The Malefactor Read online

  MEPHISTOPHELES ON A STEAMER

  In some respects, the voyage across the Atlantic was a surprise toAynesworth. His companion seemed to have abandoned, for the time atany rate, his habit of taciturnity. He conversed readily, if a littlestiffly, with his fellow passengers. He divided his time between thesmoke room and the deck, and very seldom sought the seclusion of hisstate room. Aynesworth remarked upon this change one night as the twomen paced the deck after dinner.

  "You are beginning to find more pleasure," he said, "in talking topeople."

  Wingrave shook his head.

  "By no means," he answered coldly. "It is extremely distasteful to me."

  "Then why do you do it?" Aynesworth asked bluntly.

  Wingrave never objected to being asked questions by his secretary. Heseemed to recognize the fact that Aynesworth's retention of his post wasdue to a desire to make a deliberate study of himself, and while hisown attitude remained purely negative, he at no time exhibited anyresentment or impatience.

  "I do it for several reasons," he answered. "First, because misanthropyis a luxury in which I cannot afford to indulge. Secondly, because I amreally curious to know whether the time will ever return when I shallfeel the slightest shadow of interest in any human being. I can onlydiscover this by affecting a toleration for these people's society,which I can assure you, if you are curious about the matter, is whollyassumed."

  Aynesworth shrugged his shoulders.

  "Surely," he said, "you find Mrs. Travers entertaining?"

  Wingrave reflected for a moment.

  "You mean the lady with a stock of epigrams, and a green veil?" heremarked. "No! I do not find her entertaining."

  "Your neighbor at table then, Miss Packe?"

  "If my affections have perished," Wingrave answered grimly, "my taste,I hope, is unimpaired. The young person who travels to improve her mind,and fills up the gaps by reading Baedeker on the places she hasn't beento, fails altogether to interest me!"

  "Aren't you a little severe?" Aynesworth remarked.

  "I suppose," Wingrave answered, "that it depends upon the point of view,to use a hackneyed phrase. You study people with a discerning eye forgood qualities. Nature--and circumstances have ordered it otherwise withme. I see them through darkened glasses."

  "It is not the way to happiness," Aynesworth said.

  "There is no highroad to what you term happiness," Wingrave answered."One holds the string and follows into the maze. But one does not chooseone's way. You are perhaps more fortunate than I that you canappreciate Mrs. Travers' wit, and find my neighbor, who has done Europe,attractive. That is a matter of disposition."

  "I should like," Aynesworth remarked, "to have known you fifteen yearsago."

  Wingrave shrugged his shoulders.

  "I fancy," he said, "that I was a fairly average person--I mean thatI was possessed of an average share of the humanities. I have only mymemory to go by. I am one of those fortunate persons, you see, who haverealized an actual reincarnation. I have the advantage of havinglooked out upon life from two different sets of windows.--By the bye,Aynesworth, have you noticed that unwholesome-looking youth in a sergesuit there?"

  Aynesworth nodded.

  "What about him?"

  "I fancy that he must know--my history. He sits all day long smokingbad cigarettes and watching me. He makes clumsy attempts to enter intoconversation with me. He is interested in us for some reason or other."

  Aynesworth nodded.

  "Shocking young bounder," he remarked. "I've noticed him myself."

  "Talk to him some time, and find out what he means by it," Wingravesaid. "I don't want to find my biography in the American newspapers. Itmight interfere with my operations there. Here's this woman coming toworry us! You take her off, Aynesworth! I shall go into the smokingroom."

  But Mrs. Travers was not so easily to be disposed of. For some reason orother, she had shown a disposition to attach herself to Wingrave.

  "Please put me in my chair," she said to him, holding out her rug andcushion. "No! Not you, Mr. Aynesworth. Mr. Wingrave understands so muchbetter how to wrap me up. Thanks! Won't you sit down yourself? It's muchbetter for you out here than in the smoking room--and we might go onwith our argument."

  "I thought," Wingrave remarked, accepting her invitation after amoment's hesitation, "that we were to abandon it."

  "That was before dinner," she answered, glancing sideways at him. "Ifeel braver now."

  "You are prepared," he remarked, "for unconditional surrender?"

