Chapter NINE

Aylmer took a second look, and so far as he could judge from a back view, the figure certainly seemed to resemble that of the man whom he had last seen at Ostend in the company of the Quentins.

“Are you quite sure?” he asked. “There are many doubles in this world. Let me see, from what Quentin told us, a week ago Martyn was making a tour through Italy. There is, of course, plenty of time for him to have got to England; but then, as they are such intimate friends, you would surely have heard of it.”

“Richard may have heard from him for all I know to the contrary, but he does not tell me everything,” she answered in a low voice. In another minute she forced a brave smile. “Well, what is done cannot be undone; it is fate, I suppose.”

“You have no doubt in your own mind it was Martyn?”

She shook her pretty head. “Not the slightest. I have seen too much of him, at home and abroad, to be mistaken.”

She was evidently very much shaken, and he tried his best to cheer her. “Well, my dearest, if Martyn turns informer, you must show a bold front. There is, perhaps, a little double-dealing in our meeting like this; but Quentin is a double-dealer himself. And under the peculiar circumstances, we are not doing him any great wrong. If anything happens, let me know, and I will come down to The Laurels at once and make a clean breast of the whole affair. If it were not for your feelings in the matter I should like it to come out as soon as possible, so that we may know exactly how we stand.”

He hailed a taxi, and put her into it, pressing her hand fondly as they said good-by to each other. It distressed him infinitely to see how wretched she looked as she drove away. He could not help thinking she stood very much in dread of this man who had entrapped her into such an unnatural, and humiliating, position.

To a certain extent, she was still an enigma to him. In that brief visit to The Laurels, he had made a few observations. He had noticed that she took a certain dominant tone to Quentin, spoke her mind freely upon things that were, perhaps, of not very paramount importance--such as the lax discipline of the household--and that he had not attempted to argue with her, neither had he shown any resentment. Perhaps he was a complex character, easy in trifling matters that he did not care about, but a tyrant in the things that counted, intolerant of interference in anything that challenged his supremacy.

Aylmer went next day to see Sir Charles Reeks’s solicitors, Pitt and Shackles, an old-fashioned firm that had its offices in Chancery Lane. Pitt, the senior partner, a bluff, pleasant old man, had asked him to call on some business connected with the winding-up of the dead man’s considerable estate. When their conversation on this subject was concluded, Mr. Pitt asked him if he was still cultivating his hobby of criminology.

Aylmer smiled. “Well, in a way. I am still very keen on it, you know. I read every book I can get hold of on the subject. But I would give all my theoretical knowledge for a short spell of actual investigation.”

The solicitor laughed genially. He thought it good for a rich young man to have a hobby, even if it was a rather gruesome one.

“You would like to set up as a Sherlock Holmes, eh? Can’t say it would appeal to me; I prefer to look on the pleasant side of life. By the way, you rather formed an opinion that Sir Charles’s death was not an entirely natural one, did you not? You had rather a suspicion of foul play, if I remember rightly.”

“Well, perhaps, that is putting it strongly. The medical evidence was that he died of heart disease, but I know for a fact that all the time my father and I were acquainted with him, there was nothing the matter with his heart. The fact that he was accepted as a first-class life by two of the best insurance offices proves that.”

“I suppose a man can develop heart weakness suddenly,” suggested the solicitor. “But I understand you had nothing in the way of actual proof.”

Aylmer agreed. “Absolutely nothing. But there was one suspicious circumstance which we commented on at the time. A few days before his death, he drew out through his bankers’ agency the large sum of fifteen thousand pounds. Not the smallest portion of that money was found at his death. If he had paid it away to somebody--he was a business-like man--he would have got a receipt for it. But they found no receipt.”

The solicitor shrugged his shoulders. “In some ways Sir Charles was a man of business, but he was also very eccentric. Pardon me for saying that his leaving his money to you who had no claim upon him, to the exclusion of his near relations, proves that. In these affairs, there is very often a woman in the case. Is it not probable that he made a present of this sum to some member of the other sex who had greatly attracted him? That would account for the absence of a receipt.”

“Of course, that is a quite possible explanation,” assented Aylmer. “And I have no clues. There are finger-prints upon an old dispatch-box belonging to Sir Charles, but these are more than likely to be those of some outside porter.”

After a little further conversation with the affable old gentleman, the young man left. He was feeling rather worried by what had happened at his last meeting with Eileen, and anxiously expecting a letter from her.

At the end of four days it came. She wrote that Martyn had come down to The Laurels the day before, and had spent most of the time with Quentin, in his study. As Richard had said nothing to her on the subject, she concluded that Martyn either had not recognized them, as she thought he had, or that he was keeping silence with the object of not making mischief. In another two days she would be meeting him, but she had resolved not to keep her news till then as she felt he would be anxious to hear at the earliest moment.

