“What sort of damned cad do you take me for?” I got to my feet. “That’s about enough,” I said. “I’m going.”
She jumped up and came to me with the tears running down her face.
“Car-will you promise not to tell? Will you swear you won’t tell him what I told you? I’ll believe you if you promise.”
I was too angry to say anything, and I suppose she thought I was hesitating, for she began to catch her breath and sob.
“I only told you because I trusted you so. You can’t use what I told you because I trusted you.”
I got hold of myself again, but I expect my voice was pretty rough.
“I didn’t ask you to tell me anything. I wouldn’t have come within a hundred miles of this place if I’d had any idea of what you were going to tell me. But since you’ve known me all your life, I should think you’d have enough sense to know it won’t go any farther. You’d much better make a clean breast of it yourself. But if you won’t do that, keep clear of a fool’s trick like forgery in the future. Uncle John’s no fool himself, and you’re bound to be found out.”
“But not through you? Word of honor?”
“I told you so. Good-night.”
She let me go a dozen yards, and then called after me.
“Where are you going?”
“To the car.”
“It’s not there.”
“Where is it?”
She hesitated.
“I didn’t want them hanging about. I didn’t want-Bobby.”
“How am I to get back? Where are we?”
“You don’t know?”
I’d begun to think I did.
“Linwood Edge?”
“Of course. I thought you knew. I thought you’d see me home. I wanted to get rid of Bobby, so I told him to take the car to the corner by the bridge just out of the village.”
I didn’t in the least want to walk back through the wood with her but there didn’t seem to be any way out of it. I knew where we were now-on the edge of my uncle’s land with about a quarter of an hour’s walk between us and the house, and another few minutes on to where Anna had sent the car to wait.
She picked up the lantern and fastened the crazy door. We went on down the narrow path again. The yellow light was round our feet, and everywhere all about us the woods were dark and very still. She didn’t speak, nor did I. It was a long time since I had walked in Linwood. I had walked there with Isobel. Isobel’s pool was there. I wondered where Isobel was. And then, breaking a ten minutes’ silence, Anna made me jump by speaking her name.
“Isobel Tarrant’s down here. I suppose you know that?”
I didn’t see why I should tell Anna what I knew, so I just said,
“Is she?”
“Yes. I suppose we shall all be dancing at her wedding soon.”
My heart stood quite still for a minute. It was a most horrible feeling. After a bit I said,
“Is she going to be married?”
I had to say it; but I had to say it so that Anna wouldn’t notice anything. I think I managed it all right.
“It’s not given out yet, so don’t congratulate her.”
“Who is it?”
“Giles Heron. He’s since your time. He bought Brockington. He’s a very good match for a girl like Isobel who hasn’t a penny and never will have. Miss Willy has put everything into an annuity, you know.”
I didn’t say anything. I was glad it was so dark.
We came out on to the edge of the wood, and I could see the paddock stretching black between us and the drive. The elms that edged it were blacker still. The sky had a little faint light in it. The yellow lantern-light seemed to belong to a different place. Anna must have thought that too. She slid back the glass and blew out the candle.
We went on till we came to the road. Then I said good-night and began to walk down towards the gate, but she came running after me.
“Car-wait a minute.”
“What is it?”
“It’s-you. Why are you-so thin?”
“I’m not in the least thin.”
“You are-frightfully. When I saw you-” Her voice choked. “What have you been doing to yourself?”
“Nothing.”
“Car-”
“Good-night, Anna,” I said. And this time I got away.
I found the car, not where she had said, but practically in the village street. It couldn’t have been far short of midnight. The driver had the bonnet open and was tinkering away by the light of an electric torch. I asked him what was wrong, and he said he didn’t know. There was no sign of Bobby Markham.
I thanked my stars it was so late and so dark. I certainly didn’t want any one to come along and recognize me. I could just imagine how the village gossips would enjoy themselves.
The driver went on tinkering, and I walked up and down. There wasn’t a light to be seen anywhere. Presently he called out and asked me to hold the torch. As I took it, I heard a car come round the corner where the street bends in the middle, and I saw the headlights. It was going slow-a small Morris-and just as it came abreast of us, the driver reached up for the torch, and in taking it turned the light right into my eyes and nearly blinded me.
The next thing I saw was the tail-light of the Morris going over the bridge. Then I lost it; but by the sound I thought it had turned in at my uncle’s gate, and I wondered who was going there so late.
About five minutes later the driver got the engine going, and we drove back to town. I spoke to him when we had gone a little way, but he didn’t answer me. Then I said something about the car, and he didn’t answer that either, so after that I left it alone.
X
Anna Lang stood just inside the big hall door of Linwood House. She stood leaning on the door with her left hand, whilst with her right she held the catch that would slip the lock at a touch. She was listening intently. Behind her the house was dark except for the small lamp which burned beside the telephone. She had taken off her cap and veil and smoothed her shining black hair. It defined her head in close waves as formal and as natural as the marble ripple in the hair of some sculptured nymph.
She leaned against the door and listened intently. The moment she heard the car stop she pulled the catch and let the door swing in.
A man came up the steps with as much haste as a stoutish medical practitioner permits himself.
“I’m so glad you’ve come,” said Anna.
Dr. Monk came into the hall.
“How is he?”
“I think he’s asleep. I’m so glad you’ve come. I was so frightened.”
“Well, well, I’ll just go up and see him.”
She went before him to the stairs and switched on the light on an upper landing.
“He didn’t remember anything about it when I got him back to bed.”
“Well, well, I’ll just go up and see him.”
She went up with him, and stood on the threshold of the large room where John Carthew lay sleeping quietly in a huge old-fashioned four-post bed. A nightlight burned on the double marble washstand. The room was shadowed, drowsy, and rather close behind the heavy crimson curtains which shut out the night air.
Dr. Monk went over to the bed. Anna held her breath. He mustn’t wake.
Presently Dr. Monk came back, motioned her out of the room, and shut the door.
“He seems all right,” he said. “Tell me what happened.”
Anna spoke what she had rehearsed, with her large dark eyes looking at him mournfully out of a colorless face. Suppose he didn’t believe her.
“He went to bed at ten. I read till after eleven. Then I went up to my room, and the servants shut up. I felt restless and hot, and after a bit I went downstairs and took a turn on the terrace. I suppose I was out half an hour. When I came in, I found my uncle’s door ajar, so I looked in to see if he was all right. He was lying in a faint just inside the door. I got some cold water, and he came round at once and let me help him to bed. He didn’t remember anything about it, and I thought I’d better call you up.”