Grit Lawless Part 15

Sometimes I fancy I have gone back a few paces. At one time she liked me--I'll swear she did. She used to appear glad to see me. That was before you turned up."

He paused, and eyed Lawless for a moment suspiciously. The alteration in Mrs Lawless' manner and the advent of Lawless on the scene being contemporaneous roused a sudden doubt in his mind.

"You've not been giving me away?" he asked... "You haven't told her of any of our little sprees? If I thought you'd made mischief! ... I've noticed you talking with her, though you as good as told me she'd sooner talk with the devil."

Lawless puffed away at his cigar indifferently.

"My good fellow," he said, "she has not the faintest idea that you are a friend of mine. And we do not discuss sprees, or anything of that nature. The only topic she ever gets on with me is that of my morals, which ever since I have known her have caused her distress and annoyance. It is a topic which you may easily imagine holds no interest for me."

Van Bleit looked only half convinced.

"I'd let a woman like that talk to me about anything," he returned.

"I'd let her try her hand at reforming me--I _would_ reform for her sake."

"You might--for a month or so... yes."

"Oh, go to blazes!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Van Bleit irritably. "You don't believe in anything."

"I don't believe in a nimbus for you, Karl, old man," Lawless replied with unruffled serenity. "All the same, I'm glad to see you in earnest for once. When a man is in downright earnest he generally wins."

He smoked for a few moments in silence.

"Have you put your luck to the test yet?" he asked, tr.i.m.m.i.n.g the ash of his cigar with careful deliberation.

"No."

Van Bleit drummed on the table, and stared moodily at the cloth.

"She never gives me a chance," he said. "She's cleverer than any woman I ever knew at putting one off. She makes a man realise that if he persists in coming to his point he'll get the wrong answer, and, of course, when a fellow's in earnest he isn't going to risk that."

"Naturally."

There was silence for a few seconds. Then Lawless spoke again.

"You might win if you'd try the right tactics," he said. "But I know that it's no use advising a man in love... You simply wouldn't take the advice."

"Well, let's hear it, anyway," Van Bleit said churlishly, still drumming on the tablecloth with his big, coa.r.s.e fingers. "If I think it's worth anything, I'll follow it, I daresay."

"Keep away from her for a time."

Van Bleit looked up at him sharply.

"You say that!" he cried... "You!--just off on a honeymoon of your own!

What would you reply if a man advised you to chuck it?"

"If you were off on your honeymoon," Lawless returned calmly, "my advice would be unnecessary."

"But why," Van Bleit persisted, "should I keep out of her way? What purpose could it possibly serve? ... It would give others a chance, that's all."

"She would probably miss you," Lawless answered. "When she realised that, she would want you; and when you returned you would be sure of your welcome... You needn't scowl. You asked for the advice. I didn't suppose you would take it, and I shan't feel offended if you don't."

"I don't believe in the efficacy of that plan," Van Bleit said shortly.

"A man in love wouldn't," Lawless returned indifferently. "The moth has to make for the light."

"Well, but--"

Van Bleit appeared to be wavering. He stared hard at the inscrutable face opposite, trying to gauge the purpose of the carelessly given advice that accorded so ill with his own inclinations. But he could make nothing of it. The man baffled him as he baffled many another.

Although he had given the advice, it seemed to be a matter of supreme indifference to him whether it were acted upon or not.

"I've a great belief in your knowledge of women," he said slowly.

Lawless smiled.

"It's faith in my disinterestedness you lack," he threw in, and Van Bleit did not deny it.

"You've never been keen on it, somehow," he observed. "I noticed that when I first told you about it... Seems as though you couldn't get out of the manger. I suppose it is human nature that a man should object to seeing another fellow's success in the case of a beautiful woman, even though he knows himself out of the running."

Lawless leant back in his seat and puffed a number of blue rings into the air.

"You may know a lot about human nature, Karl," he said presently, "you're very human yourself--but you don't know me. If I've been somewhat unsympathetic over this affair it's because I happen to know something of both of you. I realised that you were serious, but I never imagined you stood anything of a chance... It wasn't until I saw you together that it occurred to me that, if your chance was not great, she certainly liked you. She is not prodigal of her favour, so I think you have grounds to feel flattered. But women, when they grow accustomed to having a man at their beck and call, are inclined to take it rather as a matter of course. Relegate him to a distance, and they appreciate a service they have not realised until they are called upon to do without it. That's my experience... But go your own way, old man, and if you find your tactics fail then follow mine."

Lawless left Cape Town that night. He did not go alone, a fact that transpired very quickly, and caused consternation in more b.r.e.a.s.t.s than one. Colonel Grey was beside himself with fury. The man was an adventurer of the worst kind. He was living riotously on the money that was allowed him for a definite purpose, and that purpose, which was hazardous and dangerous and highly important, was being neglected while he amused himself after his own loose fashion with the funds that should only have been applied to one end.

The Colonel summoned Simmonds to a consultation, and told him in the plainest language what he thought of the man he had recommended.

"I did not recommend him," Simmonds returned. "I told you I knew very little about him. His noted pluck was the only qualification I gave you."

The Colonel stared at him.

"True!" he muttered. "His courage! ... Yes! I accepted that without proof. And when I saw the man I accepted him. This is where it leaves me."

He looked at the other for a while without speaking, thinking deeply.

This man--the traitor, the coward, the licentious liver--was in his pay for a term of six months. He had agreed to that, knowing what he did of the man's past life. He had believed in him. The strong, virile personality had been strangely convincing, all the more so in view of the fact that he had made no attempt to vindicate himself, nor sought to explain away facts. There had been something almost attractive in the curt directness of speech and manner that had seemed to repudiate the necessity for self-justification. That he had allowed himself to be deceived in this matter was entirely his own fault. It was only consistent with his record that the man should misuse the funds entrusted to him. And there was no redress possible because of the secret nature of the undertaking.

"It's a bad business," he said at last--"the worst bungle that has been made so far. The fellow is entirely unprincipled. A man of that unscrupulous order is capable of turning the knowledge he has acquired to his own account. I feel now that I shall never see those letters."

Simmonds did not feel particularly sanguine either. But he sought to encourage his chief.

"In a case where a man is governed by his pa.s.sions, you can't tell," he said. "This escapade is possibly merely an interlude. He'll come up to the mark later."

His hearer did not look rea.s.sured.

"It's somewhat of a coincidence," he added, after a moment's reflection, "that a woman has stepped in in two instances to the frustrating of your plans."

Colonel Grey glanced up sharply.

"The other affair was a matter of outwitting," he said. "This is different altogether. We've put ourselves in the power of a rogue, and we shall have to pay for it--dearly."