There was a brief silence. From somewhere through the repeatedly opened swing doors came the rise and fall of music, played from a distant orchestra. There were peals of laughter from a cheerful party at the other end of the little room. Nora patted her companion’s arm gently, and his eyes and manner became more natural.
“It’s done me good to tell you this,” he said, half apologetically. “Katharine’s the only other living creature I’ve dared to speak to about it, and she was there — she saw! Nora, that man can fight like a tiger!”
“Hush!” she whispered. “Here he comes.”
The swing door was opened and Jocelyn Thew, back from his visit to the box office at the Alhambra, entered the room. He raised his eye brows a little as he saw the pair. Then he advanced towards them.
“Do you know, for the moment I had quite forgotten,” he confided, as he sank into an easy-chair by their side. “Of course, you two are old acquaintances.”
Nora murmured something. Richard Beverley rose to his feet.
“Well, I’d better be getting along,” he said. “It’s been fine to see you again, Nora,” he added, taking her hand in his. “See you later, Thew.”
He nodded with something of his old jauntiness and swung out of the room. They both watched him in silence.
“Not quite the young man he was,” Jocelyn Thew observed thoughtfully. “Is it my fancy, I wonder, or does he drink a few too many cocktails when he is on leave?”
“Richard Beverley’s all right,” Nora answered. “He is more sensitive than he seems, and there’s an ugly little corner in his life to live down. He is doing the best he can to atone. Jocelyn,” she went on, with a sudden earnestness in her tone, “you’re going to leave him alone, aren’t you? You haven’t any scheme in your head for making use of him?”
“One never knows,” was the cool reply.
She looked at him curiously.
“Jocelyn,” she said, “you’re a hard man. You set your hand to a task and you don’t care whom in the world you sacrifice to gain your end. You were a fine friend to Richard Beverley once, but surely his sister has done her best to pay his debt? Don’t do anything that will make him ashamed of the uniform he wears.”
“Very pretty,” he murmured approvingly, “but I must take you back to your own words — they were true enough. When I have a task to perform, when I pledge myself to a certain thing, I do it, and I must make use of those whom fate puts in my way. Richard Beverley and his sister are a very attractive couple, but if circumstances decree that they are the pawns by means of which I can win the game, then I must make use of them. — Dear me,” he added, “my friend Crawshay! I fear that I shall be de trop.”
Nora turned to greet the newcomer, and Thew sauntered away with a little bow of farewell, quite courteous, even gracious. With the handle of the door in his hand, however, he paused and came back.
“My friend Crawshay,” he said, “one word with you.”
Crawshay turned around.
“With pleasure!”
“Those henchmen of yours — they are so stupid, so flagrantly obvious. I am a good-tempered person, but they irritated me this afternoon at Euston.”
“What can I do?” Crawshay asked. “However, you must not let them get on your nerves. They follow you about only as a matter of form. We must keep up the old legends, you know. When,” he added, dropping his eyeglass and polishing it slowly, “when we really come to the end of this most fascinating little episode, I do not fancy that you will have cause to complain of our methods.”
Jocelyn Thew smiled.
“Your cryptic words have struck the right note,” he confessed. “The thrill of fear is in my veins. One more word, though. Miss Nora Sharey is an old friend of mine. There is a tie between us at which you could not guess. Lavish your attentions on her in the hope of hearing something which will prove to your advantage, but do not trifle with her affections. If you do, I shall constitute myself her guardian and there will be trouble, Crawshay — trouble.”
Once more he turned away, with a smile at Nora and a little nod to Crawshay. He passed through the door and disappeared, erect, lithe and graceful. Nora looked after him, and her eyes were filled with admiration.
“I think,” she sighed, “although I am getting fonder of you every moment, Mr. Crawshay,” she added, as she saw from underneath the tissue paper the huge bunch of white roses he was carrying, “that my money will go on Jocelyn Thew.”
.
CHAPTER XXV
About three-thirty on the following afternoon, in the grounds devoted to the much advertised Red Cross Sale, that eminent comedian, Mr. Joseph Bobby, mounted to the temporary rostrum which had been erected for him at the rear of one of the largest tents, amidst a little storm of half facetious applause. He repaid the general expectation by gazing steadfastly at a few friends amongst the audience in his usual inimitable fashion, and by indulging in a few minutes of gagging chaff before he proceeded to business. A little way off, a military band was playing popular selections. The broad avenues between the marquees were crowded with streams of pretty women in fancy dresses, and mankind with a little money in his pocket was having a particularly uneasy time. There was nothing to distinguish this from any other of the Red Cross fêtes of the season, except, perhaps, its added magnificence.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the comedian began, “I am here to sell by auction the boxes at the Alhambra Theatre for to-night, when, as you know, there will be the greatest performance ever given by the largest number of star artistes — myself included. Owing to a slight difference of opinion with the management, who, as you are probably aware, ladies and gentlemen, are the thickest-headed set of blighters in existence—” Loud cries of “No!” from the managing director in the front row.
“ — I have only the four large boxes to dispose of. I shall start with Box B. Who will make me an offer for Box B? Who will offer me, say, twenty-five guineas to start the bidding?”
Half-a-dozen offers were immediately made, and Box B was disposed of for thirty-five guineas. Boxes C and D fetched a little more.
“We now come,” the auctioneer concluded impressively, “to the pièce de résistance, if I may so call it. Box A is — well, you all know Box A, ladies and gentlemen, so I will simply say that it is the best box in the house. It will hold all the friends any man breathing has any use for. It would hold the largest family who ever received the Queen’s bounty. Box A is one of those elastic boxes, ladies and gentlemen, which have no limit. You can fill it chock full, and if the right person knocks at the door there will still be room for another. Who will start the bidding at forty guineas?”
“I will give you fifty,” Jocelyn Thew said, promptly raising his hand.
The auctioneer leaned forward, expecting to see a familiar face. He saw instead a very distinguished-looking and remarkably well-turned-out stranger, smiling pleasantly at him from the front row of the audience.
“You are a man, sir,” the former declared warmly. “You are giving me a good push off. Fifty guineas is bidden, ladies and gentlemen, for Box A.”
“I’ll go to fifty-five,” a well-known racing man called out from the rear. “Not a penny more, Joe, so don’t get faking the bidding.”
The comedian assumed an air of grieved surprise.
“That from you I did not expect, Mr. Mason,” he said. “However, that you may have no cause for complaint, I am prepared to knock Box A down to you for fifty-five guineas, barring any advance.”