Vice Versa Part 43

"The meanness, my dear boy, depends entirely upon the view you take of it. Now, the question with me, as a man of honour (and I may tell you an over-nice sense of honour has been a drawback I've had to struggle against all my life), the question with me is this: Is it not my plain duty to step in and put a stop to this topsy-turvy state of things, to show you up as the barefaced young impostor you are, and restore my unhappy brother-in-law to his proper position?"

"Very well expressed," thought Paul, who had been getting uncomfortable; "he has a heart, as he said, after all!"

"How does that seem to strike you?" added Paradine.

"It shtrikes me as awful rot," said d.i.c.k, with refreshing candour.

"It's the language of conscience, but I don't expect you to see it in the same light. I don't mind confessing to you, either, that I'm a poor devil to whom money and a safe and respectable position (all of which I have here) are great considerations. But whenever I see the finger of duty and honour and family affection all beckoning me along a particular road, I make a point of obeying their monitions--occasionally. I don't mean to say that I never have bolted down a back way, instead, when it was made worth my while, or that I never will."

"I wonder what he's driving at now," thought Paul.

"I don't know about duty and honour, and all that," said d.i.c.k; "my head aches, it's the noise they're making upstairs. Are you goin' to tell?"

"The fact is, my dear boy, that when one has had a keen sense of honour in constant use for several years, it's like most other articles, apt to become a little the worse for wear. Mine is not what it used to be, d.i.c.ky (that's your name, isn't it?). Our powers fail as we grow old."

"I don' know what you're talking about!" said d.i.c.k helplessly. "Do tell me what you mean to do."

"Well then, your head's clear enough to understand this much, I hope,"

said Paradine a little impatiently, "that, if I did my duty and exposed you, you wouldn't be able to keep up the farce for a single hour, in spite of all your personal advantages--you know that, don't you?"

"I shpose I know that," said d.i.c.k feebly.

"You know too, that if I could be induced--mind, I don't say I can--to hold my tongue and stay on here and look after you and keep you from betraying yourself by any more of these schoolboy follies, there's not much fear that anyone else will ever find out the secret----"

"Which are you going to do, then?" said d.i.c.k.

"Suppose I say that I like you, that you have shown me more kindness in a single week than ever your respectable father has since I first made his acquaintance? Suppose I say that I am willing to let the sense of honour and duty, and all the rest of it, go overboard together; that we two together are a match for Papa, wherever he may be and whatever he chooses to say and do?"

There was a veiled defiance in his voice that seemed meant for more than d.i.c.k, and alarmed Mr. Bult.i.tude; however, he tried to calm his uneasiness and persuade himself that it was part of the plot.

"Will you say that?" cried d.i.c.k excitedly.

"On one condition, which I'll tell you by-and-by. Yes, I'll stand by you, my boy, I'll coach you till I make you a man of business every bit as good as your father, and a much better man of the world. I'll show you how to realise a colossal fortune if you only take my advice. And we'll pack Papa off to some place abroad where he'll have no holidays and give no trouble!"

"No," said d.i.c.k firmly; "I won't have that. After all, he's my governor."

"Do what you like with him then, he can't do much harm. I tell you, I'll do all this, on one condition--it's a very simple one----"

"What is it?" asked d.i.c.k.

"This. You have, somewhere or other, the Stone that has done all this for you--you may have it about you at this very moment--ah!" (as d.i.c.k made a sudden movement towards his white waistcoat) "I thought so! Well, I want that Stone. You were afraid to leave it in my hands for a minute or two just now; you must trust me with it altogether."

Paul was relieved; of course this was merely an artifice to recover the Garuda Stone, and Marmaduke was not playing him false after all--he waited breathlessly for d.i.c.k's answer.

"No," said d.i.c.k, "I can't do that; I want it too."

"Why, man, what use is it to you? it only gives you one wish, you can't use it again."

d.i.c.k mumbled something about his being ill, and Barbara wishing him well again.

"I suppose I can do that as well as Barbara," said his uncle. "Come, don't be obstinate, give me the Stone; it's very important that it should be in safe hands."

"No," said d.i.c.k obstinately; he was fumbling all the time irresolutely in his pockets; "I mean to keep it myself."

"Very well then, I have done with you. To-morrow morning I shall step up to Mincing Lane, and then to your father's solicitor. I think his offices are in Bedford Row, but I can easily find out at your father's place. After that, young man, you'll have a very short time to amuse yourself in, so make the best of it."

