The Red Derelict Part 29

"Yes."

Develin Hunt looked at the man standing over him very stern and straight, then he looked at the Squire. He would have given anything to have avoided this, but since his hand had been forced it was, perhaps, as well that Wagram should know all--should know where he stood.

Perhaps the Squire thought the same, for he said no word, gave no sign.

"In the name of G.o.d, leave things where they are, man!" conjured the adventurer in a real outburst of feeling. He was not all bad. He had got his price, and he felt an intense respect and pity for the man before him. He would make one more effort. "I tell you n.o.body's discredit is involved here. We can't always _know_ everything--it isn't good for us. As for me, I have pledged my solemn word you shall never be troubled by me again. Now, let me go."

Still Wagram did not move. He had heard of this man's former visit, but as his father had not mentioned it to him he himself had kept silence on the subject. But he had put two and two together, and had connected it with days of depression under which the old Squire had suffered.

Moreover, it struck him that his father had undergone a subtle change, had not been quite the same ever since. Now he had come in and found him in a state of collapse after another interview with this man. His own name, too, had been brought up, and in such a manner.

"No," he answered; "not yet. This mystery must be cleared up before you leave this room. I repeat my former question: In what way does my name require 'saving'?"

"Oh, if you will be so obstinate!" answered Develin Hunt excitedly, "you have only yourself to blame. I've done all I could for you. Since you _will_ have it, your name--well, it isn't your name."

"Not my name?" repeated Wagram in a strange voice. "Man, are you mad, or only drunk?"

"Neither," returned the adventurer doggedly. "Well, then, your mother was married to me before she married your father. She was not to blame.

She thought I was dead. If you don't believe me ask the Squire here."

There was no need to ask the Squire. The old man nodded a.s.sent; he was incapable of speech just then.

"Are you--trying--to make me believe, then, that _you_ are, my father?"

said Wagram in a dry, hardly articulate kind of voice.

"No, no--not for a moment. But, of course, the second marriage was invalid. Now, do you take in the position?"

"Yes."

Wagram's face had gone livid and his tall form seemed to sway. No further word would come. But for the set, gleaming stare of the eyes he might have been a corpse trying to stand upright. The sight was awful, indescribably so. Even the hard, unscrupulous adventurer was moved to concern and compunction.

"For G.o.d's sake, don't take it like this," he adjured. "Pull yourself together, man. The thing is a secret between us three, and need never be anything else. Send for a big tot of brandy, or something to steady your nerves. It's a facer, but nothing need come of it."

For answer Wagram only shook his head, and moved unsteadily to the open window, where he stood, looking out. There was nothing to prevent Develin Hunt walking out of the house with his 25,000 pound cheque in his pocket; and, to do him justice, it was not the thought that this might be stopped by telegram that restrained him. Yet he did not so walk out.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

"n.o.bODY OF NOWHERE."

Had Wagram been a sufferer from weakness of heart it is highly probable that he would have fallen down dead there and then.

The shock was sudden and complete. As he stood gazing out through the open window its full meaning swept over his mind as in a very flash of blasting flame. He, Wagram of Hilversea, whose intense pride in and love of his n.o.ble inheritance and the almost illimitable opportunity for good which the position entailed upon him were as the very breath of life, now learned, all in a moment of time, that he was in reality n.o.body of Nowhere--that he had not even a name. It seemed as though the very heavens had fallen upon him, crushing him to the dust.

"Not a soul need ever be one atom the wiser. It's strictly between ourselves."

It was the adventurer's voice that had broken the awful silence. Wagram turned, wearily.

"You have proof of what you advance, I take it--sufficient and convincing proof?" he said.

"Oh yes; abundant. Look at this," exhibiting a marriage certificate of many years back. "You can go down and compare notes with the original parish register; it isn't a very long journey from here. Besides, your father will bear out what I say."

Again the old man nodded feebly. He seemed incapable of speech.

Wagram took the certificate and examined it earnestly. It was from the register of a parish in a small county town. Then he handed it back.

"What have you received as hush-money over this business?" he said.

"Not a farthing until to-day. But the Squire has been very liberal, and has behaved like a thorough gentleman. You may rely upon it that no word will ever pa.s.s my lips."

"May I see the cheque?"

"Certainly."

Develin Hunt produced the cheque, intending to keep a firm hold of it while the other scanned its contents; but, marvellous to relate, he actually and deliberately placed it in Wagram's outstretched hand. The latter looked at it.

"Twenty-five thousand pounds!" he said. "I suppose you are greatly in need of money?"

"Greatly isn't the word for it," answered the adventurer quickly. "I'm stony broke--and the worst of it is, I'm too old to be able to make any more."

"Destroy it, Wagram, destroy it!" burst from the old Squire. "He's broken his side of the contract already."

The adventurer was conscious of a tense and anxious moment. He was fully aware, as we have said above, that the payment could be stopped by wire; still, while he actually held the doc.u.ment itself, he seemed to be holding something substantial. Wagram handed it back unhesitatingly.

"No, father," he said; "it has been given, and we can't take back a gift; and if anyone is the loser it will be me."

"No, it will not," declared the adventurer with vehemence. "No, certainly not. And--pardon me, Squire, for reminding you that I have _not_ broken my side of the compact. Your son forced the information from me--very unfortunately, but still he did. But n.o.body else ever will if only you could bring yourselves to believe it. Come. Remember how, for all these years, I have kept absolute silence, even to Everard--though I have been seeing him day after day--in fact, for a devilish sight more days than I wanted to. Well, then, why should I begin to wag my tongue now?"

"Only to Everard?" repeated Wagram. "Then you've seen him?"

"Seen him? Rather! Seen a great deal too much of him. I don't mind admitting that, if I hadn't been a sight smarter man for my age than he reckoned, I should have had six inches of his knife between my ribs one time."

"Where is he?" said Wagram.

"Ah-h! Now you're asking for some information it wouldn't be a bit good for you to have, so I think I'll withhold it in your own interest-- purely in your own interest, mind."

Wagram was about to reply, but did not. The adventurer went on:

"Don't let this knowledge make any difference to you. I give you my word of honour--though, I daresay, you won't think much of that--that this secret shall die with me. You have both treated me handsomely and fairly and squarely in this matter, and, so help me G.o.d! I'll do the same by you. Wagram Wagram, you might have torn up that cheque when I put it into your hand, as the Squire there advised you, though I know he was speaking without thought when he did. But it was with the knowledge that no more honourable man treads this green and blue world than yourself that I did put it there. Well, then, I swear to you that what I told the Squire on a former occasion is absolutely true. I have a hankering to end up my days decently and respectably, and, perhaps, in the long run this will turn out not the least amount of good of all the good you have done in your time, and I have some sort of inkling what that is. Now I'll go, and once more I say you'll never hear of me again."

He rose, and, with a bow to both, walked to the door. No attempt was made to detain him this time.

"I'll just see this gentleman out, father," said Wagram. "I won't be a moment." The Squire nodded.

But Wagram had something further in his mind than merely seeing an exceedingly unwelcome visitor off the premises. He made a commonplace remark or two until they were clear of the house; then, once fairly in the avenue, where the ground was open around, and no chance of being overheard, he said again:

"Where is he? Where is my brother?"

The adventurer's answer was the same.