His Lordship's Leopard Part 24

"So long. I'm after a drink." And he left him, thus terminating the conversation.

"Ah," said the journalist to himself, "I bet you're the next in line, just the same."

Baffled in his first attempt, Marchmont sought other means of information, for there is always a weak spot in every defence, and a man of far less keen perception than the reporter would have had little difficulty in finding the most favourable point of attack. So it is not surprising that after a little cogitation he went in search of Miss Matilda, whom he had met the day before when he had returned with the party from the abbey. He found that lady on the lawn knitting socks for the heathen, and deserted for the nonce by the faithful Smith.

"Dear Miss Banborough," began the journalist, sitting down beside her, "what a reproach it is to idle men like myself to see such industry!"

"It's very kind of you, I'm sure, to notice my humble labours," replied the old lady, expanding at once under the first word of flattery. "My brother tells me you're connected with a great newspaper. How enn.o.bling that must be! It gives you such a wide scope for doing good."

Marchmont, who had hardly adopted journalism for this purpose, and was conscious of having done his fair share of mischief in the world, made a desperate effort to look the part a.s.signed to him, and murmuring something about the inspiration, to toilers like himself, of such self-sacrificing lives as hers, abruptly turned the conversation by alluding to the pleasure which she must have felt at her nephew's return.

"Of course we're very glad to have him back," acceded Miss Matilda. "But then we see little or nothing of him."

"Naturally," said the journalist, "his days must be given up to his friends. How you must be looking forward to the time when you can have him quite to yourself!"

The gleam that came into the old lady's eye at this remark told him that he had not been mistaken in fancying her hostile to the strangers, and he hastened to continue such a fruitful theme, saying:

"I suppose that, as they've been here a month now, you'll be losing them soon."

"I can't say," she snapped. "They seem to be staying for an indefinite period."

"Really?" he replied. "I shouldn't have fancied that your nephew would have found them very congenial. Indeed, if you'll pardon my frankness, I was rather surprised to meet them here."

Miss Matilda at once gave him her undivided attention.

"You knew them in America?" she asked.

"Of course I knew about them. I was hardly acquainted personally."

It was his tone rather than his words that lent an unfavourable colour to the remark, but the implication was not lost on the Bishop's sister.

Here at last was a man who could give her the information she was most anxious to obtain.

"I should have supposed," she ventured, "that you'd have known such very intimate friends of Cecil's as these appear to be."

"Oh, no," he returned. "New York's a big place. I dare say you know much more about them than I do."

"I know nothing!" she burst out. "Strange as it may appear to you, my nephew has never told me one word concerning his guests, though I'm expected to receive them under my--his father's roof and introduce them to my friends."

"I see," replied Marchmont cautiously. "Cecil should have trusted to your excellent discrimination and judgment, unless--" and here he paused.

The position required consideration. It was easy enough to tell her about these people. Merely to say that they were an itinerant company of actors and actresses would be sufficient to ensure them a speedy _conge_ from Blanford. But was it wise to do this? Did he want them to go? A hasty action is often like a boomerang. It returns on the toes of the person who thoughtlessly launches it in flight. No, on the whole they had better remain, he told himself. The palace would form an excellent background for the sensational exposure he hoped to make. If he could only get the Bishop into a corner, he would be quite satisfied.

"Well, what?" she demanded sharply, impatient at his unfinished sentence.

"Unless," he continued, hedging carefully--"unless your nephew felt that it was quite sufficient to have explained things to his father.

Doubtless the Bishop knows all about his son's friends."

"The Bishop knows a great deal too much for a man in his position,"

snapped his sister.

"Quite so," thought the journalist, "and doesn't confide it to you."

Aloud he remarked:

"Of course there's nothing particular to be said against them, except that they're hardly in Cecil's set."

"I didn't need you to tell me that. But what about the ladies?"

"Ah, yes, the ladies. Well, really, you've put me in an awkward position, Miss Banborough. One can't be uncomplimentary to the fair s.e.x, you know."

"Humph! Well, Josephus sees more of both of them than is good for him.

But of course Mrs. Mackintosh has neither the youth nor the good looks to cause me any anxiety."

"Mrs. Mackintosh is eminently respectable," said Marchmont, who always spoke the truth when it did not conflict with business.

"But Miss Arminster?"

The journalist did not answer.

"Well," she cried, "why don't you speak?"

"Madam," he replied, "you place me in a most embarra.s.sing situation. My duty to you and the natural gallantry of my nature draw me in different directions."

"I insist."

"I put myself in your hands. In saying what I do I'm laying myself open to serious misconstruction."

"You may rely upon my silence."

"Any indiscretion on your part would be most unfortunate."

"I shall not forget the confidence you've reposed in me."

"I shall hold you to that," he said. "If I tell you what I have in mind, will you promise not to use the information without my permission?"

"That I cannot say."

"Then I say nothing."

"But you've already implied--"

"But implications, my dear Miss Banborough, are not evidence."

"You leave me no other course but to accede to your request," she said.

"Ah, then you promise?"

"I promise."

"The word of a woman in your position and of your high moral standard I know is sacred."