The Man with the Double Heart Part 66

For they corresponded regularly. But the simple, almost boyish epistles rang with no note but friendliness, showed no desire for his return.

When he learned in a hurried line that Bethune had reappeared on the scene with his motor, taking the girl for a drive, it scattered his last remaining scruple. He left for London one bright day in late September, resolute to put an end to his "probation," seek out Jill and learn his fate.

On his way from St. Pancras he called at the Club on the chance of a letter, and a sudden memory a.s.sailed him of that other message found there, summoning him to Italy. It had changed the whole course of his life.

He recalled to mind his arrival at Siena; his interview with his new Aunt and his first faint doubts regarding a marriage with Cydonia.

Once more, in imagination, he stood in the long gallery lined with pictures--those faces of his ancestors which seemed to frown at the thought of Cadell!

A sudden wave of exultation went to his heart as he thought of Jill taking her place in that n.o.ble throng. Surely they would welcome her?

Jill, with her frank simplicity--that truest mark of good descent--with her clean-cut, proud young face, her clever brain and fine courage.

As he turned over the pile of letters handed him by the Club porter, his thoughts were anxious. Yes--here it was! Bless the child! He hastened back to his waiting taxi with a feeling that no profane eyes must watch his face as he read her letter.

But at the first opening lines he frowned with an exclamation of disgust, aware that here was grave trouble, that the girl he loved faced despair.

"d.a.m.n the chap!"

He could hardly believe the astounding news. He bit his lip. Mrs.

Uniacke had married Stephen! Why--it was incredible!

Secretly--at a Registry--in Brighton--the day before. No wonder Jill had always held such deep distrust of the "parasite!"

Mrs. Uniacke--and Stephen...

This was the end of the long "platonic" friendship between the curious pair, the "motherly interest" of the woman!--McTaggart sneered, his face hard.

"I don't know what to do with Roddy." Jill wrote from the depths of her heart. "I never saw him so cut up. Oh, Peter--isn't it _dreadful_? They've gone off on their honeymoon--for a fortnight, so Mother writes--and then Stephen's coming back--to _live_ with us ... in _Father's_ place!"

McTaggart could hardly restrain his wrath.

"What a fool the woman must be! A dirty trick too--this secrecy--with her own children. Oh--d.a.m.n the man. He's feathered his nest--you bet he has! Well----" he read the letter through--"that settles it--my affair! Jill shan't live for a day with Stephen as a stepfather. I'll see to that!--Hurry up!" he called to the driver and went on, forming his plans. "I'll go down to Worthing to-night. Those poor children--all alone! ... I call it a most cruel trick--suddenly springing her marriage upon them."

Mario was already there when he reached his rooms, busy unpacking.

McTaggart checked him.

"Look here--leave all that and throw some things into a bag. Enough for the night--I'm off in another hour to Worthing."

"Sissignore." The man's quick eyes fell on the letter McTaggart still held and he smiled to himself. He knew the writing well by now and the eager look it brought to his young master's face.

Here was "l'amore..."--(postmark Worthing!) The sooner the marriage came off the better. This was the valet's private thought. He hated these dingy, narrow rooms and longed for a better establishment. But out aloud he merely asked if McTaggart would need his services.

"No--I'll wire if I want you, Mario. Hurry, now--And put in that suit the tailor sent before we left. The blue serge--and some decent shirts. I haven't time to change now."

He picked up the A.B.C.--studied it and his face cleared.

"You'll have to meet me at Victoria--the Brighton line--seven-forty.

Get me a first-cla.s.s return--here's some money. I'm off to dine. You understand? And don't be late."

"The Signore can count on me." Mario's black eyes flashed. He revelled in this love affair.

"And good fortune go with you--long life--and many children!" he added softly to himself as the door closed with a bang. Then, with his quick, careful hands, he folded a pale grey tie that appealed to him--it looked bridal!--and thought tenderly of Lucia...

McTaggart bolted a hurried meal at Victoria, one eye on the clock. He caught up a _Globe_ as he pa.s.sed the book stall and found his man in the front part of the long train, cool and collected, keeping the seat with his suit-case.

"Change at Brighton," said the guard. "You'll have twenty minutes to wait. Thank you, sir--there's no stop." He waved his arms--they were off.

The carriage held another man. McTaggart gave him a careless glance as they puffed out of the dark station and leaned back in his corner.

The stranger opened a narrow bag beside him and hunted for a cap.

Unconsciously watching him, McTaggart saw that a stethoscope lay on the top of the littered contents.

"A doctor," he decided as his companion rose to his feet, and carefully placed his top-hat on the rack, then turned to McTaggart.

"D'you mind this window down?" he asked.

"Not at all--I should prefer it. It's close to-night."

The stranger nodded.

"I generally find it so in town--after Brighton, where I live."

McTaggart drew a breath of relief as the air circulated freely. His face was flushed from his hurried meal, his blue eyes bright with excitement.

"I expect you do." He opened his paper, not in the mood for conversation, carelessly skimming down the news, his mind partially abstracted.

But suddenly an exclamation broke, unconsciously, from his lips. He bent forward so that the light fell full on the sheet before him.

For a paragraph had caught his attention.

"_Tragic Fate of a Harley Street Doctor_." The headline was in leaded type. He read it through with amazement.

It could not be...? Yes--it was! The specialist he had consulted about his heart four years ago. The great man was insane! The paper danced before his eyes...

He steadied it and read on. The tragic scene was given in full where his confreres, hastily called in, had borne him off to an Asylum, their suspicions roused for some time past.

A series of grave mistakes, of "strange and eccentric diagnoses," had led up to the final lapse of self-control.

They had found him surrounded by his flowers, the room littered with fresh plants, playing like a little child--planning a garden on the floor.

Beyond, in the dingy dining-room, were patients waiting and wondering.

The horrible pathos of the affair shocked McTaggart as he read.

But the memory of the doctor's words and his own curious case rose up, blotting out all other thoughts, as a strange conviction grew upon him.

His "double heart"...? Was it possible that this was one of the "grave mistakes?"--a fantastic theory born of that diseased, already failing brain.

He felt suddenly overcome. Tired from his earlier journey, with the bad news concerning Jill, and the hurry of the last hour, this fresh excitement was the climax. The colour faded from his cheeks. He leaned back and closed his eyes, unaware that the stranger opposite was watching him with grave attention.