Loe raamatut: «The Third. Volume», lehekülg 8

CHAPTER XV
A POPULAR AUTHOR

Bearing in mind that the character of Hilliston had been rehabilitated by Mrs. Bezel, it was natural that Claude should feel somewhat annoyed at the persistent mistrust manifested toward that gentleman by Tait. However, he had no time to explain or expostulate at the present moment; and moreover, as he knew that the little man was assisting him in this difficult case out of pure friendship, he did not deem it politic to comment on what was assuredly an unfounded prejudice. Tait was singular in his judgments, stubborn in his opinions; so Claude, unwilling to risk the loss of his coadjutor, wisely held his peace. His astute companion guessed these thoughts, for in place of further remarking on the inexplicable presence of Hilliston, he turned the conversation toward the man they were about to see.

"Queer thing, isn't it?" he said, as they ascended the stairs. "Linton is the son of the vicar of Thorston."

"Ah! That no doubt accounts for his intimate knowledge of the locality. Do you know him?"

"Of course I do – as Frank Linton; but I had no idea that he was John Parver."

"Why did he assume a nom de plume?"

Tait shrugged his shoulders. "Paternal prejudice, I believe," he said carelessly. "Mr. Linton does not approve of sensational novels, and, moreover, wishes his son to be a lawyer, not a literary man. Young Frank is in a solicitor's office in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and he employed his evenings in writing 'A Whim of Fate.' He published it under the name of 'John Parver,' so as to hoodwink his father, but now that he has scored a success I have no doubt he will confess."

"Do you think we will learn anything from him?"

"We will learn all we wish to know as to where he obtained his material. The young man's head is turned, and by playing on his vanity we may find out the truth."

"His vanity may lead him to conceal the fact that he took the plot from real life."

"I don't think so. I know the boy well, and he is a great babbler. No one is more astonished than I at learning that he is the celebrated John Parver. I didn't think he had the brains to produce so clever a book."

"It is clever!" assented Claude absently.

"Of course it is; much cleverer than its author," retorted Tait dryly; "or rather, I should say, its supposed author, for I verily believed Jenny Paynton helped him to write the book."

"Who is Jenny Paynton?"

"A very nice girl who lives at Thorston. She is twice as clever as this lad, and they are both great on literary matters. But I'll tell you all about this later on, for here is Linton."

The celebrated author was a light-haired, light-complexioned young man of six-and-twenty, with bowed shoulders, a self-satisfied smile, and a pince nez, which he used at times to emphasize his remarks. He evidently possessed conceit sufficient to stock a dozen ordinary men, and lisped out the newest ideas of the day, as promulgated by his college, for he was an Oxford man. Although he was still in his salad days, he had settled, to his own satisfaction, all the questions of life, and therefore adopted a calm superiority which was peculiarly exasperating. Claude, liberal-minded but hot-blooded, had not been five minutes in his company before he was seized with a wild desire to throw him out of the window. Frank Linton inspired that uncharitable feeling in many people.

For the moment, Mr. Linton was alone, as his latest worshiper, a raw-boned female of the cab-horse species, had just departed with a fat little painter in quest of refreshment. Therefore, when he turned to greet Claude, he was quite prepared to assume that fatigued self-conscious air, with which he thought fit to welcome new votaries.

"Linton, this is Mr. Larcher," said Tait abruptly. "Claude, you see before you the lion of the season."

"It is very good of you to say so, Mr. Tait," simpered the lion, in no wise disclaiming the compliment. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Larcher."

"And I yours, Mr. Linton, or shall I say Mr. Parver?"

"Oh, either name will answer," said the author loftily, "though in town I am known as Parver only."

"And in Thorston as Linton," interpolated Tait smartly. "Then your father does not yet know what a celebrated son he has?"

"Not yet, Mr. Tait. I intend to tell him next week. I go down to Thorston for that purpose."

"Ah! My friend and I will no doubt meet you there. We also seek rural felicity for a month. But now that you have taken London by storm, I suppose you intend to forsake the law for the profits."

