The Malefactor Read online

  A DELICATE MISSION

  Aynesworth was back in less than an hour. He carried under his arm abrown paper parcel, the strings of which he commenced at once to untie.Wingrave, who had been engrossed in the contents of his deed box,watched him with immovable face.

  "The tailor will be here at two-thirty," he announced, "and the otherfellows will follow on at half an hour's interval. The manicurist andthe barber are coming at six o'clock."

  Wingrave nodded.

  "What have you there?" he asked, pointing to the parcel.

  "Cigars and cigarettes, and jolly good ones, too," Aynesworth answered,opening a flat tin box, and smelling the contents appreciatively. "Tryone of these! The finest Turkish tobacco grown!"

  "I don't smoke," Wingrave answered.

  "Oh! You've got out of it, but you must pick it up again," Aynesworthdeclared. "Best thing out for the nerves--sort of humanizes one, youknow!"

  "Humanizes one, does it?" Wingrave remarked softly. "Well, I'll try!"

  He took a cigarette from the box, curtly inviting Aynesworth to do thesame.

  "What about lunch?" the latter asked. "Would you care to come round withme to the Cannibal Club? Rather a Bohemian set, but there are alwayssome good fellows there."

  "I am much obliged," Wingrave answered. "If you will ask me again ina few days' time, I shall be very pleased. I do not wish to leave thehotel just at present."

  "Do you want me?" Aynesworth asked.

  "Not until five o'clock," Wingrave answered. "I should be glad if youwould leave me now, and return at that hour. In the meantime, I have acommission for you."

  "Good!" Aynesworth declared. "What is it?"

  "You will go," Wingrave directed, "to No. 13, Cadogan Street, and youwill enquire for Lady Ruth Barrington. If she should be out, ascertainthe time of her return, and wait for her."

  "If she is out of town?"

  "She is in London," Wingrave answered. "I have seen her from the windowthis morning. You will give her a message. Say that you come from me,and that I desire to see her tomorrow. The time and place she can fix,but I should prefer not to go to her house."

  Aynesworth stooped down to relight his cigarette. He felt that Wingravewas watching him, and he wished to keep his face hidden.

  "I am unknown to Lady Ruth," he remarked. "Supposing she should refuseto see me?"

  Wingrave looked at him coldly.

  "I have told you what I wish done," he said. "The task does not seemto be a difficult one. Please see to it that I have an answer by fiveo'clock-----"

  Aynesworth lunched with a few of his particular friends at the club.They heard of his new adventure with somewhat doubtful approbation.

  "You'll never stand the routine, old chap!"

  "And what about your own work!"

  "What will the Daily Scribbler people say?"

  Aynesworth shrugged his shoulders.

  "I don't imagine it will last very long," he answered, "and I shall geta fair amount of time to myself. The work I do on the Daily Scribblerdoesn't amount to anything. It was a chance I simply couldn't refuse."

  The editor of a well-known London paper leaned back in his chair, andpinched a cigar carefully.

  "You'll probably find the whole thing a sell," he remarked. "The story,as Lovell told it, sounded dramatic enough, and if the man were to comeback to life again, fresh and vigorous, things might happen, provided,of course, that Lovell was right in his suppositions. But ten or twelveyears' solitary confinement, although it mayn't sound much on paper, isenough to crush all the life and energy out of a man."

  Aynesworth shook his head.

  "You haven't seen him," he said. "I have!"

  "What's he like, Walter?" another man asked.

  "I can't describe him," Aynesworth answered. "I shouldn't like to try.I'll bring him here some day. You fellows shall see him for yourselves.I find him interesting enough."

  "The whole thing," the editor declared, "will fizzle out. You see ifit doesn't? A man who's just spent ten or twelve years in prison isn'tlikely to run any risk of going there again. There will be no tragedy;more likely reconciliation."

  "Perhaps," Aynesworth said imperturbably. "But it wasn't only thepossibility of anything of that sort happening, you know, whichattracted me. It was the tragedy of the man himself, with his numbed,helpless life, set down here in the midst of us, with a great, blankchasm between him and his past. What is there left to drive the wheels?The events of one day are simple and monotonous enough to us, becausethey lean up against the events of yesterday, and the yesterdays before!How do they seem, I wonder, to a man whose yesterday was more than adecade of years ago!"

