Part 26 (1/2)

”I don't know how to tell you,” he added. ”But the thing has got to be faced. Your body was found, and identified by your brother-in-law.

You've been dead these many years. And your wife--”

”Yes?” Hallam said, in a tone of deadly quiet.

”Your wife married again, and is living in Uitenhage.”

Book 4--CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE.

Hallam recoiled from the news of Esme's marriage as a man might recoil from the effects of a blow. The thing staggered him. His first thought was to disappear again, to walk away from Huntley's office, and turn his back for ever on the country which was home to him no longer and held no place for him. He felt dazed with grief and anger. The thought of Esme as the wife of another man was intolerable. He could not reconcile it with his knowledge of her that she should seek consolation elsewhere.

It was like some hideous nightmare, some terrible hoax, that was being practised on him for the purpose of torturing him.

He could not determine how to act in the circ.u.mstances; he could not think; his mind was blank with despair. And then jealousy awoke; his thoughts gained stimulus, and worked in a new direction along fines that were fiercely personal and possessive in outlook. After all, she was his wife. This man had no claim on her; she belonged to him. He was not going to allow any one to hold what was lawfully his.

This sense of urgency to resume possession spurred him to a fever of aggressive activity, in which mood, and with the settled purpose of interviewing his brother-in-law, he went round to Port Elizabeth, and called on Jim Bainbridge at the latter's place of business as soon as he arrived.

To say that Jim Bainbridge was amazed at the sight of him, were to express his emotions as inadequately as it would be to describe a violent explosion as disquieting to the unfortunate persons within the affected area: the effect on him was rather similar to the effects of an explosion; he was literally bowled over on beholding a dead man returned to the world of the living. Had he been given to the cult of the supernatural he would have imagined that he saw Paul Hallam's ghost, when Hallam walked into his office. But he did not believe in ghosts; and there was something uncomfortably lifelike in the hostile gleam of Hallam's eyes, as he turned from shutting the door and regarded the man seated in his swivel-chair, with jaw dropped, and with protruding eyes which stared back at him stupidly.

”Oh h.e.l.l!” muttered Jim Bainbridge, and collapsed in his seat in a crumpled heap.

Hallam advanced deliberately, and seated himself opposite his dumbfounded brother-in-law.

”I knew I was bound to give you an unpleasant surprise,” he said, ”so I didn't make an appointment. I've come for news of my wife.”

Bainbridge's jaw dropped lower in his increasing consternation. The man's florid countenance had turned the colour of putty.

”Your--Oh lord!”

The words gurgled in his throat. He gripped the arms of his chair and attempted to sit up straighter and to get control of himself. Compared with his nervous collapse the calm of Hallam's demeanour was remarkable.

”Look here,” he muttered, fumbling for words, his bewildered gaze fixed upon the other's face. ”Don't you try to rush things. I've got to get used to this idea. I'm all abroad. When a man has been missing for years one doesn't expect to see him walk in as if he had been away on a holiday. What in h.e.l.l do you mean by turning up here after all this time? Where've you been? Man, you were found--dead--and buried.

There's a stone erected to your memory out on the veld beyond Bulawayo.

You've no right to disappear and turn up again after six years. It's indecent.”

”It's awkward, I admit,” Hallam returned grimly, and regarded the other sternly with the angry light of accusation in his keen eyes. ”I want an explanation of your reasons for swearing falsely to my ident.i.ty. You buried another man under my name--why?”

”Paul, I swear I thought it was you--believe me, or not, as you will.”

Suddenly Bainbridge turned with quick suspicion in his look, and smote the arm of his chair fiercely. ”You put that trick on us--to deceive us. Why was that man dressed in your clothes, and carrying your papers?

Poor devil! there wasn't anything else left of him that one could swear to.”

”I see. No,” Hallam shook his head; ”you are on the wrong track. I owe my life to the man you buried--I don't know his name. I don't know how he came by his death. I know nothing about him; save that he came to my aid when I was past aiding myself. Then he left me to the care of natives, and robbed me; left me with his old clothes, and nothing of my own but my boots, which, presumably, didn't fit him. Oddly, he didn't discover that the boots had double soles and were lined with notes. He stole all the money I had on me, which was considerable, and which possibly cost him his life. He did me good service; though through his death he injured me more than he could have done had he murdered me.

It's a grim mistake; and it's going to lead to grim consequences.”

Bainbridge stared hard at the speaker.

”The muddle is of your own making,” he said sullenly. ”Why did you never send a line? Esme fretted her heart out for news of you.”

”She soon recovered from her distress,” Hallam replied.

”You've heard?”--Bainbridge broke off in his question abruptly.