"Of course I do," replied Linton quickly. "I never cared for the law, and only went into it to please my father."

"And now you go into literature to please Miss Paynton."

Linton blushed at this home thrust, and being readier with the pen than the tongue, did not know what answer to make. Pitying his confusion, and anxious to arrive at the main object of the interview, Claude interpolated a remark bearing thereon.

"Did you find it difficult to work out the plot of your novel, Mr. Linton?" he said, with assumed carelessness.

"Oh, not at all! The construction of a plot is second nature with me."

"I suppose you and Miss Paynton talked it over together," said Tait artfully.

"Well, yes," answered Linton, again falling into confusion; "I found her a good listener."

"I presume it was all new to her?"

"I think so. Of course she gave me some hints."

Evidently Linton was determined to admit nothing, so seeing that Tait's attack was thus repulsed, Claude brought up his reserve forces.

"I saw in a paper the other day that your book was an impossible one – that nothing analogous to its story ever happened in real life."

"Several critics have said that," replied Linton, growing angry, and thereby losing his caution, "but they are wrong, as I could prove did I choose to do so."

"What!" said Claude, in feigned astonishment. "Did you take the incident from real life?"

"The tale is founded on an incident from real life," answered Linton, flushing. "That is, Miss Paynton told me of a certain crime which was actually committed, and on her hint I worked out the story."

"Oh, Miss Paynton told you," said Tait smoothly; "and where did she see the account of this crime?"

"Ah, that I cannot tell you," replied Linton frankly. "She related the history of this crime, and refused to let me know whence she obtained it. I thought the idea a good one, and so wrote the novel."

"Why don't you tell this to the world, and so confound the critics?"

"I do! I have told several people. For instance, I told a gentleman about it this very evening, just because he made the same remark as Mr. Larcher did."

Tait drew a long breath, and stole a look at Claude. That young man had changed color and gave utterance to the first idea that entered his mind.

"Was it Mr. Hilliston who made the remark?"

"Hilliston! Hilliston!" said Linton thoughtfully. "Yes, I believe that was the man. A tall old gentleman, very fresh-colored. He was greatly interested in my literary work."

"Who could help being interested in so clever a book?" said Claude, in a meaning tone. "But Mr. Hilliston is a lawyer, and I suppose you do not like members of that profession."

"Now, why should you say that?" demanded Linton, rather taken aback by this perspicacity.

"Well, for one thing you admit a dislike for the law, and for another you make Michael Dene, the solicitor, commit the crime in 'A Whim of Fate.'"

"Oh, I only did that as he was the least likely person to be suspected," said the author easily. "Jenny – that is, Miss Paynton – wanted me to make Markham commit the crime."

"Markham is Jeringham," murmured Tait, under his breath. "Who committed the crime in the actual case?" he added aloud.

"No one knows," answered Linton, shrugging his shoulders. "The case as related to me was a mystery. I solved it after my own fashion."

"In the third volume you trace the assassin by means of a breastpin belonging to Michael Dene," said Claude, again in favor. "Is that fact or fiction?"

"Fiction! Miss Paynton invented the idea. She said that as the dagger inculpated the woman the breastpin found on the banks of the river would lead to the detection of the man. And, as I worked it out, the idea was a good one."

"Ah!" murmured Tait to himself, "I wonder if Mr. Hilliston had anything to do with a breastpin."

By this time Linton was growing rather restive under examination, as he was by no means pleased at having to acknowledge his indebtedness to a woman's wit. Seeing this Tait abruptly closed the conversation, so as to avoid waking the suspicions of Linton.

"A very interesting conversation," he said heartily. "I like to get behind the scenes and see the working of a novelist's brain. We will say good-by now. Linton, and I hope you will call at the Manor House next week, when we will all three be at Thorston."

"Delighted, I'm sure," replied the author, and thereupon melted into the crowd, leaving Claude and Tait looking at one another.

"Well," said the former, after a pause, "we have not learned much."