  She looked at him again. She had rather nice eyes, quite dark and verysoft, and she was a great believer in their efficacy.

  "Of my argument?"

  He did not answer her for a moment. He had turned his head slightlytowards her, and though his face was, as usual, expressionless, and hiseyes cold and hard, she found nevertheless something of meaning in hissteady regard. There was a flush in her cheek when she looked away.

  "I am afraid," she remarked, "that you are rather a terrible person."

  "You flatter me," he murmured. "I am really quite harmless!"

  "Not from conviction then, I am sure," she remarked.

  "Perhaps not," he admitted. "Let us call it from lack of enterprise! Thevirtues are all very admirable things, but it is the men and women withvices who have ruled the world. The good die young because there is nouseful work for them to do. No really satisfactory person, from a moralpoint of view, ever achieved greatness!"

  She half closed her eyes.

  "My head is going round," she murmured. "What an upheaval! FancyMephistopheles on a steamer!"

  "He was, at any rate, the most interesting of that little trio,"Wingrave remarked, "but even he was a trifle heavy."

  "Do you go about the world preaching your new doctrines?" she asked.

  "Not I!" he answered. "Nothing would every make a missionary of me,for good or for evil, for the simple reason that no one else's welfareexcept my own has the slightest concern for me."

  "What hideous selfishness!" she said softly. "But I don't think--youquite mean it?"

  "I can assure you I do," he answered drily. "My world consists of myselffor the central figure, and the half a dozen or so of people who areuseful or amusing to me! Except that the rest are needed to keep movingthe machinery of the world, they might all perish, so far as I wasconcerned."

  "I don't think," Mrs. Travers said softly, "that I should like to be inyour world."

  "I can very easily believe you," he answered.

  "Unless," she remarked tentatively, "I came to convert!"

  He nodded.

  "There is something in that," he admitted. "It would be a great work, alittle difficult, you know."

  "All the more interesting!"

  "You see," he continued, "I am not only bad, but I admire badness. Mywish is to remain bad--in fact, I should like to be worse if I knew how.You would find it hard to make a start. I couldn't even admit that astate of goodness was desirable!"

  She looked at him curiously. The night air was perhaps getting colder,for she shivered, and drew the rug a little closer around her.

  "You speak like a prophet," she remarked.

  "A prophet of evil then!"

  She looked at him steadfastly. The lightness had gone out of her tone.

  "Do you know," she said, "I am almost sorry that I ever knew you?"

  He shook his head.

  "You can't mean it," he declared.

  "Why not?"

  "I have done you the greatest service one human being can renderanother! I have saved you from being bored!"

  She nodded.

  "That may be true," she admitted. "But can you conceive no worse statein the world than being bored?"

  "There is no worse state," he answered drily. "I was bored once," headded, "for ten years or so; I ought to know!"

  "Were you married?" she asked.

  He shook his head.

  "Not quite so bad as that," he answered. "I was in prison!"

 
She turned a startled face towards him.

  "Nonsense!"

  "It is perfectly true," he said coolly. "Are you horrified?"

  "What did you do?" she asked in a low tone.

  "I killed a man."

  "Purposely?"

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  "He attacked me! I had to defend myself."

  She said nothing for several moments.

  "Shall I go?" he asked.

  "No! Sit still," she answered. "I am frightened of you, but I don't wantyou to go away. I want to think.... Yes! I can understand you betternow! Your life was spoilt!"

  "By no means," he answered. "I am still young! I am going to make up forthose ten years."

  She shook her head.

  "You cannot," she answered. "The years can carry no more than theirordinary burden of sensations. If you try to fill them too full, youlose everything."

  "I shall try what I can do!" he remarked calmly.

  She rose abruptly.

  "I am afraid of you tonight," she said. "I am going downstairs. Will yougive my rug and cushion to the deck steward? And--good night."

  She gave him her hand, but she did not look at him, and she hurried awaya little abruptly.

  Wingrave yawned, and lighting a cigar, strolled up and down the deck.A figure loomed out of the darkness and almost ran into him. It was theyoung man in the serge suit. He muttered a clumsy apology and hurriedon.