"No, don't leave me, let me alone for a minute," pleaded d.i.c.k, still fumbling.

At this a sudden suspicion of his brother-in-law's motives for wishing to get the Stone into his own hands overcame all Paul's prudence. If he was so clever in deceiving d.i.c.k, might he not be cheating _him_, too, just as completely? He could wait no longer, but burst from behind the screen and rushed in between the pair.

"Go back!" screamed Paradine. "You infernal old idiot, you've ruined everything!"

"I won't go back," said Paul, "I don't believe in you. I'll hide no longer. d.i.c.k, I forbid you to trust that man."

d.i.c.k had risen in horror at the sudden apparition, and staggered back against the wall, where he stood staring stupidly at his unfortunate father with fixed and vacant eyes.

"Badly as you've treated me, I'd rather trust you than that shifty plausible fellow there. Just look at me, d.i.c.k, and then say if you can let this cruelty go on. If you knew all I've suffered since I have been among those infernal boys, you would pity me, you would indeed.... If you send me back there again, it will kill me.... You know as well as I do that it is worse for me than ever it could be for you.... You can't really justify yourself because of a thoughtless wish of mine, spoken without the least intention of being taken at my word. d.i.c.k, I may not have shown as much affection for you as I might have done, but I don't think I deserve all this. Be generous with me now, and I swear you will never regret it."

d.i.c.k's lips moved; there really was something like pity and repentance in his face, muddled and dazed as his general expression was by his recent over-indulgence, but he said nothing.

"Give papa the Stone by all means," sneered Paradine. "If you do, he will find some one to wish the pair of you back again, and then, back you go to school again, the laughing-stock of everybody, you silly young cub!"

"Don't listen to him, d.i.c.k," urged Paul. "Give it to me, for Heaven's sake; if you let him have it, he'll use it to ruin us all."

But d.i.c.k turned his white face to the rival claimants and said, getting the words out with difficulty: "Papa, I'm shorry. It is a shame. If I had the Shtone, I really would give it you, upon my word-an'-honour I would. But--but, now I can't ever give it up to you. It'sh gone. Losht!"

"Lost!" cried Marmaduke. "When, where? When do you last recollect seeing it? you must know!"

"In the morning," said d.i.c.k, twirling his chain, where part of the cheap gilt fastening still hung.

"No; afternoon. I don't know," he added helplessly.

Paul sank down on a chair with a heartbroken groan; a moment ago he had felt himself very near his goal, he had regained something of his old influence over d.i.c.k, he had actually managed to touch his heart--and now it was all in vain!

Paradine's jaw fell; he, too, had had his dreams of doing wonderful things with the talisman after he had cajoled d.i.c.k to part with it.

Whether the restoration of his brother-in-law formed any part of his programme, it is better, perhaps, not to inquire. His dreams were scattered now; the Stone might be anywhere, buried in London mud, lying on railway ballast, or ground to powder by cartwheels. There was little chance, indeed, that even the most liberal rewards would lead to discovery. He swore long and comprehensively.

As for Mr. Bult.i.tude, he sat motionless in his chair, staring in dull, speechless reproach at the conscience-stricken d.i.c.k, who stood in the corner blinking and whimpering with an abject penitence, odd and painful to see in one of his portly form. The children had now apparently finished supper, for there were sounds above as of dancing, and "Sir Roger de Coverley," with its rollicking, never-wearying repet.i.tion, was distinctly audible above the din and laughter. Once before, a week ago that very day, had that heartless piano mocked him with its untimely gaiety.

But things were not at their worst even yet, for, while they sat like this, there was a sharp, short peal at the house-bell, followed by loud and rather angry knocking, for carriages being no longer expected, the servants and waiters had now closed the front-door, and left the pa.s.sage for the supper-room.

"The visitors' bell!" cried Paul, roused from his apathy; and he rushed to the window which commanded a side-view of the portico; it might be only a servant calling for one of the children, but he feared the worst, and could not rest till he knew it.

It was a rash thing to do, for as he drew the blind, he saw a large person in a heavy Inverness cloak standing on the steps, and (which was worse) the person both saw and recognised _him_!

With fascinated horror, Mr. Bult.i.tude saw the Doctor's small grey eyes fixed angrily on him, and knew that he was hunted down at last.

He turned to the other two with a sort of ghastly composure: "It's all over now," he said. "I've just seen Dr. Grimstone standing on my doorstep; he has come after me."