"On the contrary, I think we have learned a great deal," said Tait, raising his eyebrows. "We know that Linton got the whole story from Jenny Paynton, and that Mr. Hilliston is in possession of the knowledge."

"What use can it be to him?"

"He will try and frustrate us with Miss Paynton, as he did Mrs. Bezel with you."

"Do you still doubt him?" asked Claude angrily.

"Yes," replied Tait coolly, "I still doubt him."

CHAPTER XVI
A FALSE MOVE

The next day the two young men repaired to the club for the purpose of having luncheon and discussing their plans. Contrary to the wish of Claude, his friend did not deem it advisable to at once depart for Thorston, as he wished to remain in town for a few days on business connected with Hilliston.

"You see, you are quite in the dark regarding that gentleman," said Tait, as they lighted their cigarettes after dinner, "and before we commence operations at Thorston it will be advisable to know that he is not counteracting our efforts."

"In that case you had better go down to Thorston and I will remain in town so as to keep an eye on Hilliston."

"I don't think that will be necessary," replied Tait reflectively, "it is more than probable that Hilliston will visit Thorston."

"For what purpose?"

"Can't you guess? Last night he learned from Linton that Jenny Paynton supplied the material for that novel. Consequently he will see her, and, if possible, find out where she heard the story."

"Yes; I suppose he will," said Claude thoughtfully. "By the way, who is Miss Paynton, who now seems to be mixed up in the matter?"

"She is the daughter of an old recluse called Ferdinand Paynton."

"A recluse! Humph! That's strange."

"Why so? You would not say so if you saw the old man. He is an invalid and lives in his library. A charming companion, though I must say he is rather sad."

"Where does he live?"

"At Thorston, half a mile from the Manor House. Not very rich, I should think. His cottage is small, like his income."

"And his daughter lives with him?"

"Yes. A pretty girl she is, who inherits his literary tastes. It is my impression that she wrote the most part of that novel. From all I know of Frank Linton he is given more to poetry than to prose. Jenny has the brain, not Frank."

"Ho, ho!" said Claude, smiling. "Is it the skeptical misogynistic Tait I hear speaking?"

"Himself. I admit that I do not care for women, as a rule, but there are exceptions to every rule, and in this case Jenny Paynton is the exception."

"Is she in love with our author?"

"No. But I rather think he is in love with her, as you will be when you see her."

"I! What are you talking about, Tait? I have more to do than to fall in love with country wenches, however pretty."

"Jenny is not a country wench," said Tait, with some displeasure; "she is a highly educated young woman."

"Worse and worse! I hate highly educated bluestockings."

"You won't hate Jenny, at all events. Especially as it is probable you will see a great deal of her."

"No; I shall keep away from her," said Claude doggedly.

"That's impossible. We must maneuver to get at the truth. By asking her straight out she certainly will not gratify our curiosity. We must plot and plan, and take her unawares. She is not a fool, like Linton, remember."

"What! Do you call a lion of the season by so opprobrious a name?"

"I do," replied Tait serenely; "because I don't believe he wrote the book."

"Well! well! Never mind Linton. We have pumped him dry. The next thing is to tackle the fair Jenny. How do you intend to set about it?"

"I can't say, at present. We must be guided by circumstances. I will introduce you to the rector and to Mr. Paynton. There will be musical parties and lawn tennis fêtes, so in some way or another we may find out the truth?"

"Does anyone else live with Paynton; his wife, for instance."

"No. His wife died before he came to Thorston, where he has been for a long time. An old servant called Kerry lives with him."

"Man or woman?"

"Man. A queer old fellow, rather morose."

"H'm! A flattering description. By the way, he bears the same name as the ancient retainer in Boucicault's play."

"Why shouldn't he?"

"It may be an assumed name."

Tait threw a surprised glance at his friend, and laughed quickly.

"Who is suspicious now?" said he, smiling. "You blame me for suspecting Hilliston, yet here you are doubtful of people whom you have never seen."

Before Larcher could answer this home thrust, a waiter entered with a letter for him which had just arrived.

"From Hilliston," said Claude, recognizing the writing. "I wonder what he has to say?"