He was relieved for her sake. But, still he wished she would show a little more courage, and confront the position boldly and at once. Was the reason of her hesitation the fear that Quentin would seek to evade his promise? From what she had let fall at lunch, she had had experience of his broken promises in other matters.

They met for this, the third time, at a different place. She had begged for this in her last words when they parted at the Café Mario. Aylmer chose a little-known restaurant in Great Portland Street, which was fairly well off the beaten track. Soho had brought her bad luck, she would not go there again.

She had some news for him. Quentin had declared to her he had enjoyed the first visit so much, that he must have Aylmer down there again soon. She was to write to him formally next day in her capacity of hostess, and invite him for a date early in the following week.

Aylmer thought this was exceedingly sporting of the man, as he must have felt a certain chagrin at the refusal to join in his grandiose schemes of getting rich quickly. But Eileen’s next words considerably modified this opinion.

“I am going to give you a second warning,” she said quietly. “I know Richard pretty thoroughly. He has the grip and tenacity of a bulldog; and, until he is beaten fairly and squarely, he will never let go. He likes you well enough, I dare say; but he is not particularly enthusiastic in the matter of friendship, and I believe there is an ulterior motive behind this invitation. I hate having to tell you, but I feel it my duty to do so.”

“An ulterior motive!” he echoed blankly. He felt the more he saw of Eileen, the more he would get to know of the real Quentin hidden behind that urbane mask.

“He has not, I feel certain, relinquished that project he spoke of to you. He will speak of it again.”

“What, after my definite refusal?” asked Aylmer, amazed at the astounding pertinacity of the man.

“Of course, he will approach it in a different way; but to you the result would be the same. So I warn you in time. Have some good, sound excuse ready to meet whatever proposal he makes to you. Or, if you prefer it, refuse the invitation altogether, on the plea of a prior engagement.”

“That would hardly work, would it?” laughed Aylmer. “If I refuse the invitation this time, he will bombard me till I am obliged to come. Still, my vanity is a little hurt that he is not asking me solely for the pleasure of my society.”

“So be it, you will accept,” said the supposed Mrs. Quentin quietly. “Of course, I may be wrong; he may have come to the conclusion you are too hard a nut to crack, and let you go in peace. But, as I tell you, I know him pretty thoroughly. He is a man of a most dominating quality, although that is the last impression he gives. And when he has once made up his mind to attain a certain object, he doesn’t let it go without a hard struggle.”

“I take it, then, your life is not altogether a bed of roses?”

She considered a moment. “I am allowed my way in the little things; he has his in the big ones,” she said at length.

“And at heart, you have a considerable dread of him?” questioned her lover further.

“I freely admit it,” she said frankly. “He has about him a quiet strength which beats down my own weakness.”

He paused a little before he spoke again. “Have you a fear that he will refuse to keep that promise he made you when he persuaded you to masquerade as his wife?”

“I hate talking about him; for, in his own way, he is very kind and considerate to me. But, in as few words as possible, Richard Quentin cannot be relied upon to keep any promise that it might suit him to break.”

It was comfortless information she was imparting, and he could see that the words were forced from her by his close questioning. And yet, the day must come when she would be compelled to choose between her love for him and her dread of this masterful man. Still, no need to vex her to-day with that problem.

On the following day he had the formal invitation, to which he returned a prompt reply of acceptance. He again had been asked to come early and stay the night.

He found Eileen alone on his second visit, and on the table there was a telegram. She pointed to it. “From Richard,” she explained briefly. “He had to go to Manchester yesterday on some business, and he expected to be back about five this afternoon. This is to explain that he can’t get back till eight, and asking me to apologize to you and put off dinner till half-past.”

For a professedly idle man, it struck Aylmer that his host was rather a busy fellow, off on business one day and coming back the next. “I suppose he has been after that speculation,” he suggested to Eileen.

“More than likely,” was the answer. “But I know nothing for certain. He is always rather reticent about his movements, especially to me. I think, of the two, he is more communicative to Dicks, the butler.”

After tea, Eileen proposed that they should go for a walk. During their rather long ramble, Aylmer steered the conversation round to Quentin and his speculations.

“By the way, if Mr. Quentin does approach me again on the subject--I have rather guessed the way in which he will do it--I am quite prepared for him,” he told her.

Her reply was that she was glad to hear it, and also that her warning had set his wits working.

“One thing rather puzzled me, you know,” he went on. “In that conversation I had with him in his study, he told me that he had nearly doubled his capital by the success of his speculative schemes. I understood from you that he was generally unfortunate.”

She was silent for a little time before she replied.

“I suppose he comes off a winner sometimes, but you know what it is with gamblers. They always remember when they have gained, but they find it convenient to forget their losses. They exist on hope.”

