The Odds Part 60

The Sacrifice

CHAPTER I

It had been a hot day at the Law Courts, but a faint breeze had sprung up with the later hours, blowing softly over the river. It caught the ta.s.sel of the blind by which Field sat and tapped it against the window-frame, at first gently like a child at play, then with gathering force and insistence till at last he looked up with a frown and rose to fasten it back.

It was growing late. The rose of the afterglow lay upon the water, tipping the silvery ripples with soft colour. It was a magic night. But the wonder of it did not apparently reach him. A table littered with papers stood in front of him bearing a portable electric lamp. He was obviously too engrossed to think of exterior things.

For a s.p.a.ce he sat again in silence by the open window, only the faint rustling of the lace curtain being audible. His somewhat hard, clean-shaven face was bent over his work with rigid concentration.

His eyelids scarcely stirred.

Then again there came a tapping, this time at the door. The frown returned to his face. He looked up.

"Well?"

The door opened. A small, sharp-faced boy poked in his head. "A lady to see you, sir."

"What?" said Field. His frown deepened. "I can't see any one. I told you so."

"Says she won't go away till she's seen you, sir," returned the boy glibly. "Can't get her to budge, sir."

"Oh, tell her--" said Field, and stopped as if arrested by a sudden thought. "Who is it?" he asked.

A grin so brief that it might have been a mere twitch of the features pa.s.sed over the boy's face.

"Wouldn't give no name, sir. But she's a n.o.b of some sort," he said. "Got a shiny satin dress on under her cloak."

Field's eyes went for a moment to his littered papers. Then he picked up a newspaper from a chair and threw it over them.

"Show her in!" he said briefly.

He got up with the words, and stood with his back to the window, watching the half-open door.

There came a slight rustle in the pa.s.sage outside. The small boy reappeared and threw the door wide with a flourish. A woman in a dark cloak and hat with a thick veil over her face entered.

The door closed behind her. Field stood motionless. She advanced with slight hesitation.

"I hope you will forgive me," she said, "for intruding upon you."

Her voice was rich and deep. It held a throb of nervousness. Field came deliberately forward.

"I presume I can be of use to you," he said.

His tone was dry. There was scant encouragement about him as he drew forward a chair.

She hesitated momentarily before accepting it, but finally sat down with a gesture that seemed to indicate physical weakness of some sort.

"Yes, I want your help," she said.

Field said nothing. His face was the face of the trained man of law. It expressed naught beyond a steady, impersonal attention.

He drew up another chair and seated himself facing her.

She looked at him through her veil for several seconds in silence.

Finally, with manifest effort, she spoke.

"It was so good of you to admit me--especially not knowing who I was. You recognise me now, of course? I am Lady Violet Calcott."

"I should recognise you more easily," he said in his emotionless voice, "if you would be good enough to put up your veil."

His tone was perfectly quiet and courteous, yet she made a rapid movement to comply, as if he had definitely required it of her. She threw back the obscuring veil and showed him the face of one of the most beautiful women in London.

There was an instant's pause before he said.

"Yes, I recognise you, of course. And--you wanted to consult me?"

"No!" She leaned forward in her chair with white hands clasped. "I wanted to beg you to tell me--why you have refused to undertake Burleigh Wentworth's defence!"

She spoke with a breathless intensity. Her wonderful eyes were lifted to his--eyes that had dazzled half London, but Field only looked down into them as he might have regarded one of his legal doc.u.ments. A slight, peculiar smile just touched his lips as he made reply.

"I have no objection to telling you, Lady Violet. He is guilty. That is why."

"Ah!" It was a sound like the snapped string of an instrument. Her fingers gripped each other. "So you think that too! Indeed--indeed, you are wrong! But--is that your only reason?"

"Isn't it a sufficient one?" he said.

Her fingers writhed and strained against each other. "Do you mean that it is--against your principles?" she said.

"To defend a guilty man?" questioned the barrister slowly.

She nodded two or three times as if for the moment utterance were beyond her.

Field's eyes had not stirred from her face, yet still they had that legal look as if he searched for some hidden information.

"No," he said finally. "It is not entirely a matter of principle. As you are aware, I have achieved a certain reputation. And I value it."

She made a quick movement that was almost convulsive.

"But you would not injure your reputation. You would only enhance it,"

she said, speaking very rapidly as if some obstruction to speech had very suddenly been removed. "You are practically on the top of the wave. You would succeed where another man would fail. And indeed--oh, indeed he is innocent! He must be innocent! Things look black against him. But he can be saved somehow. And you could save him--if you would. Think what the awful disgrace would mean to him--if he were convicted! And he doesn't deserve it. I a.s.sure you he doesn't deserve it. Ah, how shall I persuade you of that?" Her voice quivered upon a note of despair. "Surely you are human! There must be some means of moving you. You can't want to see an innocent man go under!"

The beautiful eyes were blurred with tears as she looked at him. She caught back a piteous sob. The cloak had fallen from about her shoulders.

They gleamed with an exquisite whiteness.