"It's only another move in the game," murmured Tait; then as Claude, after glancing at the letter, uttered an ejaculation of surprise, he added: "What is the matter?"

"Hilliston is going down to Eastbourne."

"Impossible!" cried Tait, holding out his hand for the letter. "He is surely not so clumsy as to show his hand so plainly."

"He does, though. Read the letter yourself."

"My Dear Claude [wrote Hilliston]: Mrs. Hilliston has decided to leave town for Eastbourne this week, so it is probable we will see you and Mr. Tait down there. If you can spare the time come to dinner at half-past seven to-night, and tell me how you are getting on with your case.

"Yours very sincerely,

"Francis Hilliston."

"Well," said Claude, as Tait silently returned the letter, "what do you think?"

"I think that Hilliston intends to look up Jenny Paynton."

"I can see that," replied Claude impatiently, "but touching this invitation to dinner."

"Accept."

"But I promised to see my mother to-night, and tell her about John Parver. She will expect me, as I have written."

"I will take your apologies to her," said Tait quietly.

"You?"

"Yes. Listen to me, Claude," continued the little man in a tone of suppressed excitement. "You will keep your belief in Hilliston. I tell you he is your enemy and wishes you to leave this case alone. To-night he will make one last attempt to dissuade you. If he succeeds he will not go to Eastbourne. If he fails you can depend on it he will try and see Jenny before we do. Now, to thwart his aims we will go down to Thorston by an early train to-morrow morning."

"But I must see my mother before I leave town."

"No! I will tell her all she wishes to know."

"She might not like it."

"This is not a case for likes or dislikes," said Tait grimly; "but a question of getting the better of Hilliston. You must dine with him to-night, and find out, if possible, if it was his wife or himself who suggested this visit to Eastbourne. You need not tell him we go down to-morrow. Say you don't know – that you await my decision. Try and learn all you can of his attitude and plans. Then we will discuss the matter when you return. On my part," continued Tait significantly, "I may have some something to say about your mother."

"You want to see her?"

"Yes. I am extremely anxious to see her."

"Perhaps you suspect her!" cried Claude, in a fiery tone.

"Bless the man, what a temper he has!" said Tait jocosely. "I don't suspect anyone except Hilliston. But I am quicker than you, and I wish to learn precisely what your mother has to say. A chance remark on her part may set us on the right path."

"Well, I will be guided by you," said Claude, in a few minutes. "You can go to Hampstead, and I will dine with Hilliston. But I don't like the task. To sit at a man's table and scheme against him is not my idea of honor."

"Nor is it mine. You are doing no such thing. All I wish you to do is to observe Hilliston's attitude and hold your tongue. There is nothing wrong in that. I want to find out his motive for this behavior."

"Then why not see him yourself!"

"I will see him at Thorston. Meantime it is necessary that I become acquainted with your mother. Now come and wire an acceptance to Hilliston, and write a letter to your mother for me to deliver."

Claude obeyed. He was quite content to accept the guidance of Tait in this matter, and began to think that his friend was right in suspecting Hilliston. Else why did the lawyer's plans so coincide with their own.

"Mind you don't tell Hilliston too much," said Tait, when the wire was despatched.

"I shall tell him that we go to Thorston shortly, and that we saw John Parver."

"No; don't tell him about John Parver. He will be certain to mention the subject first."

"Well, and if he does – "

"Oh, you must use your brains," replied Tait ironically. "Baffle his curiosity, and above all, make no mention of the breastpin episode related in the third volume."

"Why not?"

"Because Jenny Paynton told Linton of that. She could not have obtained it from the newspapers, as it is not related therein."

"It is pure invention."

"No! I believe it to be a fact."

"But who could have told it to Miss Paynton?"

"Ah!" said Tait, in a low tone. "Find me the person who told her that and I'll find the man who murdered your father."

