The Bars of Iron Part 42

He gripped both hand and wrist with nervous fingers, holding them almost as though he would force from him the information he desired.

Crowther waited no longer, for he knew in that moment that he stood in the presence of a soul in torment. "You'll have to know it," he said, "though why these things happen, G.o.d alone knows. Sonny, she is the widow of the man whose death you caused."

The words were spoken, and after them came silence--such a silence as could be felt. Once the hands that gripped Crowther's seemed about to slacken, and then in a moment they tightened again as the hands of a drowning man clinging to a spar.

Crowther attempted nothing in the way of sympathy or consolation. He merely stood ready. But it was evident that he did not need to be told of the tragedy that had suddenly fallen upon Piers' life. His att.i.tude said as much.

Very, very slowly at last, as if not wholly sure of his balance, Piers let him go. He took out his cigar with a mechanical movement and looked at it; then abruptly returned it to his lips and drew it fiercely back to life.

Then, through a cloud of smoke, he spoke. "Crowther, I made you a promise yesterday."

"You did," said Crowther gravely.

Piers threw him a quick look. "Oh, you needn't be afraid," he said. "I'm not going to cry off. It's not my way. But--I want you to make me a promise in return."

"What is it, sonny?" There was just a hint of anxiety in Crowther's tone.

Piers made a reckless, half-defiant movement of the head. "It is that you will never--whatever the circ.u.mstances--speak of this thing again to anyone--not even to me."

"You think it necessary to ask that of me?" said Crowther.

"No, I don't!" Impulsively Piers made answer. "I believe I'm a cur to ask it. But this thing has dogged me so persistently that I feel like an animal being run to earth. For my peace of mind, Crowther;--because I'm a coward if you like--give me your word on it!"

He laid a hand not wholly steady upon Crowther's shoulder, and impelled him forward. His voice was low and agitated.

"Forgive me, old chap!" he urged. "And understand, if you can. It's all you can do to help."

"My dear lad, of course I do!" Instant and rea.s.suring came Crowther's reply. "If you want my promise, you have it. The business is yours, not mine. I shall never interfere."

"Thank you--thanks awfully!" Piers said.

He drew a great breath. His hand went through Crowther's arm.

"That gives me time to think," he said. "What an infernal tangle this beastly world is! I suppose you think there's a reason for everything?"

"You've heard of gold being tried in the fire," said Crowther.

Piers broke into his sudden laugh. "I'm not gold, my dear chap, but the tinniest dross that ever was made. Shall we go and have a drink, what?

This sort of thing always makes me thirsty."

It was characteristically abrupt. It ended the matter in a trice. They went together to the hotel _buffet_, and there Piers quenched his thirst.

It was while there that Crowther became aware that his mood had wholly changed. He laughed and joked with the bright-eyed French girl who waited upon them, and seemed loth to depart. Silently, but with a growing anxiety, Crowther watched him. There was certainly nothing forced about his gaiety. It was wildly, recklessly spontaneous; but there was about it a fevered quality that set Crowther almost instinctively on his guard.

He did not know, and he had no means of gauging, exactly how deeply the iron had pierced. But that some sort of wound had been inflicted he could not doubt. It might be merely a superficial one, but he feared that it was something more than that. There was a queer, intangible species of mockery in Piers' att.i.tude, as though he set the whole world at defiance.

And yet he did not look like a man who had been stunned by an unexpected, sledge-hammer blow of Fate. He was keenly, fiercely alive to his surroundings. He seemed to be gibing rather at a blow that had glanced aside. Uneasily Crowther wondered.

It was he who finally suggested a move. It was growing late.

"So it is!" said Piers. "You ought to be turning in if you really mean to make an early start."

He stood still in the hall and held out his hand. "Good-night, old chap!

I'm not going up at present."

"You'd better," said Crowther.

"No, I can't. I couldn't possibly turn in yet." He thrust his hand upon Crowther. "Good-night! I shall see you in the morning."

Crowther took the hand. The hall was deserted. They stood together under a swinging lamp, and by its flaring light Crowther sought to read his companion's face.

For a moment or two Piers refused to meet his look, then with sudden stubbornness he raised his eyes and stared back. They shone as black and hard as ebony.

"Good-night!" he said again.

Crowther's level brows were slightly drawn. His hand, square and strong, closed upon Piers' and held it.

For a few seconds he did not speak; then: "I don't know that I feel like turning in yet either, sonny," he said deliberately.

Piers made a swift movement of impatience. His eyes seemed to grow brighter, more grimly hard.

"I'm afraid I must ask you to excuse me in any case," he said. "I'm going up to see if my grandfather has all he wants."

It was defiantly spoken. He turned with the words, almost wresting his hand free, and strode away towards the lift.

Reaching it, some sense of compunction seemed to touch him for he looked back over his shoulder with an abrupt gesture of farewell.

Crowther made no answering sign. He stood gravely watching. But, as the lift shot upwards, he turned aside and began squarely to ascend the stairs.

When Piers came out of his room ten minutes later with a coat over his arm he came face to face with him in the corridor. There was a certain grimness apparent about Crowther also by that time. He offered no explanation of his presence, although quite obviously he was waiting.

Piers stood still. There was a dangerous glitter in his eyes that came and went. "Look here, Crowther!" he said. "It's no manner of use your attempting this game with me. I'm going out, and--whether you like it or not, I don't care a d.a.m.n--I'm going alone."

"Where are you going?" said Crowther.

"To the Casino," Piers flung the words with a gleam of clenched teeth.

Crowther looked at him straight and hard. "What for?" he asked.

"What do people generally go for?" Piers prepared to move on as he uttered the question.

But Crowther deliberately blocked his way. "No, Piers," he said quietly.

"You're not going to-night."

The blood rose in a great wave to Piers' forehead. His eyes shone suddenly red. "Do you think you're going to stop me?" he said.

"For to-night, sonny--yes." Quite decidedly Crowther made reply.

"To-morrow you will be your own master. But to-night--well, you've had a bit of a knock out; you're off your balance. Don't go to-night!"

He spoke with earnest appeal, but he still blocked the pa.s.sage squarely, stoutly, immovably.