Part 98 (1/2)
”Certainly. It was Sir Francis Drake.”
John Storm bowed gravely and turned away. As he pa.s.sed out of the yard his eyes were bent on the ground and his step was slow and feeble.
At that moment Drake was on his way to the Corinthian Club. Early in the afternoon he had seen this letter in the columns of an evening paper:
”The Mysterious Disappearances.--Is it not extraordinary that in discussing 'the epidemic of mystery' which now fills the air of London it has apparently never occurred to any one that the two mysterious disappearances which are the text of so many sermons may be really one disappearance only, that the 'man of G.o.d' and the 'woman of the theatre'
may have acted in collusion, from the same impulse and with the same expectation, and that the rich and beneficent person who (according to the latest report) has come to the rescue of the one, and is an active agent in looking for the other, is in reality the foolish though well-meaning victim of both?--R. U.”
For three hours Drake had searched for Lord Robert with flame in his eyes and fury in his looks. Going first to Belgrave Square, he had found the blinds down and the house shut up. Mrs. Macrae was dead. She had died at a lodging in the country, alone and unattended. Her wealth had not been able to buy the devotion of one faithful servant at the end.
She had left nothing to her daughter except a remonstrance against her behaviour, but she had made Lord Robert her chief heir and sole executor.
That amiable mourner had returned to London with all possible despatch as soon as the breath was out of his mother-in-law's body and arrangements were made for its transit. He was now engaged in relieving the tension of so much unusual emotion by a round of his nightly pleasures. Drake had come up with him at last.
The Corinthian Club was unusually gay that night, ”h.e.l.lo there!” came from every side. The music in the ballroom was louder than ever, and, judging by the numbers of the dancers, the attraction of ”Tra-la-la”
was even greater than before. There was the note of yet more reckless license everywhere, as if that little world whose life was pleasure had been under the cloud of a temporary terror and was determined to make up for it by the wildest folly. The men chaffed and laughed and shouted comic songs and kicked their legs about; the women drank and giggled.
Lord Robert was in the supper-room with three guests--the ”three graces.” The women were in full evening dress. Betty was wearing the ring she had taken from Polly ”just to remember her by, pore thing,” and the others were blazing in similar brilliants. The wretched man himself was half drunk. He had been talking of Father Storm and of his own wife in a jaunty tone, behind which there was an intensity of hatred.
”But this panic of his, don't you know, was the funniest thing ever heard of. Going home that night I counted seventeen people on their knees in the streets--'pon my soul I did! Eleven old women of eighty, two or three of seventy, and one or two that might be as young as sixty-nine. Then the epidemic of piety in high life too! Several of our millionaires gave sixpence apiece to beggars--were seen to do it, don't you know. One old girl gave up playing baccarat and subscribed to 'Darkest England.' No end of sweet little women confessed their pretty weaknesses to their husbands, and now that the world is wagging along as merrily as before, they don't know what the devil they are to do---- But look here!”
Out of his trousers pockets at either side he tugged a torn and crumpled a.s.sortment of letters and proceeded to tumble them on to the table.
”These are a few of the applications I had from curates-in-charge and such beauties for the care of the living in Westminster while the other gentleman lay in jail. It's the Bishop's right to appoint the creature, don't you know, but they think a patron's recommendation---- Oh, they're a sweet team! Listen to this: 'May it please your lords.h.i.+p----'”
And then in mock tones, flouris.h.i.+ng one hand, the man read aloud amid the various noises of the place--the pop of champagne bottles and the rumble of the dancing in the room below--the fulsome letters he had received from clergymen. The wretched women in their paint and patches shrieked with laughter.
It was at that moment Drake came up, looking pale and fierce.
”h.e.l.lo there! Is it you? Sit down and take a gla.s.s of fizz.”
”Not at this table,” said Drake. ”I prefer to drink with friends.”
Lord Robert's eyes glistened, and he tried to smile.
”Really? Thought I was counted in that distinguished company, don't you know.”
”So you were, but I've come to see that a friend who is not a friend is always the worst enemy.”
”What do you mean?”
”What does that mean?” said Drake, throwing the paper on to the table.
”Well, what of it?”
”The initials to that letter are yours, and all the men I meet tell me that you have written it.”
”They do, do they? Well?”