Anthony Lyveden Part 6

The horror of that drive revisited him for months. The awful pregnant silence, broken only by the sound of rapid irregular respiration, gave to the cab the air of a death-chamber.

Arrived at the station, by his advice the two remained in the taxi whilst he procured tickets which would take them to the coast by the first available train. At the booking-office he learned, to his inexpressible relief, that they had but ten minutes to spare. He bought the tickets feverishly....

As his master emerged from the cab, Lyveden perceived with a shock that his nervousness had begun to return. Terror was riding behind, coming up, overhauling him fast. The blood which had flooded his face had begun to recede. The hand that received the tickets and change was trembling. In a fever of anxiety the ex-officer hustled his charges towards the platform....

People turned and stared as they pa.s.sed. One woman screamed....

At the sudden cry Mr. Slumper started violently. His face was very pale now, and there were tiny beads of sweat upon the side of his nose.

His mouth was working painfully. It was a question whether they could board the train before he collapsed. The idiot upon his arm could have shambled another mile.

They came to the barrier.

Anthony had no ticket and could not pa.s.s, but he put them into the queue and steered them up to the gate.

The pa.s.senger behind Mr. Slumper turned suddenly and brushed against him. At the touch on his shoulder the poor devil started frightfully and drew in his breath with a hoa.r.s.e whoop. The face that he turned to the offender was a wet grey....

In front of them there were only two, now--one. They were in the jaws of the barrier.... Mr. Slumper had not the power to present his tickets, and the inspector took the pasteboard out of his shaking hand.

He clipped it and handed it back, staring. Mr. Slumper fumbled, and the tickets fell to the ground. He stooped drunkenly, and the inspector put a hand under his arm.

"Gent ill 'ere, Joe," he threw over his shoulder, apparently addressing a colleague, whom Anthony could not see. "Give 'im a 'and up the platform."

Anthony heaved a sigh of relief.

The next moment he saw a burly station-constable--presumably "Joe"--step into view and put a broad arm tenderly about his master's back...

Mr. Slumper stiffened and stood quivering with the peculiar vibration of a wire that is taut. The ridiculous figure attached to him stood still also, rolling its head foolishly.

"Come along, sir," urged the official in a kindly tone.

Mr. Slumper stopped shaking, took out his handkerchief, and wiped his face. Then he turned to the speaker.

"It's all right," he said. "_I'll go quietly._"

Anthony turned on his heel and walked out of the station.

There was no more to be done.

CHAPTER II

THE WAY OF A MAID

A footman looked out of an attic in Eaton Square with his pen in his mouth. After a moment's reflection he returned to his letter, added a sentence or two, and signed his name. Then he restored its cork to his bottle of ink, blotted the lines he had written, and, gathering the flimsy pages into his hand, leaned back in his loose-limbed chair with the consideration which that exacting skeleton required of its patrons, and proceeded to read.

This, then, is our chance; and, since Lyveden will be none the wiser, let us forget our manners and look over his shoulder.

_DEAR TOBY,--_

_By extracting a promise that I would write to you you did me a good turn, for, while my first report was rendered, from a sense of duty, I am making this one with a sense of relief--a somewhat scandalous admission. Of course a really good footman would keep his mouth shut.

But then I am but an indifferent lackey._

_To say that I left my first place would be untrue. In fact, the place left me--rather tragically, as it happened: which reminds me that I must withdraw anything which I have written to you in disparagement of my late master. The poor man had worries I did not know of, and behaved to me very handsomely at the last, remembering that I might have troubles, when he could not think straight, so sore were his own._

_For a week, then, I became a country gentleman, living with my dog at a little inn where no ways met. By the end of that time I had got me another place._

_Yes, sir, I am in the service of the Marquess of Banff, sir. There are times when I go powdered. I have even hobn.o.bbed with the scarlet livery of Royalty. I am, I a.s.sure you, a very deuce of a fellow._

_With the Marquess, who resembles an irritable baboon, I have little to do. The marchioness--a strong woman is also, mercifully, too much engaged upon works of supererogation, which, in a rich ba.s.s, she styles "her manifold duties," to observe my existence. Lord Pomfret Fresne, however, a gilded youth with three thousand a year, finds me extremely useful. I bet for him, I make appointments for him to have his hair trimmed, I retain stalls for him, and occasionally I admit him to the house at an unlawful hour. In fact, he is a confounded nuisance. He is impertinent, grossly ignorant, and a n.i.g.g.ard. Moreover, Toby, he hath an eye whose like I have seen before--once. Then it was set in the head of a remount which, after it had broken a shoeing-smith's leg, was cast for vice at Kantara in 1917._

_"Lyveden," says he one day, "you're a gentleman, aren't you?"_

_It seemed easiest to say "Yes."_

_"Why?" says his lordship._

_"It's a family failing," said I._

_"How beastly! You mean, like drink?"_

_"Exactly, my lord. We never mention it."_

_"No, don't," says he. "My mother's very hot on that sort of thing.

Hullo!" He peers into a gold cigarette-case. "I had four pounds in here. I'll swear I had."_

_Considering that I had found the case in the library, and had restored it to him five minutes before, his e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n was not in the best of taste. His lordship, however, must whet his point upon the grindstone of insult._

_"You're not hard up, are you?" says he._

_"I can pay my way, my lord."_

_"Well, I know there was four pounds there, because---- No. Wait a minute. It's all right. I remember I put it in my coat. Which reminds me--I want a couple of stalls at Daly's. You might ring up and get them. How much is the pit?"_

_"I'm not quite sure, my lord. It used to be half-a-crown."_

_"Half-a-crown!" cries he. "I thought it was a shilling."_

_"That's the gallery, my lord."_

_"Oh, yes. Well, I can't afford the pit, Lyveden, but you can go to the gallery if you like," and he produces a shilling._

_I shake my head._

_"I'm much obliged to your lordship, but I seldom go out."_

_"Right-o," he says, with ill-concealed relief. "Don't forget those stalls."_