suspicious interest. He asked few questions but he watched him narrowly.

"If you and the boy want to go to the Casino again, don't mind me!" he said, at the end of dinner.

"We don't, sir," said Piers promptly. "Can't we sit out on the terrace all together and smoke?"

"I don't go beyond the lounge," said Sir Beverley, with decision.

"All right, we'll sit in the lounge," said Piers.

His grandfather frowned at him. "Don't be a fool, Piers! Can't you see you're not wanted?" He thrust out an abrupt hand to Crowther. "Good-night to you! I shall probably retire before you come in."

"He is leaving first thing in the morning," said Piers.

Sir Beverley's frown was transferred to Crowther. He looked at him piercingly. "Leaving, are you? Going to England, eh? I suppose we shall meet again then?"

"I hope so," said Crowther.

Sir Beverley grunted. "Do you? Well, we shan't be moving yet. But--if you care to look us up at Rodding Abbey when we do get back--you can; eh, Piers?"

"I tell him, he must, sir," said Piers.

"You are very kind," said Crowther. "Good-bye sir! And thank you!"

He and Piers went out together, and walked to and fro in the garden above the sea. The orchestra played fitfully in the hotel behind them, and now and then there came the sounds of careless voices and wandering feet.

They themselves talked but little. Piers was in a dreamy mood, and his companion was plainly deep in thought.

He spoke at length out of a long silence. "Did your grandfather say Rodding Abbey just now?"

"Yes," said Piers, waking up.

"It's near a place called Wardenhurst?" pursued Crowther.

"Yes," said Piers again. "Ever been there?"

"No," Crowther spoke slowly, as though considering his words. "Someone I know lives there, that's all."

"Someone you know?" Piers stood still. He looked at Crowther sharply through the dimness.

"I don't suppose you have ever met her, lad," said Crowther quietly.

"From what I know of society in the old country you wouldn't move in the same circle. But as I have promised myself to visit her, it seems better to mention the fact."

"Why shouldn't you mention it? What is her name?" Piers spoke quickly, in the imperious fas.h.i.+on habitual to him when not quite at his ease.

Crowther hesitated. He seemed to be debating some point with himself.

At length, "Her name," he said slowly, "is Denys."

Piers made a sudden movement that pa.s.sed unexplained. There fell a few moments of silence. Then, in a voice even more measured than Crowther's, he spoke.

"As it happens, I have met her. Tell me what you know about her,--if you don't mind."

Again Crowther hesitated.

"Go on," said Piers.

They were facing one another in the darkness. The end of Piers' cigar had ceased to glow. He did not seem to be breathing. But in the tense moments that followed his words there came to Crowther the hard, quick beating of his heart like the thud of a racing engine far away.

Instinctively he put out a hand. "Piers, old chap,--" he said.

"Go on!" Piers said again.