The Everlasting Arms Part 11

"Because I like you, my friend. Because I wanted to see the state of your mind, and to know whether it was possible to help you."

"To help me?"

"To help you. I saw the kind of man you were. I saw what such wealth as you thought you possessed would mean to you. I saw, too, to what uses you could turn the power that riches would give you. So I made my plans."

"But you say he is in England. If so, he will know--all!"

"No, he does not. I took good care of that."

"But he will find out."

Romanoff laughed. "No, my friend, I have taken care of everything. As I told you, I like you, and I want you to be a great figure in the life of your country. That is why you are safe--for the present."

Again d.i.c.k wiped the beads of perspiration from his forehead. It seemed to him as though he were standing on a precipice, while beneath him were yawning depths of darkness. All he had hoped for was mocking him, and he saw himself sinking under the stress of circ.u.mstances, just as on that terrible night he felt himself sinking in the deep waters. But there were no arms outstretched to save him, nor friendly help near him. He looked around the room, n.o.ble in its proportions, and handsomely appointed, and thought of all it suggested. He remembered his last interview with Mr. Bidlake, when that gentleman gave him an account of his possessions, and told him of the approximate amount of his fortune. And now it would all go to this man who was not even aware of the truth. It was all bewildering, maddening. Before he had properly begun to taste of the sweets of fortune they were being dashed from his lips. He felt as though he were losing his senses, that his brain was giving way under the stress of the news he had heard.

Then his innate manhood began to a.s.sert itself. If what Romanoff had said were true, he must bear it. But, of course, he would not yield without a struggle. He would take nothing on the bare word of a man who, after all, was a stranger. Everything should be proved up to the hilt before he relinquished possession.

"Safe for the present!" d.i.c.k repeated, and there was a note of angry scorn in his voice. "Of course, if--if you are not mistaken, there is no question of safety."

"No question of safety?"

"Certainly not. If Anthony Riggleton is alive, and if he is the true heir to old Charles Faversham, he must make his claim, as I a.s.sume he will."

"Then you will yield without a struggle?" and there was a peculiar intonation in Romanoff's voice.

"No," cried d.i.c.k, "I shall not yield without a struggle. I shall place the whole matter in Bidlake's hands, and--and if I'm a pauper, I am--that's all."

"I know a better way than that."

"I don't understand you."

"No, but you will in a minute. Faversham, there's no need for you to fix up anything, no need for anyone to know what only you and I know."

"Look here," and d.i.c.k's voice trembled. "Are you sure that this fellow you talk about is Anthony Riggleton--and that he is the lawful heir?"

Romanoff gave d.i.c.k a quick, searching glance; then he gave a peculiar laugh. "Am I sure that the man is Anthony Riggleton? Here's the photograph he gave me of himself. I compared the photograph with the man, and I'm not likely to be mistaken. The photograph is the exact representation of the man. You have photographs of Riggleton in this house; compare them. Besides, he's been here repeatedly; he's known, I imagine, to the servants, to the neighbours. If he is allowed to make a claim, it will not be a question of Roger Tichborne and Arthur Orton over again, my friend. He will be able to prove his rights."

"What do you mean by saying, 'if he is allowed to make his claim'?" asked d.i.c.k hoa.r.s.ely. "Of course he'll be allowed."

"Why of course?

"Naturally he will."

"That depends on you. Did I not tell you that this was your hour of destiny?"

"Then the matter is settled. I will not usurp another man's rights. If he's the lawful owner, he shall have his own. Of course, he will have to prove it."

"You don't mean that?"

"Of course I do. Why not?"

"Because it would be criminal madness--the act of a fool!"

"It is the only att.i.tude for a decent fellow."

Again Romanoff let his piercing eyes fall on d.i.c.k's face. He seemed to be studying him afresh, as though he were trying to read his innermost thoughts.

"Listen, my dear fellow," and the Count calmly cut the end of a fresh cigar. "I want to discuss this matter with you calmly, and I want our discussion to be entirely free from sentimental rubbish. To begin with, there is no doubt that the man Anthony Riggleton is alive, and that he is the legal owner of all Charles Faversham's fabulous fortune. Of that I've no doubt. If he came here everyone would recognise him, while there is not a lawyer, not a judge or jury in the land, who would not acclaim him the owner of all which you thought yours. But, as I said, I like you. You were meant to be a rich man; you were meant to enjoy what riches can give you. And of this I am sure, Faversham: poverty after this would mean h.e.l.l to you. Why, man, think what you can have--t.i.tles, position, power, the love of beautiful women, and a thousand things more. If you want to enter public life the door is open to you. With wealth like yours a peerage is only a matter of arrangement. As for Lady Blanche Huntingford----" and the Count laughed meaningly.

"But what is the use of talking like that if nothing really belongs to me?" cried d.i.c.k.

