The Malefactor Read online

  A STUDENT OF CHARACTER

  Left alone, Wingrave walked for several minutes up and down the room,his hands behind him, his head bent. He walked, not restlessly, butwith measured footsteps. His mind was fixed steadfastly upon the oneimmediate problem of his own future. His interview with Rocke hadunsettled--to a certain extent unnerved--him. Was this freedom for whichhe had longed so passionately, this return into civilized life, to meansimply the exchange of an iron-barred cell for a palace whose outergates were as hopelessly locked, even though the key was of gold!Freedom! Was it after all an illusion? Was his to be the hog's paradiseof empty delights; were the other worlds indeed forbidden? He movedabruptly to the window and threw it open. Below was Piccadilly,brilliant with May sunshine, surging with life. Motors and carriages,omnibuses and hansoms, were all jostled together in a block; thepavements were thronged with a motley and ever-hurrying crowd. It seemedto him, accustomed to the callous and hopeless appearance of a lesshappy tribe, that the faces of these people were all aflame with thejoy of the springtime. The perfume from the great clusters of yellowdaffodils and violets floated up from the flower sellers' basketsbelow; the fresh, warm air seemed to bring him poignant memories ofcrocus-starred lawns, of trim beds of hyacinths, of the song of birds,of the perfume of drooping lilac. Grim and motionless, as a figure offate, Wingrave looked down from his window, with cold, yet discerningeyes. He was still an alien, a denizen in another world from that whichflowed so smoothly and pleasantly below. It was something to which hedid not belong, which he doubted, indeed, if ever again he could enter.He had no part in it, no share in that vigorous life, whose throbbingshe could dimly feel, though his own heart was beating to a slower and avery different tune. They were his fellows in name only. Between him andthem stood the judgment of--Rocke!

  The evil chances of the world are many! It was whilst his thoughtstraveled in this fashion that the electric landaulette of Lady RuthBarrington glided round the corner from St. James' Street, and joinedin the throng of vehicles slowly making their way down Piccadilly. Hisattention was attracted first by the white and spotless liveries of theservants--the form of locomotion itself was almost new to him. Then hesaw the woman who leaned back amongst the cushions. She was elegantlydressed; she wore no veil; she did not look a day more than thirty.She was attractive, from the tips of her patent shoes, to the whitebow which floated on the top of her lace parasol; a perfectly dressed,perfectly turned out woman. She had, too, the lazy confident air ofa woman sure of herself and her friends. She knew nothing of the lookwhich flashed down upon her from the window overhead.

  Wingrave turned away with a little gasp; a half-stifled exclamation hadcrept out from between his teeth. His cheeks seemed paler than ever, andhis eyes unnaturally bright. Nevertheless, he was completely master ofhimself. On the table was a large deed box of papers, which Rocke hadleft for his inspection. From its recesses he drew out a smaller box,unlocked it with a key from his chain, and emptied its sole contents--asmall packet of letters--upon the table. He counted them one by one.They were all there--and on top a photograph. A breath of half-forgottenperfume stole out into the room. He opened one of the letters, and itsfew passionate words came back to his memory, linked with a hundredother recollections, the desire of her eyes, of her lips raised for his,the caressing touch of her fingers. He found himself wondering, in animpersonal sort of way, that these things should so little affect him.His blood ran no less coldly, nor did his pulses beat the faster, forthis backward glance into things finished.

  There was a knock at the door. He raised his head.

  "Come in!"

  A slim, fair young man obeyed the summons, and advanced into the room.Wingrave eyed him with immovable face. Nevertheless, his manner somehowsuggested a displeased surprise.

  "Sir Wingrave Seton, I believe?" the intruder said cheerfully.

  "That is my name," Wingrave admitted; "but my orders below haveevidently been disobeyed. I am not disposed to receive visitors today."

  The intruder was not in the least abashed. He laid his hat upon thetable, and felt in his pocket.

  "I am very sorry," he said. "They did try to keep me out, but I toldthem that my business was urgent. I have been a journalist, you see, andam used to these little maneuvers."

  Wingrave looked at him steadily, with close-drawn eyebrows.

  "Am I to understand," he said "that you are in here in your journalisticcapacity?"

  The newcomer shook his head.

  "Pray do not think," he said, "that I should be guilty of such animpertinence. My name is Aynesworth. Walter Aynesworth. I have a letterfor you from Lovell. You remember him, I daresay. Here it is!"