“That would hardly keep them very long,” persisted Aylmer. “Quentin seems to go in for big stakes, and if he is uniformly a loser, he would soon be brought to the ground, unless he has a tremendous reserve at his back.”

She spoke a little impatiently. “Let us admit that in the long run his gains out-balance his losses. Don’t you see that my object is to prevent your being one of the losers?”

He did not pursue the subject further. He recognized it was concern for his interests that had made her give him that warning, even at the risk of a certain disloyalty to the man who was giving her material comforts, even if he could not give her love. They stayed out a long time, and Quentin arrived home a few minutes after they got back.

He was full of cordiality, and profuse in his apologies for not being there in time to receive his guest. And, as might be expected, he called for liquid refreshment as soon as greetings had been exchanged.

The evening passed much in the same way as on the previous visit. There was a similar well-thought-out dinner and the usual excellent wines. When they went into the drawing-room, the young hostess played and sang. Eileen retired early, pleading that she was a little tired from her long walk of that afternoon: the two men were left alone.

Quentin suggested that they should go into his study and smoke. When they were seated there, a drink was forced upon the young man which he did not really want, but did not like to refuse. He was quite ready to smoke, and his host’s cigars were excellent.

Quentin, without any preamble, alluded to his visit to Manchester. “Been a bit of a rush, going down one day, and coming back the next. The business that took me there was that speculation I told you of.”

Aylmer composed himself to listen. He felt pretty certain of what was coming. Eileen was right; Quentin was not the man to be discouraged by a first rebuff.

“And all I have heard down there--a mass of details were put before me--makes me doubly regret that I cannot take a hand in it. I really hoped I could persuade them to let me come in on my own ten thousand basis. But they were adamant. Nothing less than twenty would do. I am more vexed than I can say that I have to miss such a chance.”

Aylmer hardly knew what to say. “Probably some equally good thing will come your way one of these days,” he remarked, in a feeble attempt to console the unhappy speculator.

Quentin shook his head with a melancholy air. “Nothing nearly as good as this, from all I have learned. It is the opportunity of a lifetime. I felt it the first moment it was broached to me, that was why I was so keen upon it. It is heartbreaking.”

It was a very embarrassing moment for the young man. As he could find nothing to say that would be in the least appropriate to the occasion, he remained silent.

Mr. Quentin took a deep draught from his tumbler, and then launched a fresh attack on his unfortunate guest.

“Now, I hope you will forgive me for returning to the subject so far as you are concerned. You have told me plainly that you have a horror of speculation. Well and good, I can quite understand that feeling, although I do not share it. Suppose I make another proposition. Will you _lend_ me ten thousand pounds, at a very handsome interest? I can afford something very good out of what I make. You don’t make any profit over and above your interest, but you don’t run the smallest risk.”

Aylmer had rather anticipated some suggestion of the sort. But when it did come, the amazing audacity of the man almost took his breath away. Did Quentin take him for an absolute fool? He really knew nothing of him or his friends, with the one exception of the ungenial Martyn, and was absolutely ignorant of his resources. He spoke of there being no risk. There was always the risk in this kind of venture that he might drop the whole of the money he put in.

He would like to have explained all this in a very unambiguous manner, but he did not wish to offend the man for obvious reasons. He did not wish to be shut out of The Laurels for good. It might in some way interfere with his relations with Eileen. He mastered his annoyance, and spoke in a calm, level voice.

“I will be quite frank with you, Mr. Quentin. I am afraid this proposition is not more feasible than the first one. My property is all tied up under trustees, rather old-fashioned and conservative people. You are man of business enough to know that if I went to them with such a request, I should be met with a negative.”

It was a facer. Quentin breathed hurriedly in his agitation; he had shown more self-control on the previous occasion. “You would not care to approach them on the subject?” he asked, making a last desperate effort.

“It would be useless,” replied Aylmer, politely but firmly.

They finished their cigars, but there was a certain tension in the atmosphere after this little episode. Each, no doubt, knew in his own mind what the other man was thinking.

When they had bade each other good-night, and Aylmer was able to think quietly over the incident, unpleasant thoughts obtruded themselves. He had flattered himself that Quentin had taken a genuine liking to him. Was it not more likely that, knowing him to be well off, he had cultivated his society with the ulterior motive of making use of him as soon as an opportunity presented itself? Again, did he suspect that Aylmer was greatly attracted to Eileen, and had relied on that feeling to further his own projects? His opinion now of the master of The Laurels was by no means a favorable one.

Breakfast next morning was rather a silent meal; Quentin’s good spirits seemed to have dropped to zero. This time there was no request that he should prolong his stay till after lunch, no reference to a further visit. When Eileen said good-by, she told him that he must come again, but Quentin did not second her suggestion.

As he walked through the gate of The Laurels, Aylmer had a strong conviction that, so far as his host was concerned, he had no further use for him.