CHAPTER XVII
THE HUSBAND AT KENSINGTON GORE

To a woman who rules by right of beauty it is a terrible thing to see her empire slipping from her grasp by reason of gray hairs and wrinkles. What desperate efforts does she make to protract her sway, how she dyes and paints and powders and tight laces – all to no end, for Time is stronger than Art, and finally he writes his sign-manual too deep to be effaced by cosmetics. Mrs. Hilliston was not yet beaten in the fight with the old enemy, but she foresaw the future when she would be shamed and neglected close at hand.

Perhaps it was this premonition of defeat that made her so unamiable, sharp, and bitter on the night when Claude came to dine. She liked Claude and had stood in the place of a mother to him; but he was a man, and handsome, so when she saw his surprised look at her changed appearance all the evil that was in her came to the surface.

Yet she need not have felt so bitter a pang, had she taken the trouble to glance at her image in the near mirror. It reflected a tall, stylish figure, which, in the dim light of the drawing room, looked majestic and beautiful. It was all very well to think that she appeared barely thirty in the twilight, but she knew well that the daylight showed up her forty-seven years in the most merciless manner. Velvet robes, diamond necklaces, and such like aids to beauty would not make up for lack of youth, and Claude's ill-advised start brought this home to her.

Ten years before she had married Hilliston in utter ignorance of the house at Hampstead. Though she did not know it she was not unlike her rival. There was the same majesty, the same imperious beauty, the same passionate nature, but Mrs. Bezel was worn and wasted by illness, whereas Mrs. Hilliston, aided by art, looked a rarely beautiful woman.

People said she had not done well to marry Hilliston. She was then a rich widow from America, and wanted to take a position in society. With her looks and her money, she might have married a title, but handsome Hilliston crossed her path, and, though he was then fifty years of age, she fell in love with him on the spot. Wearied of Mrs. Bezel, anxious to mend his failing fortunes, Hilliston accepted the homage thus offered. He did not love her, but kept that knowledge to himself, so Mrs. Derrick, the wealthy widow, secured the man she idolized. She gave all, wealth, beauty, love, and received nothing in return.

During all their married life her love had undergone no abatement. She loved her husband passionately, and her one object in life was to please him. At the time of the marriage she had rather resented the presence of Claude in Hilliston's house, but soon accepted him as an established fact, the more so as he took up his profession shortly afterward, and left her to reign alone over the heart of her husband. When the young man called she was always kind to him, she constantly looked after his welfare, and playfully styled herself his mother. Claude was greatly attached to her, and spoke of her in the highest terms, but for the life of him he could not suppress that start, though he knew it wounded her to the heart. During his five years of absence she had aged greatly, and art seemed rather to accentuate than conceal the truth.

"You find me altered, I am afraid," said she bitterly; "age is robbing me of my looks."

"By no means," answered Claude, with a desire to please her; "at the worst, you are only growing old gracefully."

"Small comfort in that," sighed Mrs. Hilliston. "I do not want to grow old at all. However, it is no use fighting the inevitable, but I hope I'll die before I become a hag."

"You will never become one."

"I'm not so sure of that. I'm one of those large women who turn to bones and wrinkles in old age."

"In my eyes you will always be beautiful, Louise," said Hilliston, who entered at this moment. "You are an angel ever bright and fair."

"You have not lost the art of saying pretty things, Francis," replied his wife, greatly gratified; "but there is the gong. Claude, take your mother in to dinner."

The young man winced as she said this, thinking of his real mother who lay sick and feeble at Hampstead. Hilliston saw his change of countenance, and bit his lip to prevent himself remarking thereon. He guessed what Claude was thinking about, and thus his thoughts were turned in the same direction. At the present moment the memories thus evoked were most unpleasant.

During dinner Mrs. Hilliston recovered her spirits and talked freely enough. No one was present save Claude and her husband, so they were a very pleasant party of three. While in the full flow of conversation, Claude could not help thinking that Tait was unjust to suspect the master of the house of underhand dealings; for Hilliston was full of smiles and geniality, and did his best to entertain his guest. Could Claude have looked below the surface he would have been considerably astonished at the inward aspect of the man. Yet a hint was given him of such want of concord, for Hilliston showed the cloven hoof before the meal ended.