  He produced it from his breast coat pocket, and handed it over.

  "Where is Lovell?" Wingrave asked.

  "He left for the East early this morning," Aynesworth answered. "He hadto go almost at an hour's notice."

  Wingrave broke the seal, and read the letter through. Afterwards he toreit into small pieces and threw them into the grate.

  "What do you want with me, Mr. Aynesworth?" he asked.

  "I want to be your secretary," Aynesworth answered.

  "My secretary," Wingrave repeated. "I am much obliged to you, but I amnot requiring anyone in that capacity."

  "Pardon me," Aynesworth answered, "but I think you are. You may not haverealized it yet, but if you will consider the matter carefully, I thinkyou will agree with me that a secretary, or companion of some sort, isexactly what you do need."

  "Out of curiosity," Wingrave remarked, "I should be glad to know why youthink so."

  "Certainly," Aynesworth answered. "In the first place, I know the storyof your life, and the unfortunate incident which has kept you out ofsociety for the last ten years."

  "From Lovell, I presume," Wingrave interrupted.

  "Precisely," Aynesworth admitted. "Ten years' absence from English lifetoday means that you return to it an absolute and complete stranger. Youwould be like a Cook's tourist abroad, without a guide or a Baedeker, ifyou attempted to rely upon yourself. Now I am rather a Bohemian sort ofperson, but I have just the sort of all-round knowledge which would bemost useful to you. I have gone a little way into society, and I knowsomething about politics. I can bring you up-to-date on both thesematters. I know where to dine well in town, and where to be amused. Ican tell you where to get your clothes, and the best place for all theetceteras. If you want to travel, I can speak French and German; and Iconsider myself a bit of a sportsman."

  "I am sure," Wingrave answered, "I congratulate you upon yourversatility. I am quite convinced! I shall advertise at once for asecretary!"

  "Why advertise?" Aynesworth asked. "I am here!"

  Wingrave shook his head.

  "You would not suit me at all," he answered.

  "Why not?" Aynesworth asked. "I forget whether I mentioned all myaccomplishments. I am an Oxford man with a degree, and I can writetolerable English. I've a fair head for figures, and I don't require toolarge a salary."

  "Exactly," Wingrave answered drily. "You are altogether too desirable? Ishould not require an Admirable Crichton for my purpose."

  Aynesworth remained unruffled.

  "All right," he said. "You know best, of course! Suppose you tell mewhat sort of a man would satisfy you!"

  "Why should I?" Wingrave asked coldly.

  "It would amuse me," Aynesworth answered, "and I've come a mile or soout of my way, and given up a whole morning to come and see you. Go on!It won't take long!"

  Wingrave shrugged his shoulders.

  "I will not remind you," he said, "that you came on your own initiative.I owe you the idea, however, so I will tell you the sort of person Ishall look out for. In the first place, I do not require him to be agentleman."

  "I can be a shocking bounder at times," Aynesworth murmured.

  "He must be more a sort of an upper servant," Wingrave continued. "Ishould require him to obey me implicitly, whatever I told him to do. Youhave a conscience, I presume?"


  "Very little," Aynesworth answered. "I have been a journalist."

  "You have the remnants of one, at all events," Wingrave said, "quitesufficient, no doubt, to interfere with your possible usefulness to me.I must have someone who is poor--too poor to question my will, or todispute my orders, whatever they might be."

  "I have never," Aynesworth declared, "possessed a superfluous half-crownin my life."

  "You probably possess what is called a sense of honor," Wingravecontinued. "You would certainly disapprove of some of my proceedings,and you would probably disobey my orders."

  "Sense of honor!" Aynesworth repeated. "You have too flattering anopinion of me. I don't know what it is. I always cheat at cards if I getthe chance."

  Wingrave turned away.

  "You are a fool," he said, "and you won't suit me."

  "When can I come?" Aynesworth asked.

  "You can stay now," Wingrave answered. "Your salary will be four hundreda year. You will live at my expense. The day you disobey an order ofmine, you go! No notice, mind!"

  "Agreed," Aynesworth answered. "What should I do first? Send you atailor, I should think."

  Wingrave nodded.

  "I will give the afternoon to that sort of people," he said. "Here is alist of the tradesmen I used to deal with. Kindly avoid them."

  Aynesworth glanced at the slip of paper, and nodded.

  "All out-of-date now," he remarked. "I'll be back to lunch."