"First of all, Faversham," went on the Count, as though d.i.c.k had not spoken, "get rid of all nonsense."

"Nonsense? I don't understand."

"I mean all nonsense about right and wrong, about so-called points of honour and that sort of thing. There is no right, and no wrong in the conventional sense of the word. Right! wrong! Pooh, they are only bogys invented by priests in days of darkness, in order to obtain power. It is always right to do the thing that pays---the thing that gives you happiness--power. The German philosophy is right there. Do the thing you can do. That's common sense."

"It's devilish!" exclaimed d.i.c.k.

"Your mind's unhinged, excited, or you wouldn't say so," replied Romanoff. "Now, look at me," and he fastened d.i.c.k's eyes by his intense gaze. "Do I look like a fanatic, a fool? Don't I speak with the knowledge of the world's wisdom in my mind? I've travelled in all the countries in the world, my friend, and I've riddled all their philosophies, and I tell you this: there is no right, no wrong. Life is given to us to enjoy, to drink the cup of pleasure to its depths, to press from the winepress all its sweets, and to be happy."

He spoke in low, earnest tones, and as he did so, d.i.c.k felt as though his moral manhood were being sapped. The glitter of the Count's eyes fascinated him, and while under their spell he saw as the Count saw, felt as he felt.

And yet he was afraid. There was something awesome in all this--something unholy.

"Look here!" and d.i.c.k started to his feet. "What do you mean by coming to me in this way? Why should you so coolly a.s.sert that the moralities of the centuries are nonsense? Who are you? What are you?"

Again the Count laughed.

"Who am I? What am I?" he repeated. "You remember Napoleon Bonaparte's famous words: 'I am not a man. I am a thing. I am a force. Right and wrong do not exist for me. I make my own laws, my own morals.' Perhaps I could say the same, Faversham."

"Napoleon found out his mistake, though," protested d.i.c.k.

"Did he? Who knows? Besides, better taste the sweets of power, if only for a few years, than be a drudge, a nonent.i.ty, a poor, struggling worm all your days."

"But what do you want? What have you in your mind?"

"This, Faversham. If you will listen to me you will treat Anthony Riggleton as non-existent----"

"As non-existent?"

"Yes, you can with safety--absolute safety; and then, if you agree to my proposal, all you hope for, all you dream of, shall be yours. You shall remain here as absolute owner without a shadow of doubt or a shadow of suspicion, and--enjoy. You shall have happiness, my friend--happiness. Did I not tell you that this was your day of destiny?"

CHAPTER XIII.

THE INVISIBLE HAND.

Again d.i.c.k felt as though he were gripped by an irresistible power, and that this power was evil. It was true that the Count sat in the chair near him, faultlessly dressed, urbane, smiling, with all the outward appearance of a polished man of the world; all the same, d.i.c.k felt that an evil influence dominated the room. The picture which Romanoff made him see was beautiful beyond words, and he beheld a future of sensuous ease, of satisfied ambition, of indescribable delights. And what he saw seemed to dull his moral sense, to undermine his moral strength. Moreover, the man had by his news undermined the foundations of life, shattered the hopes he had nourished, and thus left him unable to fight.

"Tell me that this is a--a joke on your part," d.i.c.k said at length. "Of course it's not true."

"Of course it is true."

"Well, I'll have it proved, anyhow. Everything shall be sifted to the bottom."

"How?"

"I'll go and see Bidlake to-morrow. I'll tell him what you've said."

"You will do no such thing." The Count spoke in the most nonchalant manner.

"Why not? Indeed, I shall."

"You will not. I'll tell you why. First, because it would be criminally insane, and second, because you would be cutting your own throat."

"Please explain."

"Understand," replied Romanoff, "that this is really nothing to me after all. I do not benefit by your riches, or lose by your poverty. Why, I wonder, am I taking an interest in the matter?" And for the moment he seemed to be reflecting. "I suppose it is because I like you--of course that is it. Besides, I saved your life, and naturally one has an interest in the life one has saved. But to explain: accept for the moment the conventional standards of right and wrong, good and evil, and what is the result? Suppose you give up everything to Riggleton--what follows? You give up all this to an unclean beast. You put power in the hands of a man who hasn't an elevated thought or desire. You, now--if you are wise, and retain what you have--can do some good with your money. You can bring comfort to the people on your estates; you can help what you believe worthy causes. You, Faversham, are a gentleman at heart, and would always act like one. Mind, I don't accept conventional morality; it is no more to me than so much sawdust. But I do respect the decencies of life. My education has thrown me among people who have a sense of what's fit and proper. Anyhow, judging from your own standards, you would be doing an immoral thing by handing this great fortune to Riggleton."

"Tell me about him," and d.i.c.k felt a tightening at the throat.