"So you are going to Eastbourne," said Claude, addressing himself to Mrs. Hilliston. "I hope you will come over to Thorston during your stay."

"It is not unlikely," replied the lady. "Francis intends to make excursions all round the country."

"Only for your amusement, my dear," said Hilliston hastily. "You know how dreary it is to pace daily up and down that Parade."

"I think Eastbourne is dreary, in any case. It is solely on your account that I am going."

Hilliston did not answer, but stole a glance at Claude to see what he thought. The face of the young man was inscrutable, though Claude was mentally considering that Tait was right, and Hilliston's journey to Eastbourne was undertaken to interview Jenny Paynton.

"I don't like your English watering-places," continued Mrs. Hilliston idly. "They are so exasperatingly dull. In America we can have a good time at Newport, but all your south coast is devoid of amusement. Trouville or Dieppe are more enjoyable than Eastbourne or Folkestone."

"The fault of the national character, my dear Louise. We English take our pleasures sadly, you know."

For the sole purpose of seeing what effect it would produce on the lawyer Claude purposely introduced the name of the town where his father had met his death.

"I wonder you don't try an inland watering-place, Mrs. Hilliston," he said calmly; "Bath or Tunbridge Wells or – Horriston."

Hilliston looked up quickly, and then busied himself with his food. Discomposed as he was, his iron will enabled him to retain a quiet demeanor; but the effect of the name on the wife was more pronounced than it was on the husband. Her color went, and she laid down her knife and fork.

"Ah, I don't know Horriston," she said faintly. "Some inland – Ah, how hot this room is. Open the window," she added to the footman, "we want fresh air."

Rather astonished at the effect thus produced, Claude would have spoken but that Hilliston forestalled him.

"The room is hot," he said lightly, "but the fresh air will soon revive you, Louise. I am glad we are going to Eastbourne, for you sadly need a change."

"The season has been rather trying," replied his wife, resuming her dinner. "What were you saying about Horriston, Claude?"

"Nothing. I only know it is a provincial town set in beautiful scenery. I thought you might wish to try a change from the fashionable seaside place."

"I might go there if it is pretty," answered Mrs. Hilliston, who was now perfectly composed. "Where is Horriston?"

"In Kent," interposed Hilliston quickly, "not very far from Canterbury. I have been there myself, but as it is a rather dull neighborhood, I would not advise you to try it."

Despite her denial Claude felt certain that Mrs. Hilliston was acquainted with Horriston, for on the plea of indisposition she left the table before the dinner was ended. As she passed through the door she playfully tipped Claude on the shoulder with her fan.

"Don't forget to come and see us at Eastbourne," she said vivaciously, "and bring Mr. Tait with you. He is a great favorite of mine."

This Claude promised to do, and, when she left the room, returned to his seat with a rather puzzled expression on his face. Hilliston saw the look, and endeavored to banish it by a hasty explanation.

"You rather startled my wife by mentioning Horriston," he said, in an annoyed tone. "I wish you had not done so. As it is connected with the case she naturally feels an antipathy toward it."

"What! Does Mrs. Hilliston know about my father's death?" asked Claude, in some surprise.

"Yes. When we married, she wanted to know why you lived in the house with me, so I was forced to explain all the circumstances."

"Do you think that was necessary?"

"I do. You know how suspicious women are," replied Hilliston lightly; "they will know the truth. But you can trust to her discretion, Claude. No one will hear of it from her."

At this moment a footman entered the room with a message from Mrs. Hilliston.

"My mistress wants to know if you have the third volume of 'A Whim of Fate,' sir?" said the servant.

"No," replied Hilliston sharply. "Tell your mistress that I took it to my office by mistake. She will have it to-morrow."

Claude thought this strange, and when the footman retired Hilliston made another explanation equally as unsatisfactory as the first.

"I am so interested in that book that I could not leave it at home," he said quickly; "and now that I have met the author I am doubly interested in it."

Another proof of Tait's acumen. Hilliston was the first to introduce the subject of John Parver.