Denzil Quarrier Part 28

"I think Mr. North lives here?"

"Yes, sir, he do live yere," the woman answered, in a simple tone.

"Would you wish for to see him?"

"Please ask him if he could see a gentleman on business--Mr. Marks."

"But he ben't in, sir, not just now. He"----she broke off and pointed up the street. "Why, there he come, I declare!"

"The tall man?"

"That be he, sir."

Glazzard moved towards the person indicated, a man of perhaps thirty, with a good figure, a thin, sallow face, clean-shaven, and in rather shabby clothes. He went close up to him and said gravely:

"Mr. North, I have just called to see you on business."

The young man suppressed a movement of uneasiness, drew in his lank cheeks, and looked steadily at the speaker.

"What name?" he asked, curtly, with the accent which represents some degree of liberal education.

"Mr. Marks. I should like to speak to you in private."

"Has any one sent you?"

"No, I have taken the trouble to find where you were living. It's purely my own affair. I think it will be to your interest to talk with me."

The other still eyed him suspiciously, but did not resist.

"I haven't a sitting-room," he said, "and we can't talk here. We can walk on a little, if you like."

"I'm a stranger. Is there a quiet spot anywhere about here?"

"If we jump on this omnibus that's coming, it'll take us to the Suspension Bridge--Clifton, you know. Plenty of quiet spots about there."

The suggestion was accepted. On the omnibus they conversed as any casual acquaintances might have done. Glazzard occasionally inspected his companion's features, which were not vulgar, yet not pleasing. The young man had a habit of sucking in his cheeks, and of half closing his eyes as if he suffered from weak sight; his limbs twitched now and then, and he constantly fingered his throat.

"A fine view," remarked Glazzard, as they came near to the great cliffs; "but the bridge spoils it, of course."

"Do you think so? Not to my mind. I always welcome the signs of civilization."

Glazzard looked at him with curiosity, and the speaker threw back his head in a self-conscious, conceited way.

"Picturesqueness is all very well," he added, "but it very often means hardships to human beings. I don't ask whether a country looks beautiful, but what it does for the inhabitants."

"Very right and proper," a.s.sented Glazzard, with a curl of the lip.

"I know very well," pursued the moralist, "that civilization doesn't necessarily mean benefit to the cla.s.s which ought to be considered first. But that's another question. It _ought_ to benefit them, and eventually it must."

"You lean towards Socialism?"

"Christian Socialism if you know what that signifies."

"I have an idea. A very improving doctrine, no doubt."

They dismounted, and began the ascent of the hillside by a path which wound among trees. Not far from the summit they came to a bench which afforded a good view.

"Suppose we stop here," Glazzard suggested. "It doesn't look as if we should be disturbed."

"As you please."

"By-the-bye, you have abbreviated your name, I think?"

The other again looked uneasy and clicked with his tongue.

"You had better say what you want with me, Mr. Marks," he replied, impatiently.

"My business is with Arthur James Northway. If you are he, I think I can do you a service."

"Why should you do me a service?"

"From a motive I will explain if all else is satisfactory."

"How did you find out where I was?"

"By private means which are at my command." Glazzard adopted the tone of a superior, but was still suave. "My information is pretty complete.

Naturally, you are still looking about for employment. I can't promise you that, but I daresay you wouldn't object to earn a five-pound note?"

"If it's anything--underhand, I'll have nothing to do with it."

"Nothing you can object to. In fact, it's an affair that concerns you more than any one else.--I believe you can't find any trace of your wife?"

Northway turned his head, and peered at his neighbour with narrow eyes.

"It's about _her_, is it?"

"Yes, about her."

Strangely enough, Glazzard could not feel as if this conversation greatly interested him. He kept gazing at the Suspension Bridge, at the woods beyond, at the sluggish river, and thought more of the view than of his interlocutor. The last words fell from his lips idly.

"You know where she is?" Northway inquired.

"Quite well. I have seen her often of late--from a distance. To prove I am not mistaken, look at this portrait and tell me if you recognize the person?"

He took from an inner pocket a mutilated photograph; originally of cabinet size, it was cut down to an oval, so that only the head remained. The portrait had been taken in London between Lilian's return from Paris and her arrival at Polterham. Glazzard was one of the few favoured people who received a copy.

Northway examined it and drew in his cheeks, breathing hard.

"There's no mistake, I think?"