The Town Traveller Part 36

"Not in plain words. But she's doing nothing--except roam about the streets--and she won't give any straightforward account of herself. Now would you mind telling me, Mr. Gammon, whether"--her eyes fell--"I mean, if you've done anything since that night, you know, to make her offended with you?"

"Offended? Not that I know of," was his prompt answer with genuine surprise.

Mrs. Clover watched him, and seemed not dissatisfied.

"I'll tell you why I ask. Some time ago she wrote me a queer letter. It said she _was_ going to be married--or thought about it; and there was something I couldn't understand about _you_. I shall show you that letter. I think it's only right."

She withdrew for a moment and returned with Polly's abusive epistle, which she handed to her visitor.

Gammon first read it, then looked for a date, but none was discernible.

"When did you get this?" he asked.

Mrs. Clover could mention the very day, and on reflecting Gammon felt sure that Polly must have written this just before the exciting events which threw him and her into each other's arms. In the same moment he recalled Polly's eagerness to become possessed of a letter she had posted to him--the letter he was not to open.

"You may well say it's queer." He laughed and laughed again. "She gives me a nice character, eh? And you've been wondering what I'd done? All I've got to say is, that it's a blessed lie from beginning to end. But perhaps you won't believe me?"

"I will believe you if you tell me plain and straight that you hadn't done anything wrong--nothing to be ashamed of."

"Well, then, I do tell you that. I never gave her the least cause to speak of me in that way. It's all lies."

"I more than half thought it was."

Mrs. Clover heaved a sigh and looked more cheerful.

"And what," she added, "does she mean about marrying a gentleman?"

"That's more than I can tell you."

Again he laughed, laughed like a man enjoying sudden relief of mind.

"More than I can tell you, Mrs. Clover. But I'll see if I can't find out; indeed I will. Her friends, the Nibby's, may be able to tell me something. Have you asked her to come and see you?"

"No. For one thing I don't know the address, and after a letter like this--"

"Quite right. Leave it to me." He bent his head, hesitated, and added quietly, "I may have something to tell you."

Thereupon they parted, and Mrs. Clover felt her head so much better that she was able to attend to business.

CHAPTER XXVI

A DOUBLE EVENT

With clang and tw.a.n.g the orchestra (a music-hall orchestra) summoned to hilarity an audience of the first half-hour; stragglers at various prices, but all alike in their manifest subdual by a cold atmosphere, a dull illumination, empty seats, and inferior singers put on for the early "turns." A striking of matches to kindle pipe or cigar, a thudding of heavy boots, clink of gla.s.s or pewter, and a waiter's spiritless refrain--"Any orders, gents?" Things would be better presently. In the meantime Mr. Gammon was content to have found a place where he could talk with Polly, sheltered from the January night, at small expense. He sipped thoughtfully from a tumbler of rich Scotch; he glanced cautiously at his companion, who seemed very much under the influence of the hour. Polly, in fact, had hardly spoken. Her winter costume could not compare in freshness and splendour with that which had soothed her soul through the bygone sunny season; to tell the truth, she was all but shabby. But Gammon had no eye for this. He was trying to read Polly's thoughts, and wondering how she could take what he had made up his mind to tell her.

"I saw your aunt yesterday."

"You did?"

"Yes, I did. She was telling me about a letter she had from you some time ago--the last letter you wrote her."

Their eyes met. Miss Sparkes was defiant--on her guard, but not wholly courageous; Gammon twinkled a mocking smile, and held himself ready for whatever might come.

"She shows you people's letters, does she?" said Polly with a sneer.

"This one she did. Good reason. It was funny reading, old girl. That's your opinion of me, is it? Do you mind telling me who the gentleman is--the _real_ gentleman--you think of taking up with?"

Gammon could not strike a really ungenerous note. He had meant to be severe, but did not get beyond sly banter.

"She's a cat for showing it to you!" replied Miss Sparkes. "That was wrote before we--you know what. It was after you'd took your 'ook that Sunday on the Embankment. I didn't mean it. I was a bit cross. I'll pay her out some day for this, see if I don't."

Much more did Polly say, the gist of it all being an evident desire to soothe her companion's feelings. Gammon found himself in an unexpected and awkward position. He had taken for granted an outbreak of violence, he had counted upon the opportunity of mutual invective, he wished to tell Polly to go further. In the face of such singular mildness he was at a loss for weapons. Mere brutality would soon have settled the matter, but of that Mr. Gammon was incapable. At this juncture too, as if in support of Polly's claim to indulgence, a strain, irresistible by heart of man, preluded a song of the affections. Gammon began to understand what a mistake it was to have brought Polly to a music-hall for the purpose of breaking with her. Under cover of the languishing lyric Miss Sparkes put her head nearer to him.

"What am I to do, eh?"

"To do?"

"I cawn't go on like this. Do you want me to get another job somewhere?

I sh'd think you might see I cawn't wear this jacket much longer."

The crisis was dreadful. Gammon clutched at the only possible method of appeasing his conscience, and postponing decisive words he took Polly's hand--poorly gloved--and secretly pressed the palm with a coin, which Polly in less than a clock-tick ascertained to be one pound sterling.

She smiled. "What's that for?"

"For--for the present."

And in this way another evening went by, leaving things as before.

"I'd never have believed I was such a fool," said Gammon to himself at a late hour. He meant, of course, that experience was teaching him for the first time the force of a moral obligation, which, as theorist, he had always held mere matter for joke. He by no means prided himself on this newly-acquired perception; he saw it only as an obstacle to business-like behaviour. But it was there, and--by jorrocks! the outlook began to alarm him.

Meanwhile Mr. Greenacre was pursuing a laudable object. Greatly pleased at the dexterity with which Miss Sparkes had been hoodwinked in the matter of Lord Polperro and her Uncle Clover, he determined to set all at rest in that direction by making Polly believe that Mr. Clover, her uncle himself as distinct from Lord Polperro, was also dead and gone and done for. Gammon knew of the design and strongly favoured it, for he was annoyed by Mrs. Clover's false position; he wished her to be proclaimed a widow, without the necessity of disagreeable revelations.

An exciting post card brought about one more interview between Miss Sparkes and the so-called private detective. They met in a spot chosen for its impressiveness, the City office of a great line of ocean steamers. When Polly had with some difficulty discovered the place and entered shyly she was met by Greenacre, who at once drew her aside and began talking in a whisper with much show of worry and perturbation. In his hand rustled a printed form, with a few words in pencil.

"It's all over, Miss Sparkes. We have no more hope. This last cable settles it. Don't let me agitate you. But I thought it best that you should come here and see the cable for yourself." Sinking his voice and with his lips at her ear he added, "Your uncle is dead."

Polly was not overcome.

"Is it _reely_ him this time?"

"Clover--not a doubt of it. I got on his track, but too late, he was off to South Africa. Here is a cable from the Cape. He died at sea--some obscure disease, probably an affection of the heart--and was buried off the West Coast. Read it for yourself. 'Clover, second cabin pa.s.senger, died and buried 23.4 S., 8.2 S.; effects await instructions.' There he lies at the bottom of the sea, poor fellow.

This is only a confirmatory cable; I have spent lots of money in learning particulars. Perhaps you would like to see one of the officials about it, Miss Sparkes? Unfortunately they can only repeat what I have told you."

Polly had no desire to hold converse with these gentlemen; she was thoroughly awed and convinced by Greenacre's tones and the atmosphere of the office.