"Tell you about him! An unsavoury subject, my friend. A fellow with the mind of a pig, the tastes of a pig. What are his enjoyments? His true place is in a low-cla.s.s brothel. If he inherited Wendover Park, he would fill these beautiful rooms with creatures of his own cla.s.s--men and women."

The Count did not raise his voice, but d.i.c.k realised its intensity; and again he felt his influence--felt that he was being dominated by a personality stronger than his own.

"No, no," he continued, and he laughed quietly as he spoke; "copy-book morality has no weight with me. But I trust I am a gentleman. If, to use your own term, I sin, I will sin like a gentleman; I will enjoy myself like a gentleman. But this man is dirty. He wallows in filth--wallows in it, and rejoices in it. That is Anthony Riggleton. Morality! I scorn it. But decency, the behaviour of a gentleman, to act as a gentleman under every circ.u.mstance--that is a kind of religion with me! Now, then, Faversham, would it not be criminal madness to place all this in the hands of such a loathsome creature when you can so easily prevent it?"

Of course, the argument was commonplace enough. It was a device by which thousands have tried to salve their consciences, and to try to find an excuse for wrong-doing. Had some men spoken the same words, d.i.c.k might not have been affected, but uttered by Romanoff they seemed to undermine the foundations of his reasoning power.

"But if he is in England?" he protested weakly.

"He is, but what then?"

"He must know; he must. He is not an idiot, I suppose?"

"No; he is cunning with a low kind of cunning--the cunning of a sensual beast. Some would say he is clever."

"Then he must find out the truth."

"Not if you say he must not."

"What have I to do with it?"

"Everything," and Romanoff's eyes seemed to be searching into d.i.c.k's innermost soul.

"But how? I do not understand," and he nervously wiped his moist hands.

"Say so, and he must be got rid of."

"How?"

Romanoff laughed quietly. "These are good cigars, Faversham," he said, like one who was vastly enjoying himself. "Oh, you can do that easily enough," he continued.

"How?" asked d.i.c.k. He felt his eyes were hot as he turned them towards the other.

"I said treat him as though he were non-existent. Well, let him be non-existent."

"You mean--you mean----" and d.i.c.k's voice could scarcely be recognised.

"Why not?" asked the Count carelessly. "The fellow is vermin--just dirty vermin. But he is a danger--a danger to the community, a danger to you. Why, then, if it can be done easily, secretly, and without anyone having the slightest chance of knowing, should you not rid the world of such a creature? Especially when you could save all this," and he looked around the room, "as well as marry that divine creature, and live the life you long to live."

"Never!" cried d.i.c.k. "What?--murder! Not for all the wealth ever known. No, no--my G.o.d, no!"

"If there are good deeds in the world, that would be a good deed," persisted Romanoff. "You would be a benefactor to your race, your country," and there was a touch of pleading in his voice. "Why, man, think; I have him safe--safe! No one could know, and it would be a praiseworthy deed."

"Then why not do it yourself?" cried d.i.c.k. There was a sneer as well as anger in his voice.

"I am not the next heir to the Faversham estates," replied Romanoff. "What does it matter to me who owns all that old Charles Faversham gained during his life?"

"Then why suggest such a thing? Why, it's devilish!"

"Don't--please, don't be melodramatic," the Count drawled. "Would you not kill a rat that ate your corn? Would you not shoot any kind of vermin that infested your house? Well, Riggleton is vermin, human vermin if you like, but still vermin, and he is not fit to live. If I, Romanoff, were in your position, I would have no more hesitation in putting him out of existence than your gamekeeper would have in shooting a dog with rabies. But, then, I am not in your position. I have nothing to gain. I only take a friendly interest in you. I have hurried to you with all speed the moment I knew of your danger, and I have told you how you can rid the world of a coa.r.s.e, dirty-minded animal, and at the same time save for yourself the thing nearest your heart."

"Did he come in the same vessel with you?"

"Suffice to say that I know he is in England, and in safe keeping."

"Where? How? England has laws to protect everyone."

"That does not matter. I will tell you if you like; but you would be none the wiser."

"Then you have arranged this?"

"If you like--yes."

"But why?"

"Still the same silly question. Have you no sense of proportion, Faversham? Haven't I told you again and again?"

d.i.c.k was almost gasping for breath, and as he buried his head in his hands, he tried to understand, to realise. In calmer moments his mind would doubtless have pierced the cheap sophistry of the Count, and discarded it. But, as I have said, he was greatly excited, bewildered. Never as now did he desire wealth. Never as now had the thought of winning Lady Blanche seemed the great thing in life to be hoped for. And he knew the Count was right--knew that without his money she would no more think of marrying him than of marrying the utmost stranger. And yet his heart craved after her. He longed to possess her--to call her his own. He saw her as he had never seen her before, a splendid creature whose beauty outshone that of any woman he had ever seen, as the sun outshone the moon.