  The editor nodded.

  "It must be a grim sensation," he admitted, "but I am afraid with you,my dear Walter, it is an affair of shop. You wish to cull from yourinteresting employer the material for that every-becoming novel ofyours. Let's go upstairs! I've time for one pool."

  "I haven't," Aynesworth answered. "I've a commission to do."

  He left the club and walked westwards, humming softly to himself, butthinking all the time intently. His errand disturbed him. He was to bethe means of bringing together again these two people who had played theprincipal parts in Lovell's drama--his new employer and the woman whohad ruined his life. What was the object of it? What manner of vengeancedid he mean to deal out to her? Lovell's words of premonition returnedto him just then with curious insistence--he was so certain thatWingrave's reappearance would lead to tragical happenings. Aynesworthhimself never doubted it. His brief interview with the man into whoseservice he had almost forced himself had impressed him wonderfully. Yet,what weapon was there, save the crude one of physical force, with whichWingrave could strike?

  He rang the bell at No. 13, Cadogan Street, and sent in his card by thefootman. The man accepted it doubtfully.

  "Her ladyship has only just got up from luncheon, sir, and she is notreceiving this afternoon," he announced.

  Aynesworth took back his card, and scribbled upon it the name of thenewspaper for which he still occasionally worked.

  "Her ladyship will perhaps see me," he said, handing the card back tothe man. "It is a matter of business. I will not detain her for morethan a few minutes."

  The man returned presently, and ushered him into a small sitting room.

  "Her ladyship will be quite half an hour before she can see you, sir,"he said.

  "I will wait," Aynesworth answered, taking up a paper.

  The time passed slowly. At last, the door was opened. A woman, ina plain but exquisitely fitting black gown, entered. From Lovell'sdescription, Aynesworth recognized her at once, and yet, for a moment,he hesitated to believe that this was the woman whom he had come to see.The years had indeed left her untouched. Her figure was slight, almostgirlish; her complexion as smooth, and her coloring, faint though itwas, as delicate and natural as a child's. Her eyes were unusuallylarge, and the lashes which shielded them heavy. It was when she lookedat him that Aynesworth began to understand.

  She carried his card in her hand, and glanced at it as he bowed.

  "You are the Daily Scribbler," she said. "You want me to tell you aboutmy bazaar, I suppose."

  "I am attached to the Daily Scribbler, Lady Ruth Barrington," Aynesworthanswered; "but my business this afternoon has nothing to do with thepaper. I have called with a message from--an old friend of yours."

  She raised her eyebrows ever so slightly. The graciousness of her mannerwas perceptibly abated.

  "Indeed! I scarcely understand you, Mr.--Aynesworth."

  "My message," Aynesworth said, "is from Sir Wingrave Seton."

  The look of enquiry, half impatient, half interrogative, faded slowlyfrom her face. She stood quite still; her impassive features seemed likea plaster cast, from which all life and feeling were drawn out. Her eyesbegan slowly to dilate, and she shivered as though with cold. Then theman who was watching her and wondering, knew that this was fear--fearundiluted and naked.

  He stepped forward, and
placed a chair for her. She felt for the back ofit with trembling fingers and sat down.

  "Is--Sir Wingrave Seton--out of prison?" she asked in a strange, drytone. One would have thought that she had been choking.

  "Since yesterday," Aynesworth answered.

  "But his time--is not up yet?"

  "There is always a reduction," Aynesworth reminded her, "for what iscalled good conduct."

  She was silent for several moments. Then she raised her head. She was abrave woman, and she was rapidly recovering her self-possession.

  "Well," she asked, "what does he want?"

  "To see you," Aynesworth answered, "tomorrow afternoon, either here orat his apartments in the Clarence Hotel. He would prefer not to comehere!"

  "Are you his friend?" she asked.

  "I am his secretary," Aynesworth answered.

  "You are in his confidence?"

  "I only entered his service this morning," he said.

  "How much do you know," she persisted, "of the unfortunate affair whichled--to his imprisonment?"

  "I have been told the whole story," Aynesworth answered.

  Her eyes rested thoughtfully upon his. It seemed as though she weretrying to read in his face exactly what he meant by "the whole story."

  "Then," she said, "do you think that anything but pain andunpleasantness can come of a meeting between us?"

  "Lady Ruth," Aynesworth answered, "it is not for me to form an opinion.I am Sir Wingrave Seton's secretary."

  "What is he going to do?" she asked.

  "I have no idea," he answered.

  "Is he going abroad?"

  "I know nothing of his plans," Aynesworth declared. "What answer shall Itake back to him?"

  She looked at him earnestly. Gradually her face was softening. Thefrozen look was passing away. The expression was coming back to hereyes. She leaned a little towards him. Her voice, although it was raisedabove a whisper, was full of feeling.

  "Mr. Aynesworth," she murmured, "I am afraid of Sir Wingrave Seton!"

  Aynesworth said nothing.

  "I was always a little afraid of him," she continued, "even in the dayswhen we were friendly. He was so hard and unforgiving. I know he thinksthat he has a grievance against me. He will have been brooding about itall these years. I dare not see him! I--I am terrified!"

  "If that is your answer," Aynesworth said, "I will convey it to him!"

  Her beautiful eyes were full of reproach.

  "Mr. Aynesworth," she said, in a low tone, "for a young man you are veryunsympathetic."

  "My position," Aynesworth answered, "does not allow me the luxury ofconsidering my personal feelings."

  She looked hurt.

  "I forgot," she said, looking for a moment upon the floor; "you haveprobably been prejudiced against me. You have heard only one story.Listen"--she raised her eyes suddenly, and leaned a little forward inher chair--"some day, if you will come and see me when I am alone andwe have time to spare, I will tell you the whole truth. I will tell youexactly what happened! You shall judge for yourself!"

  Aynesworth bowed.

  "In the meantime?"

  Her eyes filled slowly with tears. Aynesworth looked away. He wasmiserably uncomfortable.

  "You cannot be quite so hard-hearted as you try to seem, Mr.Aynesworth," she said quietly. "I want to ask you a question. You mustanswer it? You don't know how much it means to me. You are Sir WingraveSeton's secretary; you have access to all his papers. Have you seen anyletters of mine? Do you know if he still has any in his possession?"

  "My answer to both questions is 'No!'" Aynesworth said a little stiffly."I only entered the service of Sir Wingrave Seton this morning, and Iknow nothing at all, as yet, of his private affairs. And, Lady Ruth,you must forgive my reminding you that, in any case, I could not discusssuch matters with you," he added.

  She looked at him with a faint, strange smile. Afterwards, when he triedto do so, Aynesworth found it impossible to describe the expressionwhich flitted across her face. He only knew that it left him with theimpression of having received a challenge.

  "Incorruptible!" she murmured. "Sir Wingrave Seton is indeed a fortunateman."

  There was a lingering sweetness in her tone which still had a note ofmockery in it. Her silence left Aynesworth conscious of a vague senseof uneasiness. He felt that her eyes were raised to his, and for somereason, which he could not translate even into a definite thought, hewished to avoid them. The silence was prolonged. For long afterwards heremembered those few minutes. There was a sort of volcanic intensity inthe atmosphere. He was acutely conscious of small extraneous things, ofthe perfume of a great bowl of hyacinths, the ticking of a tiny Frenchclock, the restless drumming of her finger tips upon the arm of herchair. All the time he seemed actually to feel her eyes, commanding,impelling, beseeching him to turn round. He did so at last, and lookedher full in the face.

  "Lady Ruth," he said, "will you favor me with an answer to my message?"

  "Certainly," she answered, smiling quite naturally. "I will come and seeSir Wingrave Seton at four o'clock tomorrow afternoon. You can tellhim that I think it rather an extraordinary request, but under thecircumstances I will do as he suggests. He is staying at the Clarence, Ipresume, under his own name? I shall have no difficulty in finding him?"

  "He is staying there under his own name," Aynesworth answered, "and Iwill see that you have no difficulty."

  "So kind of you," she murmured, holding out her hand. And again therewas something mysterious in her eyes as she raised them to him, asthough there existed between them already some understanding whichmocked the conventionality of her words. Aynesworth left the house, andlit a cigarette upon the pavement outside with a little sigh of relief.He felt somehow humiliated. Did she fancy, he wondered, that he was acallow boy to dance to any tune of her piping--that he had never beforeseen a beautiful woman who wanted her own way?